[Pg 409]

THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.

TOMB OF CURRAN.

Twenty years had nearly elapsed, and no stone marked the grate where Curran was interred: still Ireland continued unpossessed of the remains of one of the ablest of her orators and purest of her patriots, and seemed, in this instance especially, to justify the reproach of her habitual neglect towards the posthumous reputation of her great men.

To the managing committee of the cemetery at Glasnevin belongs the merit, in this eminent instance, of setting an example which may remove or mitigate the humiliating truth of that too just reproach.[1] They reclaimed for Ireland the bones of Curran, which were transferred from England to the cemetery over which they preside.

To Lord Cloncurry, ever foremost or forward in aught affecting the public weal, and through life distinguished as the munificent supporter of all the elegant and useful arts—of every object proposing to advance the interests of his country or honour of her name—to him belongs the merit of originating a subscription from which has resulted the monument at Glasnevin, and the other now in progress at the church of St Patrick.[2] Thus at the northern extremity of Dublin the tomb of Curran stands over his remains; and at the southern extremity, in our metropolitan Cathedral Church, which may be called our little Westminster, a cenotaph, now begun, will soon bear witness that after a lapse of 23 years, new recorded honours gather round his monument, and his glory still freshens in the memory of posterity.

A senior fellow of our University, who had no other share in his subsequent elevation to a mitre than the circumstance of having rendered himself worthy of it, observes on the subject of this commemoration as follows:—“It (a letter) shows me, however, that you intended to apply to me on a subject well calculated to excite my sympathy; and it gives me an opportunity of indulging my own feelings, and of promoting my own honour, in avowing my admiration and respect for splendid talents and disinterested patriotism. I shall therefore be flattered by the insertion of my name in your list, though I do not entertain the ambitious thought of my doing honour to the memory of a man who has erected for himself a monument greater and more lasting than can be contained in any cemetery.”

The wood-cut engraving prefixed to this article is descriptive of Curran’s tomb at Glasnevin, of which Mr J. T. Papworth, A.R.H.A., architect of the Royal Dublin Society, was the architect, and conductor of its construction and successful execution. It is a fac simile of the celebrated chef-d’œuvre of the antique known as the tomb of Scipio Barbatious,[Pg 410] exemplars of which are favourite objects of purchase to the visiters of Rome, and lovers of virtu. It is a magnificent specimen of that simple, durable, massive grandeur, which the early artists of the mistress of the world deemed suitable to the character of a great man’s sepulchre; fit to outlive, like its great Roman prototype, numerous generations of men, and bear down the name of its honoured object to the admiration of a most distant posterity. Napoleon’s tomb at St Helena was of course the suggestion of the best taste of France and Italy combined. It bears a close resemblance to that of Scipio. The material of the latter is of an inferior description of stone, greatly surpassed by that of Curran’s tomb, which is composed of the best specimen, perhaps, extant, of our finest Irish granite, and sparkles like silver in the sun. The application of this product to sepulchral purposes is recent and appropriate. The late palace of our dukes, the late halls of our parliament, the testimonials commemorating the victors who most exalted the glory of Britain on the ocean and by land, our custom-house and post-office, our courts of justice, the harbours of Wicklow, Howth, and Dunleary, the spire of St Patrick’s, the grandest of our bridges, with most other of our magnificent public edifices, have long displayed and will long display the value of our granite for beauty and solidity. It has superseded the use of Portland stone, for, capable of being cut into the finer figures of architecture, it admits of any shape, it withstands any weather; and harder than freestone, and hardening in the air, and susceptible of every formation from the chisel, the mallet, and the hammer, it stands of all the mineral kingdom most faithful to the trust of monumental fame. But it is not by such memorials, as was justly observed by the eminent prelate already referred to; it is not by such memorials as art may construct from marble or brass, or our own enduring granite, that the immortality of Curran’s fame can be achieved, it is in the great efforts of his transcendant genius we best can contemplate his deathless monument, and in that respect it may be said of him as Johnson said on a like occasion,

The tomb is in the form of a Sarcophagus, of the Doric order of architecture, richly sculptured. The triglyphs are most delicately wrought, and the metopes are ornamented with pateras. It is erected so as to appear upon a tumulus, which has a good effect. The dimensions are as follow:—

The blocks of granite of which the tomb has been formed are perhaps the largest made use of in Ireland, each weighing from 4 to 5 tons. The joints between the blocks have been so managed as to be imperceptible, and the tomb thus appears to be one entire mass of granite.

F.

THE MARKET-WOMAN.
BY M. C. R.

Some of the pleasantest of the many pleasant reminiscences of my childhood are associated with the recollection of a very ugly uncouth woman, with a very ugly uncouth name, “Moll Miskellagh,” our market-woman. If the cognomen “Moll” was intolerable to “ears polite,” what was it to the euphonious appellation of her better half, “Mogue Miskellagh?” The English groom of an Irish gentleman once overheard some person calling “Mogue Miskellagh!” “Mogue Miskellagh!” “Mogue Miskellagh!” he thrice exclaimed, voice, eyes, and hands in their various ways expressing astonishment, “does that ’ere name belong to a Christian?”

The home of my early days was situated five miles from the nearest market-town; and as it was not always convenient to send a servant and horse for the various commodities necessary for a tolerably large family, a regular drudging market man or woman was deemed indispensable. Moll Miskellagh heard of “the lady’s” wants and wishes, and believing her own limbs to be stout, and her memory retentive, offered herself as the “beast of burden.”

“Mistress, jew’l,” pleaded Moll, with the most persuasive brogue imaginable, “sorra sitch a pair ov legs in the whole counthry; an’ for my back, it bangs Banagher for the strinth! As to my karracther, thank God I need say nothin’ about it, as I may safely lave it to my naiburs for its honesty.”

“And honesty must have its reward,” returned the amiable and well-beloved “Misthress,” whose business it was to engage the market-woman. “But do you read?”

“Augh! sorra bit ov me, yer honour,” quoth Mrs Miskellagh, with a groan; “larnin’ wasn’t the fashin in my young days, or I ’spose I’d have got a lick ov it like the rest. But what ov that, misthress?”

“Why, it would be better for all parties that you did read, as you will have so many notes to carry to different shops, and you cannot fail to be sadly puzzled.”

“Augh, lave out the notes, ma’am,” interrupted Moll, somewhat impatiently, “an’ give me yer commands by word ov mouth, an’ I’ll engage for it. I’ll go to the four quarthers ov the town, an’ do yer errands widout a single mistake: bekase why, if I wud happen to forget one or two, I have a way ov me own to make me remimber agin. So, for God’s an’ me childher’s sakes, yer honour, give me the berth, an’ I’ll sarve ye faithful. Throth I’ll drag as much as an ass!”

