Part 1

THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.

NUMBER 2. SATURDAY, JULY 11, 1840. VOLUME I.

THE CAVES OF KISH-CORRAN.

Among the many wonders of Ireland, as yet undescribed and little known, even to Irishmen, beyond their immediate localities, the subject of our prefixed illustration has every claim to find a place, and to attract our attention as a subject equally interesting to the geologist, artist, and historian. That it should have hitherto remained unnoticed, as we think it has, while objects of the same description in other localities less remarkable and interesting have been repeatedly described, may be attributed chiefly to the circumstance of its situation being remote from any leading road, and in a wild and rarely visited district of country, namely, the barony of Corran, in the county of Sligo. Of this barony, the mountain called Ceis or Kish-Corran, is the most striking geographical feature. It is composed of tabular limestone; has a flat outline at top, but is precipitous on its sides, and rises to an altitude of upwards of a thousand feet. To the traveller journeying from Boyle to Sligo it must be a familiar and pleasing object, as, after passing the little town of Ballinafad, it offers, for some miles of the road towards the west and south-west, the charms of a mountain boundary in contrast to the rich woods of Hollybrook, and the delightful vistas of the water of Lough Arrow, or Arva, which skirt the road along the east. But the most precipitous and noble point of Kish-Corran is presented to the west, and is not seen by the traveller on this road, which must for a time be abandoned to enable him to see it, as well as the wonderful caves which open on its face, and to which we have now to call the attention of our readers. On this western side, the mountain, to within a hundred feet or two of its summit, presents a green but boldly sloping grassy face, formed of the debris of the rocks above, which rise perpendicularly, and look more like a wall--lichen-stained and ivy-decked--formed by the Cyclops or giants of old, than creations of nature's hand. And such impression is increased in no small degree by the lofty and magnificent caves, which present themselves like doorways, and lead into the inmost recesses of the mountain. It is of one of these entrances, and the most remarkable for grandeur, that our illustration attempts to give an idea. Its height is no less than twenty feet. How far the caves extend, we are unable to speak with certainty; they are undoubtedly of great extent, and, if the local accounts are to be trusted, reach even to the opposite or eastern side of the mountain, and contain lakes of unfathomable depth, and spars of unimaginable beauty.

A spot so striking to the imagination could not be, in Ireland, without its legends of a romantic and singular character; and some of these are of a most remote antiquity, and connected with the earliest legendary history of our country. In the ancient topographical tract called the Dinnseanchus, which gives the origin, according to the poets, of the names of the most remarkable mountains, lakes, rivers, caves, forts, &c. in Ireland, we are told that Corran received its name from the harper of Diancecht, to whom that magical race, called the Tuátha de Danann, gave the territory as a reward for his musical skill; and popular tradition still points to the cave of Kish-Corran as his residence, according to the ancient form quoted in the Dinnseanchus:--

"Here used to dwell the gentle Corann, whose hand was skilled in playing on the harp; Corann was the only ollave of Drancich (with whom he lived), in free and peaceable security.

To Corann of the soft music, the Tuátha De gave with great honour a free territory for his skilful playing, his knowledge, and his astrology. Here was he, this generous man, not without literature or in a churlish fortress, but in a place where the stranger was at liberty to a free sojournment with him, this liberal prosperous man."

The same authority accounts for the prefix _Ceis_, or, as it is pronounced, _Kish_, which is applied to the mountain by a very singular legend, according to which it would appear that it was originally the name of a lady, who with five others were, by a charm compounded with the nut-fruit, metamorphosed into pigs, the unhappy Ceis herself being here subsequently slain. However this may be, there is nothing improbable in the supposition that the caves of Kish-Corran were in former times the favourite dens of the wild boar, the wolf, and many other animals now extinct; they furnish a secure retreat to the fox and many other wild animals at the present day.

P.

ON BENEVOLENCE OF CHARACTER.

BY MARTIN DOYLE.

If it be afflictive, on one side, to reflect upon the deeds of cruelty and oppression which prevail upon earth, through the instrumentality of man, it is delightful, on the other, to perceive that human reason, instead of being abused and perverted into a source of tyrannical oppression, is occasionally exercised, as it ought to be, in promoting happiness and social harmony, even among brutes; in producing that degree of peaceful concord, which it has been proved may exist among animals whose natural antipathies are the most violent imaginable--that feeling which disarms the strong among them of all desire to tyrannise over and destroy the weak, and is brought into exercise by a steady and persevering _system_ of early training (and consequent acquirement of abiding habits), directly opposed to _that_ which prompts us to place a whip in the hand of a child.

