Part 2

Such is the touching poetical sentiment embodied in this work, which, considered merely as a work of art, has merits above all praise. In the beauty of its forms, its classical purity of design, its simplicity and freedom from affectation or mannerism, its exquisite finish and characteristic execution, and its pervading grace, truth, and naturalness, it is beyond question the finest production of art in monumental sculpture that Irish genius has hitherto achieved; and, taken all and all, is, as we honestly believe, without a rival in any work of the same class in the British empire.

We regret to have to state that Mr Hogan is, as we are informed, as yet unpaid for this great national work, or that at least there is more than a moiety of the sum agreed for, which was one thousand pounds, remaining due to him. But surely his country, which has the deepest interest in sustaining him in his career of glory, will not suffer him to depart from her shores without fulfilling her part of a compact with one who has so nobly completed his. We cannot believe it.

It will be seen by a retrospective glance at the details which we have given of Mr Hogan’s labours during the past seventeen years in which he has been toiling as a professional artist, that those labours have been any thing but commensurately rewarded; they have indeed been barely sufficient to enable him to sustain existence. But brighter prospects are opening upon him for the future. His character as a sculptor is now established beyond the possibility of controversy. His merits have been recently recognised and honoured by the highest tribunal in the City of the Arts with a tribute of approbation never before bestowed on a native of the British Isles: he has been elected unanimously, and without any solicitation or anticipation on his part, a member of the oldest Academy of the Fine Arts in Europe--that which enrolled amongst its members the divine Raphael, and all the other illustrious artists of the age of Leo, and which holds its meetings upon their graves--the Academy of the Virtuosi del Pantheon. His fellow-countrymen are also beginning to have a just appreciation of his merits, and are coming forward nobly to supply him with employment for future years; and when he returns to his Roman studio, it will be to labour on works worthy of his country’s liberality, and calculated to raise her fame amongst the civilized nations of the world. Need we add, that he has our most ardent wishes for his future success and happiness!

P.

For the satisfaction of our readers we are induced to append to the preceding notice of Mr Hogan the following list of some of the principal commissions which he has recently received in Ireland;--

The Monument to the late Mr Secretary Drummond.

A Statue of the late Mr William Crawford of Cork, for which Mr Hogan is to receive L.1000.

A monumental alto relievo, consisting of three figures, to the memory of the late Mr William Beamish, for Blackrock Chapel, Cork--L.650.

Monument to the late Dr Brinkley, Bishop of Cloyne. A colossal figure in relievo for the Cathedral of Cloyne.

An alto relievo for the Convent at Rathfarnham.

An alto relievo for the Chapel at Ross, county of Wexford, commissioned from John Maher, Esq. M. P.--&c. &c.

ON ANIMAL TAMING.

FIRST ARTICLE.

That all animals, however fierce and ungovernable may be their natural dispositions, have nevertheless implanted by a wise Providence within their breasts a certain awe, a vague, indefinable dread of man, which, although meeting with him for the first time, will induce them to fly his presence, or at all events shun encounter, is, we think, a fact which no observer of nature will deny. This instinct of submission to human beings exists among all creatures, and the greater the intelligence they possess, the more powerful is its operation. When we meet with instances of a nature calculated to overturn this theory--such as wild animals attacking and destroying travellers, or preying upon the shepherd as he guards his flock, with others of a similar description--instead of hastily presuming upon the falsity of the above position, we should rather seek for some explanation of the reasons which in these cases checked for the time the workings of the animal’s natural instinct. These will be for the most part easily enough discovered, if sought for in a spirit of impartial inquiry. The lion and the tiger are prompted by natural instinct to shun the haunts and the presence of man--they choose for their lairs dark and impenetrable forests--they select for their habitation a situation whither man has not as yet approached--and according as the work of settlement and cultivation advances, they retreat before it into their dark and gloomy fastnesses.

