Part 1

THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.

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

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

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

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

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

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

P.

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

A TALE OF TOM GRASSIEY, THE SHANAHUS.

BY WILLIAM CARLETON.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I said so.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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