I have been led into this train of contemplation, from having recently witnessed a practical illustration of the wonderful effects producible by what may fairly be termed a benevolent system, for there is no degree whatever of harsh discipline connected with it--no starvation, no blows, nothing of that "reign of terror," under the influence of which Van Amburgh has doubtless effected his dominion over the most ferocious of beasts; the exhibition of which power, while it surprises, does not please us; for, though, by an effort of the imagination, the mind may be led for a moment to the anticipation of the scene in which "the wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid," it quickly considers this surprising display of human power with painful sensations, from the conviction that extreme severity of discipline alone has enabled man in this instance to attain his despotic sovereignty, and that the unnatural results which he beholds are an evidence that the legitimate dominion granted to man "over every thing that moveth upon the earth," has in this case, as in ten thousand others, been overstrained and abused.

While animals of prey are in a state of nature, they either avoid each other, or meet in deadly contest, according to the degree of their antipathies; and until He who has impressed their dispositions upon them shall bid them lie down together in peace, no efforts of puny man can avail in changing their habits, except under such rare circumstances as confirm the general law of instinct which leads them to destroy each other. But the dislike which many of the domesticated animals entertain for each other, is greatly increased by the encouragement which they receive from man. The dog, which under other treatment would be familiar with the cat or the hog, is taught from his _puppyhood_ to pursue and worry each of them; the cat instinctively defends herself with those claws which are her natural weapons, and she scratches her opponent's face, and through their after life they are never thoroughly reconciled to each other, but live proverbially as "cat and dog." The hog cannot defend himself from the teeth of the dog; his ears are torn by them; he cannot retaliate, but he lives ever afterwards in dread of the whole canine race. Dogs, which otherwise would live in harmony together, are taught to fight; their natural jealousy is encouraged, and they are rendered bullies by profession.

That the dread of man is in a certain degree naturally upon every beast of the field and bird of the air, cannot be disputed; but this feeling is increased considerably by the _experience_ which many brutes have of man's caprice or tyranny, and this dread is transmissible (as may be justly inferred from cases which are perfectly analogous, such as the acquired habit of pointing at game) to their posterity.

A benevolent man, living, as we read of Robinson Crusoe, among his goats, ceases to be an object of apprehension to the animals around him; even birds, habituated to his kindness and protection, would become divested of the dread of man; and each successive generation of those familiarized birds would probably become more and more disposed to associate with him, if he were systematically kind and encouraging in his manner. Such experiments with the brute kind, it is true, can be but extremely partial, and are unattended with any very practically useful results in _themselves_; but, as respects _the education of children_, they are of extreme utility in exciting tender and benevolent feelings, and awakening the intellectual faculties from subjects merely sensual or idly amusing; they teach us "to look from Nature up to Nature's God."

There never was a better founded observation than that of the late Mr Cobbett, that no one should be entrusted with the care of the nobler animals who had not been habituated to treat the lesser ones with kindness.

I love to see a child feeding his rabbits or pigeons, and familiarly playing with them, consulting their tastes, and contributing to their comforts by every means within his power. Surely such a pursuit should not be rudely discouraged; how much more humanizing than the desire to possess "whips for a penny," to which I have recently adverted! It tends to render a child compassionate in his disposition to all God's creatures, and unwilling to hurt, for the sake of inflicting pain, or from thoughtless mischief.

And I am just enough of phrenologist to be of opinion that, if there be any remarkable developement of the organ of destructiveness, this may be sufficiently counteracted by the exercise of feelings which have connection with the faculty of benevolence, and so modified, by avoiding all pursuits of a cruel nature, as to constitute, with God's blessing, a benevolent character, which, by the indulgence of the inherent inclination to cruel sports, would become of the opposite nature; for there is unquestionably an adaptation of the mind, as well as the body, to the circumstances under which individuals are placed. It is with the faculties of the human mind as with the habits of brutes; when exercised, they acquire strength, and gradually become more developed and confirmed; ay, and become hereditary too in proportion to their original or gradually progressing degree of developement. How important, then, that the higher faculties, on which depends the elevation of the moral character, should be strengthened by use and exercise! But I have digressed far from the illustration which I was about to give at the beginning, of a practically benevolent system of brute education.

There stands on every fine day, near one of the great London bridges, a mild, cheerful looking man, who exhibits to the passers by an assemblage of animals of the most decided antipathies by nature, who live together in the same large cage in perfect harmony. The notion of collecting into one family such apparently discordant members, originated, I believe, with a gentleman who has long made the brute animal economy the subject of his investigations, and who suggested to John Austin the harmlessness, at least, of earning the means of his support by the novel and interesting exhibition of a cat, rats, mice, Guinea pigs, hawks, pigeons, owls, and starlings, and, I believe, another bird, under the same limited roof, and with perfect freedom of access from one to another. One of the pigeons is now hatching, without any cause of alarm from the hawk for the safety of her anticipated offspring; for that bird is so far from being of a destructive temper, that he frequently feeds a young starling with meat from his own bill, and apparently of his own impulse; nor do any of the birds manifest apprehension from the cat, which has been almost born in their company, and although frequently permitted to go outside the cage and take the air without restraint, returns soon again, without having had her disposition corrupted by intercourse with bad company, takes up her favourite position in a corner, where the rats most affectionately run up to her for warmth and concealment from the public gaze, behind her furry and comfortable back. The pigeons are also allowed their liberty occasionally, but they soon return to their quarters, which habit has rendered pleasant to them.