Does the traveller encounter a lion or a tiger? The animal is prompted by nature to give place to him, and usually slinks off, growling with the thirst for blood, but still fearing to attack MAN. The shouts of women and children suffice to scare the fierce and rapacious wolves, as they descend in troops from the mountains to appease their hunger with victims from the flocks of the shepherds. The bear meets with the bold hunter or woodcutter in the American backwoods, but is never known to attack him, unless the instinct of submission to man is overruled by other instincts for the time more imperative in their demands. True, if the lion be _hungry_ when the traveller shall cross his path, he will sometimes, though such instances are of rare occurrence, attack and devour him. True, if the wolves are unable to satisfy their appetite by other means, they will attack and devour human beings; and if the bear be likewise rendered furious by the calls of hunger, she will treat the woodsman with little ceremony. Still these instances only show that hunger overcomes fear--an explanation which no one can refuse to admit. What indeed will not the gnawings of hunger effect? Has it not caused fathers to butcher their sons, mothers to devour the infant at their breast? When capable, then, of overcoming the most powerful of instincts, maternal affection, and that too in the teeth of reason, how can we wonder at its overcoming an inferior instinct, and that in a brute animal where there existed nothing to be overcome beyond that instinct? I might write a vast deal upon this subject; but my object is merely to show, at starting, that an instinctive awe of man, and a disposition to yield to his authority, is inherent in the lower animals. This, then, being the case, it will readily be perceived that the domestication of any animal by man only requires that he should carefully remove all obstacles to the operation of this instinctive principle; and on the other hand, employ suitable means to strengthen and establish it. There are, doubtless, but few of my readers who have not witnessed the performances of Van Amburgh, and likewise those of Van Buren with Batty’s collection. They have, I am sure, been greatly astonished at the degree of subjection to which these wild animals were reduced, and they are doubtless curious to learn how this end was attained. As I happened to make myself acquainted with the mode in which the subjection of these fierce brutes was effected, I am happy to be able to render them some information. The treatment was simple enough. It consisted mainly of two ingredients--1st, ample feeding, in order that the instinct of appetite should not present itself in opposition to that of dread of man; and, 2d, liberal chastisement and severe blows on the slightest appearance of rebellion, in order to strengthen and firmly establish their awe of him.

I myself have devoted a good deal of time to the domestication of animals, and by following out the two principles just laid down, I found myself invariably successful. The polecat, although of inconsiderable size, is an animal of infinitely greater fierceness than the tiger; yet I had one so thoroughly domesticated that it was permitted to enjoy perfect liberty. I succeeded equally with the fox, the badger, and the _otter_, as a paper which recently appeared in the Penny Journal was designed to show. In fact, I should say that mere _fierceness_ is but a very slight obstacle to domestication--_timidity_ is much harder to be overcome. The timid races of animals require a mode of treatment directly opposed to the above. They require to have their _dread_ of man diminished, and their _boldness_ encouraged. If you wish to tame a very timid animal, instead of supplying it with food you must let it fast, in order to render it so bold with hunger that it will eat in your presence and from your hand. If you can get its confidence raised to such a degree that it will bite you or attempt to do so, so much the better--those little vices will afterwards be easily eradicated. I have succeeded in familiarizing the most timid creatures--the rat and the mouse, for instance. The public has already had an account of how I succeeded with the former of these animals in the pages of the “Medical Press” and “Naturalist.” Some of these days I shall give a paper on the latter in the Penny Journal.

Van Amburgh has done much with his animals; but in consequence of exhibiting with specimens not as yet perfectly subdued, he has met with some severe accidents. More caution and less haste would have prevented these. One of the principal ingredients that should enter into the composition of an animal tamer, is COURAGE. If the animal you are endeavouring to domesticate perceive that you fear it--and animals are instinctively sharp-sighted--from that instant all chance of control ceases. You must be prepared to endure bites, scratches, &c. with, at all events apparent, recklessness, and should never suffer any thing to delay your chastisement: the severer it is, the less frequently will you have to repeat it. Van Amburgh possesses this ingredient in an eminent degree. I once saw him exhibiting with his superb Barbary lion, since dead; as he left the cage, the animal rushed at him, and succeeded in inflicting a sharp scratch upon his hand. Now, had Van Amburgh displayed fear, or in short acted otherwise than he did, his reign had been over, and the lion would in all probability have renewed his attack the next opportunity, and have killed him. But what did he do? He returned into the cage, and advancing sternly and undauntedly towards the lion, saluted him with a shower of blows over the head and face, with the small iron rod which he always carried with him. And mark the result. The brute at once yielded, quailed before his master, who, planting a foot upon the prostrate body of his late assailant, coolly wiped the blood from his hand, amidst the deafening plaudits of the spectators, who had witnessed the appalling scene with feelings more easily imagined than described.

There is another description of animal taming, which I must not omit to mention, viz, by charms or drugs. There were, and are indeed still to be met with, although more rarely than formerly, persons who profess to be able, by some secret spell or charm, to tame the fiercest horse, or calm the fury of the most ferocious watch-dog. There are also persons who follow the trade of rat-catching, and pretend that by means of certain drugs they can entice away all the rats from the premises to which they are called in to exercise their skill. There are also a set of men in India and Persia who profess to charm serpents, and draw them from their holes. Of these last it is not at present my design to speak. I may, however, return to them in a future paper.