“Well, I believe I shall try you, Molly,” said the lady, smiling kindly, the appeal of distress never lost upon her. “Thursdays and Saturdays are the days we send to town; be you ready to attend me at ten o’clock next Thursday.”

I was present at this engagement, and though I was very young at the time, never shall I forget the frightful grins with which Moll Miskellagh graced her exuberant thanks, nor her extra-extraordinary curtseys! I have seen an elephant attempt such movements since, and I can declare that the quadruped was the more graceful of the two. The “quadruped!” do I say? I would not vow that our market-woman was not akin to a camel: she was as enduring as one, I am sure, and seldom have I seen her without her burthen behind.

Well, on Thursday Moll Miskellagh was punctual; she came with eyes, ears, and hands all prepared for “town.”

“I am sadly afraid——” began the lady, pausing, and looking doubtfully at her messenger.

“Of what, yer honour?” inquired Molly briskly.

“That your memory cannot retain all the commissions I must entrust you with, and not only me, but every one in the house.”

“Thry me, madam—go on, jew’l! Never fear me! Give me a hundred ov them if you like, for I have a way ov me own to remimber.”

“Well, I wish to serve you at all events. Then you must first carry this post-bag to the post-office.”

“So I can, madam; an’ I need say nothin’ there, as the bag will tell what it wants ov itself. Go on, darlint!”

“Then you are to go to the baker’s in New-street, to the butcher’s in Market-street, to F——’s for groceries, to Mrs R—— of Church-street with this note, and to Mrs L—— of Castle-hill with the other. And here is a list of articles you are to purchase for me at any shop you please. But what operation are you performing on your fingers?”

“Augh, there’s my saicret!” quoth the market-woman triumphantly. “Ye see, misthress, I have three sorts ov thread, black, white, an’ grey; an’ when I am not sure that I’ll think ov a thing parfectly, I tie one ov those threads on one ov me fingers; an’ whin I am at a loss, I keep lookin’ at the thread till I remimber what I tied it on for, an’ so at last it comes into my mimory. Go on, misthress, if you plaise; the day is gettin’ late with us.”

“I have no more commissions, Molly; but here comes your master with his.”

“Well, Mrs Miskellagh, have you got all your commandments?” inquired the “ministhur,” smiling.

“Augh, be lanient, yer rivirince! the mistress has given me a power to do to-day.”

“Well, Moll, I will be lenient. I have only two or three trifling commissions to give you. First, you must go to the post-office, and then to B——’s for my boots; neither parson nor priest can do without them, you know. Did you ever hear of the ‘priest in his boots,’ Moll?”

“Throth I have, an’ danced it too, sur. Go on, yer rivirince: what next?”

“Next you are to go to Mr W——, the attorney, with this note, and be sure to wait for his answer. I have no more commissions to-day. But now, Moll, take care of the youngsters; and here they come, ready to overwhelm you!”

“Ogh! Lard help me!” ejaculated the poor market-woman, as a troop of laughing, romping children bounded into the room and surrounded her.

Now, grandpapa, for a little innocent mischief, privately slid silver to each of the youngsters, to gratify their various[Pg 411] tastes in toys, purposely to test poor Moll’s system of mnemonics. The eldest boy was about to give his orders in a loud key, when Moll Miskellagh, with a proper reverence for her own sex, pushed him aside, and desired the “young Miss” to “spaik up first.”

“A sixpenny doll, and two dishes for my baby-kitchen,” squeaked miss.

“Now, young masther, yours?”

“A top, Moll—not a pegging-top, but a humming-top I want.”

“A hummin’-top!” cried the market-woman, impatiently; “arrah, what the dhioul is a hummin’-top?”

“Why, a humming-top is a-a-a-humming top,” quoth young master, somewhat posed. “It makes a noise this way—hum, hum, hum—for all the world like a droning beetle.”

Poor Moll had no acquaintance with any beetle but a sort of wooden instrument with which peasant maidens pound their coarse clothes when washing them at a stream or river; and “a dhronin’ beetle!” she ejaculated, opening wide her small grey eyes, and looking from one to the other for an explanation; while grandpapa, his face bathed with tears from excessive laughter, prepared to make matters clear, but in reality to make “confusion worse confounded.” But the hero of the humming-top thought no one knew its peculiarities so well as himself, and he ended the dilemma by describing a humming-top to be “a great deal larger than a common top, had a square hole in one side, and it was always painted red.”

“That’ll do,” said Moll Miskellagh, trying to be satisfied. “I’ll inquire about sitch a thing, any how. An’ now, little masthers, what’s your pleasures?”

One chose “a whip,” and the other “cakes,” and then we thought poor Moll had her quantum, and that she might proceed on her journey. But so thought not Moll. Confident of her retentive powers and strength of frame, she seemed determined to test herself to the utmost: and before she left the house, she descended to the lower regions to offer her services to the dignitaries of the kitchen. She was expected, it seemed, for cook had a lot of “kitchen stuff” to be disposed of in town, the butler to send for a new razor, the housemaid to have a letter put into the post-office, directed to “John Fitz-Garald, at Mr Crosbie’s, esquire, Dublin, Great Britain-street, Ireland,” and the kitchen-maid to send for a wire comb to support her redundant tresses.

“Any thing else, now?” demanded the messenger, her foot on the threshold of the outer door.

“No! no! no!” exclaimed all the voices at once; “away with ye, an’ God speed ye!”

“Amin!” muttered the market-woman, striding up the steep stone steps, through the yard, and down the avenue, without “casting a longing, lingering look behind.”

I will not say how often we children teased our dear, good, angel-tempered grandmother with “when will Moll Miskellagh return?” Suffice it to say, we thought of nothing but Moll, looked for no one but Moll; and until we actually beheld Moll panting up the steep avenue with a prodigious load on her back, a huge basket on one arm, and the post-bag on the other, her two pockets or rather wallets filled to the brim, we never gave ourselves or others rest or peace!

But the market-woman was triumphant! Not one single commission did she forget, and every one was satisfied with her dealings and bargains except the butler, whose razor was base metal, instead of steel, or even iron! But who could blame Moll Miskellagh? Abler persons, and of the sex that used such scrapers, had been imposed on ere then. Witness—

Yes! our market-woman was triumphant! and for many years she retained her situation, exhibiting the same strength of memory, fidelity, and honesty, to the last. But I must mention how nicely we nicked our grandpapa for his indiscreet attempt to puzzle our purveyor on her first essay. Ever after, we regularly called upon him for “means to test the market-woman’s memory,” and he good-humouredly always complied with the demand. Then, oh! what an interesting object Moll became to us! How we used to watch for the first glimpse of the huge white load resting on her back, and rising considerably above her head! And how often in our eagerness we mistook white cows, ladies dressed in white, and white horses, for our dearly beloved Moll Miskellagh!