Now, I by no means recommend to parents, for their children, the establishment of a _domestic menagerie_, for the care of this would be extremely troublesome, and occupy time which should be spent to far better purpose; nor do I recommend the keeping of useless pets of any kind, my object being merely to point out, by actual exemplification, what the benevolent _principle_, systematically exercised, _can_ produce even under the most adverse circumstances. On what are called pets, such as lapdogs and parrots, much warm, kind feeling is often unprofitably bestowed. When PONTO dies of plethora, or POLL from cold or infirmity, sensibilities are sometimes called forth, which would not flow from the contemplation of human sufferings. The servant who is daily employed to wash and comb the dog, is perhaps never sent upon an errand of mercy to any of the distressed families around the mistress, and a wayworn group of children may unavailingly solicit the luxurious food which is placed before the pampered _pet_, without shame or scruple.

I do not intend to maintain the pet _system_ in general; it is the principle of humanity which I seek, not that mawkish sensibility which causes so many to weep at the dramatic exhibition of fictitious woe, who would not drop one tear of sympathy for real misery, divested, as in the scenes of every-day life, of the embellishments and romantic adjuncts which false sentiment delights in. We all, it is true, require some especial objects of endearment, something on which the feelings of the heart may find expansion, else we become cold, selfish, and very disagreeable to every one. In childhood, therefore, the disposition to love even the domestic animals born for our use, should be sedulously fostered, but not to such excess as to weaken the affection for parents, brothers, sisters, or friends. The principle should only be checked, however, in its exuberance, never crushed. In mature years the affections should have the highest objects, and in those instances in which the Creator has denied the gift of offspring to us, I would respectfully suggest to those who desire pets, the adoption of an orphan or two, whom they may train both for earth and heaven, in preference to any other perishable idols.

LAGHT-E-OURIA.

"The longest way round is often the shortest way home."--_Old Proverb._

I was not more than eight or nine years old when the following anecdote was related to me by the actor or sufferer, whichever he might be called, himself. He was a fine stately old gentleman. His family had once been powerful; but in the troubles with which the page of Ireland's history is filled and darkened, they had been reduced, and he, fleeced by a treacherous guardian of the last remnant of the property, had been compelled to accept the influence of friends in procuring him a commission in the civil service (for in war he would not serve them) of a government which he loathed.

He was of a stern and rather gloomy disposition, and rarely condescended to social or pleasant conversation, much less to notice children; but sometimes the genial fire within would thaw the icy surface, and diffuse life and light around. The bow could not be kept ever bent: the garrison was too feeble to keep constant watch and ward, and a view would be sometimes gained, through an open door, of a heart fitted by nature to give and receive all sublunary happiness. I heard his history long after his career had closed. But it has nothing to do with the present story--another time for it.

I had been playing marbles with my cousin and playfellows; we quarrelled, and were proceeding to blows, when Mr M----, who was sitting, unobserved by us, on a stone bench, and had witnessed our dispute, called to us both to approach him. He took one on each knee, and looking alternately at us, said, in a tone so mild and different from his usual harsh commanding voice, that we could scarcely think it was the same man who spoke, "Boys, beware of sudden ungovernable passion; under its influence you might commit, in one moment, an act which would embitter, with remorse and vain regret, all your subsequent life.

"When a young man, I once suffered so keenly the consequence of my ungovernable temper, that were I to live a thousand years, I could not forget it. I see that your curiosity is excited, and you would like to hear the circumstance; but it is connected with a ghost story, and I must tell you all." "Oh! do, Mr M----," said I, "for papa says there are no such things as ghosts or fairies, and nurse says there are; and nurse never tells lies, and certainly papa would not, and I do not know what to think between them." "Well," said he, "I shall tell you the story, and it will help you to form your judgment.

From the high road between Cork and Cloyne, and about three miles from the latter, a small by-road, or 'borheen,' branches off. It is of very ancient date, belonging to times when men were guided by the position of the sun during the day, and the stars at night, and when, consequently, their track lay over mountain and hollow, through wood and bog, as the avoidance of impediments (except to a very short distance) would have thrown them quite out of their reckoning, and toil was much less regarded then than in these degenerate days. The road by Laght-e-Ouria is decidedly a shorter way to Cloyne than the high road from which it diverges; but a saying has arisen since it was made, 'the longest way round is the shortest way home,' that has been so often used as a conclusion to a debate upon 'which of the roads should be taken,' that the wisdom of our ancestors is voted folly, and their ways are no longer trodden.