The first of these, or those who pretend to possess the power of quelling the spirit of the horse, or appeasing the vigilant fury of the dog, are now but few in number, and very seldom to be met with. They abounded more in Ireland than they did in the sister kingdom, and were called “whisperers.” Perhaps the best mode in which I can bring them and their practices before my readers, is by giving them an account of the last and most celebrated whisperer that we recollect. His name was James Sullivan, and he possessed the power of taming the most furious horse, if left alone with him for about half an hour. The name of this singular man is recorded by Townsend in his “Survey of the County of Cork,” and we shall quote his account of Sullivan’s performances, to which he states himself to have been an eye-witness:--

“James Sullivan was a native of the county of Cork, and an awkward ignorant rustic of the lowest class, generally known by the appellation of ‘the Whisperer;’ and his profession was horse-breaking. The credulity of the vulgar bestowed that epithet upon him from an opinion that he communicated his wishes to the animal by means of a whisper, and the singularity of his method gave some colour to the superstitious belief. As far as the sphere of his control extended, the boast of _veni, vidi, vici_, was more justly claimed by James Sullivan than by Cæsar, or even Bonaparte himself. How his art was acquired, or in what it consisted, is likely to remain for ever unknown, as he has lately left the world without divulging it. His son, who follows the same occupation, possesses but a small portion of the art, having either never learned its true secret, or being incapable of putting it in practice. The wonder of his skill consisted in the short time requisite to accomplish his design, which was performed in private, and without any apparent means of coercion. Every description of horse, or even mule, whether previously broke, or unhandled, whatever their peculiar vices or ill habits might have been, submitted without show of resistance to the magical influence of his art, and in the short space of half an hour became gentle and tractable. The effect, though instantaneously produced, was generally durable; though more submissive to him than to others, yet they seemed to have acquired a docility unknown before. When sent for to tame a vicious horse, he directed the stable in which he and the object of his experiment were placed, to be shut, with orders not to open the door until a signal was given. After a _tete-a-tete_ between him and the horse for about half an hour, during which little or no bustle was heard, the signal was made; and on opening the door, the horse was seen lying down, and the man by his side, playing familiarly with him, like a child with a puppy dog. From that time he was found perfectly willing to submit to discipline, however repugnant to his nature before. Some saw his skill tried on a horse which could never before be brought to stand for a smith to shoe him. The day after Sullivan’s half-hour lecture, I went, not without some incredulity, to the smith’s shop, with many other curious spectators, where we were eye-witnesses of the complete success of his art. This, too, had been a troop horse, and it was supposed, not without reason, that after regimental discipline had failed, no other would be found availing. I observed that the animal seemed afraid whenever Sullivan either spoke or looked at him. How that extraordinary ascendancy could have been obtained, it is difficult to conjecture. In common cases this mysterious preparation was unnecessary. He seemed to possess an instinctive power of inspiring awe, the result perhaps of natural intrepidity, in which I believe a great part of his art consisted; though the circumstance of the _tete-a-tete_ shows that upon particular occasions something more must have been added to it. A faculty like this would in other hands have made a fortune, and great offers have been made to him for the exercise of his art abroad; but hunting, and attachment to his native soil, were his ruling passions. He lived at home in the style most agreeable to his disposition, and nothing could induce him to quit Dunhallow and the foxhounds.” Other whisperers have lived since Sullivan, but none of them have attained an equal degree of fame. I met with one some years ago of the name of O’Hara, and I can truly affirm that his performances were indeed wonderful, and precisely similar to those of Sullivan. How O’Hara discovered the secret, I know not; neither am I sure that it was identical with that possessed by Sullivan. On one occasion, while under the influence of liquor, O’Hara was heard to declare that the secret lay in _rocking_ the horse; but on another, when equally tipsy, he mentioned _biting_ the animal’s ear. It is already I believe known to those acquainted with horses, that by grasping the shoulder with one hand just where the mane begins, and laying the other with firmness upon the crupper, and then swaying the animal backwards and forwards, beginning with a very gentle motion and gradually increasing it, you will in a few minutes be able to throw the horse on his side with a comparatively trifling degree of exertion; and it is certain that this treatment is frequently resorted to by knowing jockeys to break the spirit of a stubborn horse; for after having been thrown twice, or at most thrice, the spirit of the animal seems wholly subdued, and he appears possessed with the most unqualified respect and dread of the person who threw him. This was in all probability what O’Hara meant by _rocking_, and I have little doubt but that this was one of the component parts, at all events, of the treatment resorted to by the whisperers. As to _biting the ear_, I have seen this tried, and that successfully. If you succeed in getting the ear of the most vicious horse between your teeth, and bite it with all your force, you will find the rage of the animal suddenly subside, his spirit will appear to have forsaken him, and a word or a look from you will cause him to start and tremble with excess of terror. Once the ferocity of an animal is removed, it is an easy matter to conciliate his affections. May not these two modes of treatment combined, or one or the other, as the occasion seemed to require, have constituted the secret of the wonder-working whisperers? The suggestion is at least plausible, and the experiment should be fully tried ere it be rejected.