One evening we expected some particularly nice things by our market-woman. It was somewhere about Christmas, when our means swelled considerably by the addition of Christmas gifts. Many times during the evening we had seen things very like Moll in the distance, but which turned out most bitter disappointments. All four were stuck in a window that commanded a full view of the road to E——; and never did the unfortunate lady of Bluebeard put more earnest eager inquiries to her sister Anne, “is there any body coming?” than we did to each other on this momentous occasion. At length, oh, sight of joy! we beheld a white object descending the opposite hill. “She is coming! she is coming!” screamed a quartetto of young voices, and down we flew to the avenue gate. Alas and alack! it was not Moll, but a gentleman on a white horse! We gazed on each other in breathless dismay; but one of the party, though sadly confounded, resolved to hear of our messenger if possible, since he could not see her, and, boldly advancing, demanded of the traveller “if he were coming from E——?”

The gentleman, for he was a gentleman, appeared somewhat surprised at this address, but observing a group of rosy, merry-looking children, he reined in his horse, and smiling good-naturedly, replied that “he was then returning from that town.”

Emboldened by this condescension, the next query was, “had he seen Moll Miskellagh?”

The stranger laughed outright. “Really, my dear,” said he, “I have not the pleasure to know any one of that name. Pray who and what is Moll Miskellagh?’

“Our market-woman, sir,” quoth our spokesman.

“Ha! What sort of person is she, pray? Perhaps I did see her.”

We looked at one another doubtfully, the look plainly expressing “How shall we describe her?” when at last the first speaker, with the air of an incipient judge of female beauty, took on himself to reply, “that Moll Miskellagh was a very ugly woman indeed, that she had a pale yellow face, and a great wart near her nose; that she wore a dark blue cloak, an old black bonnet, and that she carried a prodigious, oh! a very big load on her back.”

“Never was description more graphic!” exclaimed the traveller, still laughing. “I did indeed see your market-woman. I passed her about a quarter of a mile from this; and if you have patience, my dears, you will soon see her. You expect some nice things by her, I am sure—Eh?”

“Oh dear, yes, sir”—and thereupon we eagerly enumerated all that Moll was charged to purchase. The kind gentleman seemed to enjoy our delightful anticipations, asked us our names, and various other questions, and charitably kept us employed till poor over-laden Moll actually came in sight, and until he witnessed our clamorous welcomes, and saw us in possession of our treasures. Nay, he lingered to laugh at our expedient to facilitate Mrs Miskellagh’s tardy movements up the very steep avenue—one and all of the four juveniles getting behind her and pushing her up (much in the way the veritable Captain Kearney’s fair but fat cousin was sent up the companion-ladder, as described in “Peter Simple”), the boys shouting “Yo heave ho!” as the good ship Old Moll got into port.

Peace to the poor market-woman! In some lone and humble church-yard she now rests after her life of labour—in the memory of those who knew her, her only epitaph,

ANIMAL HEAT.

Second Article.

In the last paper on this subject a few instances were quoted, showing the great extremes of temperature which human beings and the lower animals are capable of enduring without injury, and in many cases without inconvenience. We propose in the present article to notice briefly the means by which it is believed living creatures are enabled to exhibit this power; and although physiologists are not unanimous in their opinions on the subject, yet the views we shall endeavour to explain are those which are held by the majority of scientific men, and which are best supported by experiment, by analogy, and by the authority of illustrious names.

For the purpose of making the subject clear to those who may not be acquainted with the principles of physiology, “the science of life,” as it has been happily termed, it may be[Pg 412] useful to explain the rationale of an operation continually being performed by all of us, and yet very little thought of or understood—we mean the process of breathing. It is found that the natural heat of animals depends on the perfection of the apparatus by which respiration is performed; those animals which have a complicated respiratory organization having a high degree of bodily heat, while those which have more simple and less delicately formed organs have a temperature very little raised above the medium in which they live.[3] It is necessary, therefore, to have a clear idea of the process of respiration before we can understand the connection between it and animal heat.

The object of respiration is to purify the blood and render it fit for the various offices it performs in the animal economy. When the blood leaves the heart to be distributed through the body, it is of a very bright red colour, but as it proceeds in its course it gradually loses this and assumes a purple hue; and when, having completed its circulation through the body, it is returned to the heart again by the veins, it has entirely lost its former bright colour, and is then very dark, and, from the impurities it has acquired in its course, unfit for the purposes of life. To restore its former qualities it is necessary that it should be brought into contact with the atmosphere, and this takes place in the lungs. By the action of the muscles of the chest and abdomen, the interior of the chest is increased in size, an empty space is formed into which the air instantly descends by the mouth or nostrils, constituting what is termed the act of inspiration. At the same moment that the muscles of the chest increase its size and make room for the air to descend, at that very moment the heart contracts, or in popular language pulsates or beats, the effect of which is to force the dark-coloured (venous) blood from the portion of the heart in which it was contained, into the lungs. The lungs are composed almost entirely of an innumerable number of vesicles, or minute air-bladders, into which the air descends, as we have stated. These vesicles are covered with a network of extremely fine blood-vessels. When the heart pulsates, it fills these vessels with the dark-coloured blood; and as the air is capable of passing through both the coats of the vesicle and of the blood-vessels, it of course comes into direct contact with the blood, and a chemical change immediately takes place.

This chemical change is necessary for life: the air is changed in its qualities, and the blood is also changed in its qualities. The air is changed by having one of its constituent elements (oxygen) abstracted from it: and the blood is changed by its being impregnated with this gas, and relieved of another kind called carbonic acid. If from any circumstance this process is interfered with, the individual dies of suffocation. A person may be suffocated for want of air, or for want of pure air. In the former case his death is caused in this manner:—The wind-pipe being closed, either by pressure, as in the case of criminals who die by hanging, or by something entering and obstructing it, it happens that although the muscles of the chest enlarge its internal area, as before mentioned, the air cannot descend into it. This does not, however, interfere with the action of the heart, which forces the dark blood into the minute blood-vessels of the chest, as usual; the blood passes onward unchanged; it receives no oxygen, nor is its bright red colour restored. In this state it reaches the chamber of the heart, from whence it is to be distributed to the head and body; a portion of it is forced up the vessels which convey it to the brain, and the moment it reaches this organ, it produces violent convulsions, insensibility, and in a few moments death. A similar result takes place from breathing foul air. In this case, although air may descend into the air-vessels of the lungs, yet, as the grand element, the oxygen, is not present, no change is produced in the blood; it pursues the same course as that just pointed out, unchanged in its quality, and the same fatal result is the inevitable consequence.