Other reasons than the unevenness of its surface are however not wanting, and many a headstrong drunken farmer, upon whom all other argument had been tried in vain, has been induced to turn his horse's head to the new road, by the soft voice of the 'Vanitha' whispering in his ear that 'it would be midnight ere they passed Laght-e-Ouria.'

Laght, in Irish, signifies a heap of stones, and it is customary in Ireland, wherever a murder has been committed, for every passer-by to throw a stone upon the spot. A heap, or 'laght,' is thus soon formed, and it receives the cognomen of the unfortunate individual whose untimely end it commemorates.

In the beginning of the month of October 1775, when residing in Cork, I received a note from the Earl of Inchiquin, desiring me to meet him at Cloyne between five and six o'clock on the following morning, on most pressing and important business. I immediately ordered my horse, determining to dine with a particular friend who resided about half way, to jog quietly on in the evening, and have, what I always relished, a night's repose on the spot where my morning's business awaited me.

Mr Ahern was one of a class well known in the south as 'gentlemen farmers,' being mostly reduced gentlemen who farmed a portion of the grounds that once belonged to their ancestors, in many instances to themselves.

Hospitality, the virtue they most prided themselves upon, they carried to a fault; and my friend Ahern, in common with the rest, made it a rule, without an exception, that a bottle either of wine or whisky once opened, should be finished on the spot. Upon this occasion, however, I felt it necessary to demur. The last bottle of whisky having been opened without my consent, and feeling that, although I was still capable of proceeding on my journey, the half of what remained would put it completely out of the question, I positively refused to take another drop except the 'Dhuch-an-dhurrish,' or parting glass, and resisting all his importunities to stay the night, not relishing a ride of a dark morning, I took my departure about an hour before midnight.

I never was a believer in ghosts or fairies, or any class of idle, mischievous, disembodied creatures; but upon this occasion, whether from melancholy or loneliness, or the darkness, which was so intense as to force me to proceed very slowly, or from my friend's stirrup-cup having slightly obnubilated my reasoning faculties without producing the usual valour, I know not. Certain it is, I did not feel comfortable, and wished most fervently for just as much light as would enable me to urge my horse forward at a quicker pace, but the more I wished for light the darker it became, until my eyes ached in endeavouring to penetrate the gloom.

A row of tall trees ran along at each side of the road, and nearly met at top, and the fitful breeze just agitating the leaves, or occasionally moving the branches so as to cause a low, moaning, creaking noise, jarred my nerves, and made me feel still more and more unpleasant. At length, when I had arrived at an intolerable pitch of nervous excitement, the darkness became less intense, and I could just distinguish a breach in the row of trees upon the right, which marked the locality of the 'laght.' Taking advantage of the opportunity, I pressed my horse. He seemed to have become as nervous as myself, for he answered to the slight touch of the spur with a loud snort and a violent spring, which I considered so totally uncalled for, as to give me a very fair excuse for being in a passion, and venting my irritability, which I proceeded to do with my whip, as giving my muscles more action than the spur; but instead of plunging along at a mad gallop, as I expected, my horse reared, and turning sharply round, attempted a flight back. Again and again I turned his head to the road, but onward he would not go; this was very strange, for he never shied or started. At length I tried the soothing system; for I must confess that the general belief that horses see what is hidden from the eyes of man, occurred to me, and I coaxed and patted him, and spoke gently and encouragingly to him, but he kept sidling, and tramping, attempting to turn, and answering every word or pat with a long snore, whilst I could perceive by his forward pricked ears and the direction of his head, that his eyes were rivetted upon the heap of stones. Whilst thus engaged, and having somewhat quieted his terror, I heard a sound like the rattling of chains. Round and away with Rainbow. I brought him up again nearer than before. Again the chains clanked, and I could distinctly hear that they were chains, ere my horse bolted and ran again. 'The third time,' said I, 'contains a charm, they say; and, man or devil, ghost or fairy, I'll overhaul you. Who's there?' No answer. 'Who's there?' Clank, clank, went the chains. I could see nothing. The perspiration was running down my face, but I was furious. 'By the hand of my grandfather, if you do not answer me, I'll go to you, and whilst sinew and whalebone last, you shall feel the butt of a loaded whip. Who are you?' Again the chains clanked, and my horse would not consent to keep such company any longer. I dismounted, and, taking him a few paces back, tied him to a tree, and returned on foot to the spot.