In an article which appeared lately on the subject of animal taming in the _Times_ newspaper, mention is made of Mr King, owner of the “learned horse” at present exhibiting in London. This person states that his secret depends upon pressing a certain nerve in the horse’s mouth, which he calls the “nerve of susceptibility.” May not the set of whispering have likewise depended upon compressing with the teeth some similar nerve in the ear?

H. D. R.

RELICS.

BY J. U. U.

“Raphael was buried in the Pantheon (Sta. Maria della Rotunda), in a chapel which he had himself endowed, and near the place where his betrothed bride had been laid. The immediate neighbourhood was afterwards selected by other painters as their place of rest. Baldassane Peruzzi, Giovanni da Udine, Pierino del Vaga, Taddeo Zuccaro, and others, are buried near. No question had ever existed as to the precise spot where the remains of the master lay; but a few years since the Roman antiquaries began to raise doubts even respecting the church in which Raphael was buried. In the end, permission was obtained to make actual search; and Vasari’s account was in this instance verified. The tomb was found as he describes it, behind the altar itself of the chapel above mentioned. Four views of the tomb and its contents were engraved from drawings by Cammucini, and thus preserve the appearance that presented itself. The shroud had been fastened with a number of metal rings and points; some of these were kept by the sculptor Fabrio of Rome, who is also in possession of casts from the skull and right hand. Passavant remarks, judging from the cast, that the skull was of a singularly fine form. The bones of the hand were all perfect, but they crumbled into dust after the mould was taken. The skeleton measured about five feet seven inches. The coffin was extremely narrow, indicating a very slender frame. The precious relics were ultimately restored to the same spot, after being placed in a magnificent sarcophagus, presented by the present Pope.”--_Quarterly Review._

Ay, there are glorious things even in the dust Which still must ever from the human heart Win homage next devotion. ’Tis in vain To ask the wherefore, or demand what are they Amid the keen realities of life? Old coin, or broken casque, or fretted stone-- The waste of Time--the rack upon life’s shore Thrown up by the spent waves of centuries-- They have no meaning in the vulgar tongue; Their very uses know them not--things past Into the chaos of forgotten forms. But here the root of this deep error lies.

The world’s deep Lethé onward blindly glides, A perishable Present! glorious only Because no Future and no Past are seen To scare or shame its dreamy voyager. In dull forgetfulness the error lies, That hath no feeling of the mighty Past Espoused to sense, and purblind as the mole To all that meets the intellectual eye: To such Iona is a heap of stones, And Marathon a desert … … O, how changed! The meanest thing on which great Time hath set His awful stamp (the long-surviving thought Left by the mind of other days) appears To knowledge and the gaze of memory, More instantaneous than those words of power Which ancient legends say the tomb obeyed-- The broken pillar, and the moss-grown pile, Dilate into antique magnificence: At once the stern old rampart crowns its height-- The donjon keep, the tower of ancient pride, The rock-built fortress of old robber kings, Start into life, and from their portals pour Mailed foray forth, or pomp of feudal war. The temple swells from vacancy, o’erarching With pillared roof, and dim solemnity, The worship of old time. The dry bones live Of ancient ages: monarch, sage, and bard, Stand in their living lineaments, invested With power, or wisdom, or the gift of song.

These still are common ruins--the remains Of those who were the vulgar of their day, Who battled, built, and traded, and so died, Leaving no trace but nameless monuments, The cast attire of ages, which but serve To show the present how the past went mad, And, like Cassandra, prophesy in vain. The earth yet bears more glorious vestiges Of Time’s illustrious few, whose memory Is greater than the greatest thing that lives-- Haloed by veneration, wonder, love-- Whose very tombs stand in life’s calendar Eras of thought once seen. Is there an eye Could coldly gaze on aught that bears a trace Of Avon’s matchless master of the breast? Who could approach old Dryburgh’s tombs, and feel not The illustrious presence of his great compeer, Whose tomb yet moistens with a nation’s woe, Whose star is young in heaven? Or who can walk Unmoved the cloisters and religious aisles Where Milton lies, renowned with “prophets old,” And honoured Newton, to whom the starred vault Is an enduring monument, as much As the Pantheon’s dome is Angelo’s?