The atmosphere in a state of purity is composed of two gases mixed together; the one termed oxygen, the other nitrogen. After escaping from the lungs, the air is found to have undergone a remarkable change; the oxygen has disappeared, and its place is supplied with an equal volume of another gas called carbonic acid; while at the same time the air is altogether altered in many of its more important qualities; it is no longer fit for the purposes of life, nor will a light burn in it. A person shut up in a confined place without a supply of fresh air, very soon expires: and a candle placed under a glass vessel filled with air that has been breathed, immediately goes out. In short, respiration and combustion are similar processes, and the same result is produced by both, namely, carbonic acid gas.

This gas is formed by the mixture of oxygen with carbon (charcoal). It is absorbed very readily by water, and is perhaps best known in the form of soda water; the aërated liquid sold under that name being nothing more than water strongly impregnated with carbonic acid gas. It is formed by a variety of processes—by breathing, by combustion, by fermentation, and otherwise. In every case, however, its formation is attended with heat. And now, having thus briefly introduced the subject, we may mention, that on this fact is founded the theory which attempts to explain the means by which the animal temperature is produced and maintained. It is founded on the fact, that whenever oxygen enters into combination with carbon, and forms carbonic acid gas, heat is always produced.

The most usual manner in which this is effected is by combustion; the substance which burns, such as wood, or tallow, or coal gas, for example, consists principally of carbon, and on being ignited, the oxygen of the atmosphere is made to combine with it, and carbonic acid is the result. Every body knows that heat is produced by this process; but there are many instances in which the same effect may take place without being so readily understood. Heat and light are so constantly found united, that we can hardly conceive how so large a substance as the human body can be kept constantly warm without the aid of fire. It is, however, effected by a chemical process identically the same as combustion, except that light is not produced. The lungs may be regarded as the furnace of the body, from which it derives its supply of heat; the fuel is the carbon in the blood; and the wind-pipe is a chimney serving a double purpose: first, to allow of the passage of fresh air for the process, and then to convey away the vapour which is produced by it: for the breath which issues from our lungs is just as much deteriorated in quality as that which escapes from the chimney of a large furnace after passing through the fire.

This, then, is the process by which the animal heat is maintained. The blood comes to the lungs loaded with carbon; the air descends the wind-pipe, consisting of one-third oxygen; the carbon of the blood and the oxygen of the air unite; the blood is purified, and carbonic acid gas is produced. This is attended with heat; the purified blood is capable of absorbing all this heat, and does so. In its progress through the body, as the blood again becomes impure, it gradually parts with the heat so acquired, and on again being purified, it receives a fresh supply. Nothing can be more simple and beautiful than this process; it is in accordance with every great operation in nature, which is always effected in the most direct and simple manner; and the proofs that this is the manner in which nature effects her object in this instance, are numerous and unanswerable.

There are two circumstances which at first sight may appear to interfere with the explanation above given of this very beautiful phenomenon. First, the lungs are found to be but very little warmer than any other part of the body, although, as we have stated, the animal heat is produced in them: and, secondly, the quantity of carbon produced by respiration is very small compared with the genial heat produced by its conversion into carbonic acid. With regard to the heat of the lungs, a series of experiments instituted for the purpose of ascertaining how they were kept at so moderate a degree of temperature, led to the discovery of an extraordinary change which takes place in the vital fluid after being purified, which satisfactorily explains the circumstance. The pure blood is found to have a greater capacity for heat than impure blood: it will absorb more; and in consequence, all the heat[Pg 413] produced by its purification is immediately absorbed by it, and carried away as fast as it is generated, to be distributed over the body. As the blood becomes impure in its progress, it gradually loses its power of retaining the heat it had so imbibed; and the heat therefore is distributed during the circulation of the blood, and every part receives a due supply. This change in the power of the vital fluid to absorb heat, according as it is more or less pure, is a fact that was not established in the time of Paley, or he would have been able to add another proof of design to his unequalled argument.

The quantity of fuel (if we may use the expression) required for generating the heat of the animal frame, is certainly less than we might anticipate. All animal and vegetable food contains a considerable portion of carbon, which of course, after being digested, becomes a part of the vital fluid, and in this way it is supplied for the process. It is well known also that in cold climates, where a greater quantity of animal fuel is required, the inhabitants are extremely fond of fat and oily matters, which contain more carbon than any other kind of food; yet it would hardly be imagined that so small a quantity as the eighth part of an ounce of carbon per hour would be sufficient to maintain the heat of the body at an uniform temperature of 98 degrees. We are assured by the best chemists, however, that the average quantity of carbonic acid generated by a person in health in twenty-four hours is about 40,000 cubic inches, and this contains only about 11½ ounces of pure carbon. Rather less than half an ounce is therefore used per hour in preserving the body at its usual temperature.

The limits of this article prevent our noticing other objections which have been urged against the theory just described, but the facts it rests upon can only be overturned by opposing facts which have never yet been produced. It is certain that carbonic acid is produced during respiration, that its production is always attended with heat, that pure (arterial) blood is capable of absorbing a greater portion of heat than impure (venous) blood, and that the temperature of any part of the body is according to the supply of blood which it receives; an inflamed part, becoming very hot, and a limb in which the circulation has been stopped by a bandage becoming cold. These facts taken together sufficiently prove the truth of the conclusion that has been drawn from them, and which we have above very briefly illustrated.

It remains to say a few words on the manner in which the body is relieved of its superabundant heat, and enabled to bear such high degrees of temperature as mentioned in the former paper. Franklin was the first who gave a rational explanation of the phenomenon. He observed that the evaporation of a small quantity of a liquid from the surface of any substance would reduce the temperature of a very large body. If we place a little ether on our hand, and allow it to evaporate, we shall soon become sensible how much cold may be produced in this way. Wine-coolers are formed on this principle: they are made of porous earth, through which the water they contain oozes very gradually, and is evaporated by the heat of the air: this cools the liquid within, and of course the decanter of wine contained in it. Now, perspiration cools the body in a similar manner. If any person looks closely at the fleshy part of his hand, he will observe that the minute ridges which lie nearly parallel to each other are covered with an innumerable number of small pores, through which the perspiration may be seen issuing when the hand is warm. From microscopic observations it is calculated that the skin is perforated by 1000 of those pores, or holes, in every square inch, and that the whole surface of the body therefore contains not less than 2,304,000 pores! When the body is heated to a certain degree, the fluid portions are all directed to the skin, and escape gradually through these pores in the form of perspiration, and the cooling power thus produced is capable of immediately removing the superabundant heat. The moment perspiration broke out on the bodies of the experimenters who ventured into the heated oven, all sense of pain was removed; and in many fatal disorders to which man is subject, the first symptom of returning health is a similar occurrence. We may add, that a common cold is the effect of the perspiration being suddenly checked, and that the health of the body depends on the minute pores we have referred to being kept open and in action.

J. S. D.

Society makes criminals, and then punishes them for their misdeeds.

ORIGIN AND MEANINGS OF IRISH FAMILY NAMES
BY JOHN O’DONOVAN.

The Seventh and Concluding Article.

At the present day very few of the original Irish names remain without being translated into or assimilated with those borne by the English. Of this I shall next furnish instances, the truth and correctness of which cannot be controverted. Among the O’Conors of Connaught, the name Cathal, which is synonymous with the Welsh Cadell, and signifies warlike, was changed to Charles after the accession of Charles I. to the throne; for the Irish, who were attached to this monarch, went great lengths to assimilate several of their Christian names to Charles. Thus, while among the O’Conors of Connaught, Cathal was manufactured into Charles (with which, it will be readily granted, it has nothing in common, either in meaning or sound), among the O’Conors of Faly in Leinster, Cahir, which signifies warrior, was metamorphosed into the same: and at the same time the Mac Carthys of Desmond substituted it for their Cormac, and the O’Hagans and other northern families for their Turlogh. This was paying their court to the king with a vengeance!

In the families of Mac Carthy, O’Sullivan and O’Driscol, Finghin [Fineen], a name very general among them, and which signifies the fair offspring, has been anglicised to Florence. Among the same southern families the name Saerbrethach, which prevails among the Mac Carthys in particular, and which signifies the noble justice, is translated Justin. In the family of O’Donovan, as the writer has had every opportunity of knowing, the name Murrogh has been metamorphosed to Morgan; Dermod, to Jeremiah; Teige, to Timothy; Conor or Concovar, to Cornelius; Donogh, to Denis; and Donnell, to Daniel. In the family of O’Brien, the hereditary name of Turlogh has been changed to Terence; Mahon, to Matthew; Murtogh or Moriertagh, to Mortimer (but this very lately); and Lachtna and Laoiseach, to Lucius. Among the O’Gradys the name Aneslis is rendered Stanislaus and Standish. In the families of O’Donnell, O’Kane, and others, in the province of Ulster, Manus, a name borrowed by those families from the Danes, is now often rendered Manasses. In the families of Mac Mahon and Mac Kenna, in Ulster, the name Ardgal or Ardal, signifying of high prowess or valour, is always anglicised Arnold. In the family of O’Madden of Shilanamchy, in the south-east of the county of Galway, the hereditary name of Anmcha, which is translated Animosus by Colgan, is now always rendered Ambrose, to which, it will be readily granted, it does not bear the slightest analogy. Among the families of Doyle, Cavanagh, and others, in the province of Leinster, the name Maidoc, or Mogue, which they adopted from St Maidoc, or Aidan, the patron saint of the diocese of Fernes, is now always rendered Moses among the Roman Catholics, and Aidan among the Protestants! (any thing to make a difference.) Among the O’Neills in the province of Ulster, the name Felim, or Felimy, explained as meaning the ever good, is now made Felix; Con, signifying strength, is made Constantine; and Ferdoragh, meaning dark-visaged man, is rendered Ferdinand. Among the O’Conors of Connaught, the name Ruaidhri, or Rory, is anglicised Roderic, but among most other families it is rendered Roger. In the same family, Tomaltach is rendered Thomas; Aodh, Hugh; and Eoghan, Owen. In the families of Mac Donnell and others in Scotland, and in the north of Ireland, the name Aengus, or Angus, is always rendered Æneas. Among the O’Hanlys of Slieve Bawn, in the east of the county of Roscommon, the name Berach, which they have adopted from their patron saint, and which is translated by Colgan, directe ad scopum collimans, is now always and correctly enough rendered Barry. Throughout Ireland the old name of Brian is now rendered Bernard, and vulgarised to Barney, which is more properly an abbreviation of Barnaby than of Bernard. Among the O’Haras and O’Garas in the county of Sligo, the name Kian, which they have adopted from their great ancestor Kian, the son of Olioll Olum, king of Munster, is now rendered Kean; and I observe that the chief O’Hara has suffered himself to be called Charles King O’Hara in a book lately dedicated to him! In the family of Maguire, Cuconnaught is rendered Constantine, while in other families Cosnavy undergoes precisely the same change. In the family of O’Kane, the name Cooey written Cu-maighe in the original language, and signifying “dog of the plain,” is now rendered Quintin. In the family of O’Dowd, the ancient name[Pg 414] of Dathi, which they have adopted from their great ancestor of that name, who was the last Pagan king of Ireland, is now rendered David, a name with which it is supposed to be synonymous. In the north and west of Ireland the names Duval-tach, Duv-da-lethe, and Duvdara, are all anglicised Dudley. In the family of Mac Sweeny, the very ancient name of Heremon is anglicised Irwin, but it is now almost obsolete as a Christian name. In the families of O’Hanlon, O’Haran, and O’Heany, in the province of Ulster, the name Eochy, signifying horseman, and which was latinized Eochodius, Achaius, Euthichius, and Equitius, is anglicised Auhy and Atty; but this name is also almost obsolete, the writer having never met more than one person who bore the name, in his travels through Ireland. Among the O’Mulconrys, now Conrys, the names Flann, Fithil, and Flaithri, have been anglicised Florence. In the family of O’Daly, the name Baothghalach, which was formerly latinized Boethius, is now always rendered Bowes; and in that of O’Clery, the name Lughaidh is anglicised Lewy and Lewis. Among the O’Reillys of Cavan, the hereditary name of Maelmora, which signifies majestic chief, is now invariably rendered Myles, and among the O’Kellys of Hy-Many, the name Fachtna is rendered Festus. In every part of Ireland, Maelseachlainn, or Melaghlin, which signifies servant of St Secundinus, has been changed to Malachy, to which it bears no analogy whatever, excepting some fancied resemblance in sound. In every part of Ireland the name of Gilla-patrick has been changed to Patrick; and, by the way, it is curious to observe, that common as the name Patrick has now become in Ireland, especially among the lower classes, it was never in use among the ancient Irish, for they never called their children by the name itself of the Irish apostle, deeming it more humble and more auspicious to call them his servants; and hence we find the ancient Irish calling their children, not Patrick, but Maelpatrick, or Gillapatrick; and these names they latinized Patricianus, not Patricius. The name of Patrick is now looked upon as the most vulgar in use among the Irish, which is a very strange and almost unaccountable prejudice, for Patricius was one of the most honourable names in all antiquity, as the reader will see if he will take the trouble to read the work on the antiquity of British Churches, by Ussher, pp. 841-1046, in which that learned primate gives the history and derivation of the name.

The names of women have been also very much metamorphosed, and many of the most curious of them entirely rejected. I have now before me a list of the names of women, drawn up from the authentic Irish annals, and from the History of Remarkable Women—a curious tract in the Book of Lecan, fol. 193; but as the limits allotted to me in this Journal will not allow me to furnish such a list, I must rest satisfied with giving such names as are still retained, with a selection from the most curious of those which have been rejected, adding their meanings as far as they are certain. The following are the ancient Irish names of women still retained, as the writer has determined by examining the provinces of Ulster, Connaught, Leinster, and the greater part of Munster:—

1. Ainé, now Hannah.

2. Brighid, now anglicised Bridget, from its resemblance to the name of the celebrated Swedish virgin of that name. Brighid is a woman’s name of pagan origin in Ireland; it has been explained fiery dart by the Irish glossographers, especially by Cormac, Archbishop of Cashel, who distinctly states in his glossary that it was the name of the Muse who was believed to preside over poetry in pagan times in Ireland. Brighid is now very common in Ireland as the name of a woman, in consequence of its being that of the most celebrated of the female saints of Ireland—the patroness of Kildare—who is well known all over Europe as the great patroness of Ireland.

3. Finola, though a beautiful name, has nearly become obsolete since the beginning of the eighteenth century, but some few still retain it in the abbreviated form of Nuala.

4. Graine, now Grace.

5. Lassarina, also, though in use not long since, has latterly became obsolete.

6. Meadhbh, pronounced Meave. This is still preserved and anglicised Maud, Mab, and Mabby; and the writer is acquainted with several old women of the Milesian race who still retain it. This was the name of a celebrated queen of Connaught, who flourished in the first century, and who is now known in the legends of the mountainous districts of Ireland as the queen of the fairies. From this country her spirit found way into Scotland, and thence into the north of England, where Shakspeare met with her, but in rather too diminutive a form for the shade of the Irish heroine.

7. Mor, pronounced More. The writer believes that there are a few women of this name still living in Ireland; but he is confident that there are but very few, though it was the name of many honourable ladies in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and for a century later. In our own times, however, it has been almost invariably anglicised Mary, with which it is neither synonymous nor cognate.

8. Sadhbh, pronounced Soyv, is the name of several women of the old Irish races, and who are known to the writer. It is now almost invariably anglicised Sally, to which it bears no analogy.

9. Sorcha is still the name of several women in Ireland, especially in the province of Ulster; but the rising generation are beginning to object to it as being too Irish, and are determined on having it changed to Sarah or Sally. The writer is acquainted with families in whom this name is hereditary, and among whom the mother is always called Sorcha, and the daughter Sally; and though the latter knows that her own and her mother’s name are the same, still would she blush to hear her own name pronounced Sorcha. The name Sorcha signifies clear, bright, and might be well rendered Lucy or Lucinda; but we should like to see it preserved in its primitive form, which is not to be despised either for its sound or signification.

10. Una. This name is still in constant use among the women of Ireland, but when speaking English, they invariably anglicise it to Winifred or Winny.

The writer is not aware that any other name which was in use in the ancient Irish time is now retained, except the foregoing.

The names Catherine, Evlin, Eleanor, Isabella, Mary, Honora, Sheela (Celia), and many others now in use, and supposed to be of Irish origin, do not occur in the Account of Remarkable Women above referred to, and there is no reason to believe that they were ever in use in ancient Ireland.

The following is a list of curious names of women which occur in the authentic annals and in the History of Remarkable Women. It is highly probable that a few of them are of Danish origin:—

1. Aevin, i. e. Amoena; 2, Africa; 3, Albi and Albin; 4, Allin; 5, Alma, all good; 6, Alphin; 7, Athracta. This name has been restored by the Mac Dermott of Coolavin. 8, Barduv, blackhaired; 9, Bebail, woman of prosperity; 10, Bebin, melodious woman; 11, Blanaid, Florinda, from blath, a blossom; 12, Brigh, vigour; 13, Cacht, bondmaid; 14, Cailleach-De, i. e. female servant of God; 15, Cailleach-Kevin, the female servant of St Kevin; 16, Cailleach-Aengus, the female servant of St Aengus; 17, Caintigern, fair lady; 18, Keara, the ruddy; 19, Cochrand; 20, Covfla, i. e. Victoria; 21, Coca; 22, Corcar, the ruddy; 23, Crea; 24, Devnet; 25, Derval, the true request; 26, Derforgal, the true pledge, latinized Dervorgilla; 27, Dianiv and Diniv; 28, Dechter; 29, Derdrè, alarm; 30, Dorenn, the sullen; 31, Duv-Covfla, victoria nigra; 32, Duvessa, nigra nutrix; 33, Dunsa, the brown-haired; 34, Dunlah, lady of the fort; 35, Edwina; 36, Eithné; 37, Elbrigh; 38, Emeria; 39, Eri; 40, Essa, nutrix; 41, Euginia, female of Eogan; 42, Fedilmi, the over-good; 43, Finbil, the white blossom; 44, Findelv, fair countenance; 45, Finnavor, of the fair eye-lids; 46, Finni, the comely; 47, Finscoh, the fair flower; 48, Findah, the fair colour; 49, Flanna, the ruddy; 50, Gelgés, swan-white; 51, Gemlorg, gem-like; 52, Gnahat; 53, Gobnet, female of Gobban; 54, Gormlah, the blue lady; 55, Ida, the just; 56, Lann; 57, Lasser, a flame; 58, Lasserina, flame or blush of the wine; 59, Lerthan; 60, Lithan; 61, Luanmasi, beautiful as the moon; 62, Ligach, pearly, or like a precious stone; 63, Maelmaiden, servant of the morning; 64, Mongfin, of the fair hair; 65, Moncha, the same as Monica; 66, Murgel, the fair one of the sea; 67, Murrin, crinita, or of the long hair; 68, Neave, effulgence; 69, Orlah, or Orflah, the golden lady; 70, Ranalt, female of Randal; 71, Ronat, female of Ronan; 72, Saraid, the excellent; quere, the same as Sarah? 73, Selvlah, lady of possessions; 74, Shimah, the good tranquillity; 75, Sodelva, of the goodly aspect; 76, So-Domina, the good lady; 77, Temar, the conspicuous; 78, Talilah, quere Dalilah? 79, Tindi, the tender; 80, Tressi, strength; 81, Tualah, the noble lady; 82, Uailsi, the proud; 83, Uaisli, the gentle; 84, Uallach, the proud; 85, Uchdelva, of the fair breast; 86, Unchi, the contentious.

We have now seen the process by which the Irish people[Pg 415] have assimilated their names and surnames to those of the English, and the reasons which have led them to do so. I would not so much regret their having done so, if I were not aware that some of the families who have thus anglicised their names wish to conceal their Irish origin, as if they were ashamed of their ancestors and country, and that another result of these changes must soon be, that statistical writers will be apt to infer from the small number of ancient Irish surnames retained in Ireland, that all the old Irish race were supplanted by the English.

I shall close these notices of the surnames of the Irish people by a remark which I should wish to be universally believed, namely—That no ancient Irish surname is perfect unless it has either O or Mac prefixed, excepting in those instances where the soubriquet or cognomen of the ancestor is used as the surname, as Cavanagh, &c., and, accordingly, that nine-tenths of the surnames at present borne by the Irish people are incorrect, as being mere mutilations of their original forms.

The truth of this well-known distich may now be questioned, though it was correct a few centuries since.

It is but natural to suppose that a conquered people should look upon themselves as inferior to their conquerors; and this rage for adopting English surnames which prevails at present, is, in the opinion of the writer, a clear proof of the prevalence of this feeling, that the Irish consider themselves inferior to the English. Spenser, while he advises that the Irish be compelled to reject their O’s and Macs, and to adopt English surnames, dissuades his own countrymen from adopting Irish ones, as some of them had done, in the following words, which the writer, being as Irish as Spenser was English, now adopts as his own:—“Is it possible that any should so farre growe out of frame, that they should in so short space, quite forget their countrey and their own names! that is a most dangerous lethargie, much worse than that of Messala Corvinus, who being a most learned man, thorough sickness forgat his own name.”—State of Ireland, Dub. ed. p. 107.

And again:—

“Could they ever conceive any such dislike of their own natural countreys as that they would be ashamed of their name, and byte at the dugge from which they sucked life?”—Ibid, p. 108.

THE ICHNEUMON.

Of this animal many very absurd stories have been told, amongst which not the least ridiculous is, that it watches its opportunity when the huge crocodile of the Nile slumbers upon the river bank, and, artfully inducing the monster to yawn by tickling his nostril with its tail, rushes fearlessly and with wondrous agility between the terrible jaws and their formidable rows of teeth, and, forcing its daring way down its throat, retains possession of its strange citadel until it has destroyed its unwieldy victim, when it gnaws its way out, and leaves the carcase to wither in the sun. Other travellers have pretended to contradict the above story, but their mode of doing so involves a piece of absurdity no less glaring than the equally unfounded legend they assume to themselves the merit of correcting; for by their account the Ichneumon does not enter the throat of the crocodile with a hostile intent at all, neither does it use its tail to cause that creature to open its jaws, for of that is there no need, seeing that the crocodile opens them of his own will, and likewise with pleasure allows the Ichneumon to enter for the purpose of clearing his throat of swarms of tormenting insects which lodge therein, and by their stinging produce intolerable pain. I can however assure my readers that this subject has been, since the above conflicting statements reached us, effectually cleared up; and you may confidently rely upon it that the Ichneumon no more enters the crocodile’s mouth whether as a friend or as an enemy, whether to destroy him or destroy his tormentors the flies, than that he attacks him while awake.

The Ichneumon is shaped somewhat like a ferret, but is rather more slender in its form, and its head is likewise longer and narrower; it is also an animal of far greater activity and lightness of movement, being able to clear at one spring a distance of a couple of yards. It is further a most expert climber, and it will be a very high wall indeed that will confine it within an enclosure. The colour of the Ichneumon is a brownish grey, or a light brown barred with white; the animal indeed appears speckled with a dirty white, but it is so only in appearance, the fact being, that each several hair has brown and white rings upon it. Upon the back, sides, and tail, these rings are small, and the hair longer than upon the head and extremities of its limbs; hence these latter parts appear of a darker hue. The hair upon the feet is very short and thin, and they are nearly as naked as those of the common rat. The tail of the Ichneumon is very long, usually one-sixth longer than its body, and upon its extremity is a tuft of very long black hair. The hair of this creature is drier, thicker, and weaker, than in any other member of the same genus.

The length of a full-grown Ichneumon, from the tip of the nose to the end of the tail, is about two feet six inches, of which the tail occupies about sixteen inches, and the body fourteen. The length of the head is about three inches, measuring from the back of the ears to the point of the muzzle. The height of the Ichneumon at the most elevated part of the back is about six inches; but this of course varies according to the animal’s position at the time of measurement.

The habits of the Ichneumon present a sort of admixture of those of the ferret and the cat; like the former, it delights in blood, and where it has once fastened itself, maintains a tenacious hold; but like the latter, and unlike the former, it has but little stomach for braving danger, and will rather go without its dinner than run the chance of a battle in obtaining it. He is strictly a nocturnal animal, and usually remains in his covert until the shades of evening begin to fall around, when he sallies forth on his career of havoc and blood. Were it not necessary for the satisfying of his appetite, I doubt whether he would leave his haunt at all, so timid is he: he steals along the ground with light and cautious steps, his motions resembling the gliding of the snake rather than the progressive steps of the quadruped. His sharp, vigilant, sparkling black eyes are anxiously reconnoitring every side of him, and carefully examining the character and bearings of every object which meets his view; stealthily he creeps along until he comes upon the spot where the crocodile has hidden her eggs in the sand; nimbly and cleverly he pounces upon them, guided to their place of concealment by his exquisite sense of smell, and, biting a hole in their side, banquets on their contents. It is thus that the Ichneumon thins the numbers of that formidable reptile the crocodile, not by directing its attacks against that creature himself, but by insidiously searching after and destroying his embryo offspring. The Ichneumon likewise kills and devours with extreme greediness such small snakes and lizards as are common in its native country, many of which are highly dangerous, and all annoying enough to make their destruction desirable, to which the Ichneumon appears guided by a powerful instinct. It is sometimes bitten in these encounters, when it is said immediately to search for and devour the root of a certain plant, said to be an antidote against the bite of the most venomous reptile. It is alleged that this little animal will frequently kill even the Cobra di Capello. Lucan in his Pharsalia describes the manner in which it contrives to destroy the Asp, one of the most poisonous serpents in existence. The passage I refer to has been translated thus:—

In consequence of the vigilance and success of this little animal in destroying these noxious creatures, he was held in great veneration by the Egyptians and Hindoos; but by the former he was actually regarded as a disguised divinity, clothed in that form for the purpose of putting his benevolent purposes into practice with the greater readiness; and we accordingly find him occupying a prominent position in the sacred symbols of that people, who were indeed commonly in the habit of deifying whatever afforded them peculiar benefit of any kind, as they likewise adored the river Nile, on account of the fertilizing effect produced by its periodical inundations.

The Ichneumon is said, if taken young, to be capable of perfect domestication, to form a strong attachment to the person who reared him, as well as to the house he inhabits;[Pg 416] whence from his zeal and activity in the destruction of rats and mice, he forms a valuable substitute for the cat, which indeed he is in Egypt used instead of. He is also said to be very domestic in his habits, quite a tarry-at-home kind of gentleman, and, unlike puss, never on any account given to ramble; when lost, he is said to seek his patron with indefatigable zeal until he finds him, and to express his joy at rejoining him by the most tender and affectionate caresses. When he eats, however, nature asserts her prerogative, and the natural disposition of the animal resumes its place, whence it had for a time been driven by artificial means.

Indeed it requires but little to awaken in this creature all its natural fierceness and love of slaughter, notwithstanding that so much has been said and written of its amiability and docility. Mr D’Obsonville, in his “Essay on the Nature of Animals,” gives an account of a domesticated individual which he had in his possession, which places its disposition in a correct point of view. He got the animal very young, and fed it upon milk, and as it grew older, upon baked meat, mixed with rice. He states that it soon became even tamer than a cat, would come to his call, and if at liberty, follow him everywhere, even in his walks. One day Mr D’Obsonville brought him a small living water-serpent, curious to ascertain how far his instinct would carry him against a creature with which he had been hitherto totally unacquainted. “His emotion,” says Mr D’Obsonville, “seemed at first to be that of astonishment mixed with anger, for his hair became erect; but in an instant after, he slipped behind the reptile, and with remarkable swiftness and agility leaped upon its head, seized it, and crushed it between his teeth. This essay and new aliment seemed to have awakened in him his innate and destructive voracity, which till then had given way to the gentleness he had acquired from his education. I had about my house several curious kinds of fowls, among which he had been brought up, and which till then he had suffered to go and come unmolested and unregarded; but a few days after, when he found himself alone, he strangled them every one, ate a little, and, as it appeared, drank the blood of two.”

I have already stated that the Ichneumon is said to eat of the leaves or root of a certain plant in the event of his being bitten by a poisonous serpent. I revert to the circumstance, because it is an extraordinary one, inasmuch as the Indians follow the example of the animal, and use the same plant successfully as an antidote when they themselves happen to get a bite, and call the plant after the animal. This is curious, as being parallel with the case of the Guacomithy or Serpent Hawk of South America, mentioned in one of my papers on Serpent Charming; nor is it upon light authority that I relate this fact of the Ichneumon. Mr Percival, that close and scrupulous observer, saw the experiment tried of presenting a snake to the animal in a closed room, when, instead of attacking, it did all in its power to avoid it. On the snake, however, being carried out of the house, and laid near its antagonist in a plantation, he immediately darted at and soon destroyed it. The Ichneumon then retired to a wood, and ate a portion of that plant which is said to be an antidote to the serpent’s bite, and no harm came to him, although he had received a bite in the encounter.

I for my part can speak but little for the gentleness of the Ichneumon, or the facility with which it may be tamed, having one in my own possession, which has now for a considerable period baffled all my endeavours to domesticate it, and will not even now suffer me to approach the case in which it is kept, without growling fiercely at me, and spitting in the manner of an enraged cat, springing also against the bars of its prison, and using its utmost endeavours to fly in my face. I have tried starvation, high feeding, kindness, chastisement, hard usage, and tenderness, all by turns, and as yet unsuccessfully. I was never so baffled in taming an animal before, though the polecat, weasel, fox, and badger, have with the otter successively owned my mastery, and acknowledged me as their subjugator. I have not even handled this animal yet, unless with a thick glove upon my hand, and even with that protection I have received several severe bites. I saw one, however, in the Royal Zoological Gardens some time ago, which was very tame, and would suffer itself to be caressed even by strangers; so I shall persevere; and should I eventually succeed in taming the little savage, depend upon it the reader shall be advertised of the fact, and of all the circumstances attendant thereupon.

Until lately the Ichneumon had not a well-determined name in the methodical catalogues. Naturalists have mostly described it rather by character than figure. Figures were indeed given by Gesner, Aldrovandi, and others, but not sufficiently distinct to guard against mistake. Even Buffon mistook the Mangouste for it, to which he has applied all the descriptions properly belonging to the Ichneumon. The name “Ichneumon” is Greek, and is indicative of the habits of the animal, and was first applied to it by Herodotus.

I trust that the above sketch may serve to point out the animal and its habits to the reader with sufficient distinctness.

H. D. R.

Modern Education.—“Larning—larning—larning,” is the cry of father an’ mother—if my boy had the “larning,” what a janius he’d be! In coorse, ye old fools, your bouchal would be a swan among the goslins; but it isn’t “larning” half the world want: instead of “larning,” by which they mean cobwebs picked out of dead men’s brains, if they would get some discipline. Discipline—discipline—discipline, that’s the only education I ever saw that brought a boy to any good. What’s the use of battering a man’s brains full of Greek and Latin pothooks, that he forgets before he doffs his last round jacket, to put on his first long-tailed blue, if ye don’t teach him the old Spartan virtue of obedience, hard living, early rising, and them sort of classics? Where’s the use of instructing him in hexameters and pentameters, if you leave him ignorant of the value of a penny piece? What height of bletherin’ stupidity it is to be fillin’ a boy’s brains with the wisdom of the ancients, and then turn him out like an omadhaun to pick up his victuals among the moderns!—Blackwood’s Magazine.

TO OUR READERS.

It becomes our duty to acquaint our readers that the present Number of the Irish Penny Journal, which will complete a volume, will also be the last presented to them, at least by its original projectors and prevent proprietors. Our readers will hardly deem it necessary that we should trouble them with any detail of the circumstances which have led to this determination; it will be sufficient to state, that while the success of the work has in some respects even exceeded the anticipations of its proprietors, it has disappointed them in others. The sale of the Journal, although great and steadily progressing in those distant localities where any increase of sale was least to be expected, has been either stationary or diminishing in those portions of the kingdom for whose use and advantage it was especially intended, and to which, therefore, the proprietors naturally looked for the greatest degree of encouragement. However humbling it may be to the national feeling of most of our Irish readers, the fact must be acknowledged, that the sale of the Journal in London alone has exceeded that in the four provinces of Ireland, not including Dublin; and that in other cities at the other side of the Channel it has been nearly equal to half the Irish provincial sale. And it may be added that in London, as well as in most other cities in the sister island, the sale has to the present moment continued to increase, while in all parts of Ireland, with the exception of the metropolis, it has gradually declined. In short, nearly two-thirds of the amount of sales of the Irish Penny Journal have been effected out of Ireland. Whatever may be the cause of this result, it is sufficient for the proprietors to have ascertained, that the object which they had originally in view in starting this little publication, have not been attained to the extent which they had anticipated, and that, under such circumstances, it would be visionary in them further to indulge hopes which there is so little probability of ever being realised.

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