TO THE EDITORS OF THE IRISH PENNY MAGAZINE.

SIRS-The last communication which I had the pleasure of addressing to you was "curtailed of its fair proportion," by the urgent invitation of some Christmas enjoyments.

Christmas comes but once a year, And when it does it brings good cheer. Good cheer! most certes; but when I look back upon the splendid ceremonies, the enthusiastic amusements, the hearted welcomes with which the festival was ushered in, some centuries ago, I cannot but feel the degeneracy of the times in which we live and have our being. "Oh! quantum mutatus ab illo," how altered from that "Christmas-Old Christmas-Christmas of London-Captain Christmas-Old Gregory Christmas still!" Those amiable festivities-those triumphs of the heart-those pious hospitalities-that mirth and melody-that wassailing and masking with which our ancestors were wont to greet the joyous season, have with them flitted from the scene, or are faintly commemorated in the unnoted pleasantries of childhood.

It were idlesse here to investigate the causes to which this change, not to call it reformation, may be attributed; whether to the establishment of a more primitive and repulsive society, and a fear that "the liberty of December" might encourage licentiousness through the year; or rather to a commercial regulation, which rudely selects this holy time for the calculation of annual expenditure, and the furnishing of long running accounts. Enough for us to feel that little now remains of the once proverbial merriment and hospitality of the festival. The familiarity of mirth is no longer countenanced-the honest roar

of laughter is deemed Gothic-the mummers are silent-the boar's head has ceased to be in request-the wassail bowl is no longer circulated-while plumb-pudding and mince-pies, though they have kept the steadiest ground, are now scarcely eaten but by some unfashionable maintainers of ancient principles, who, in their traditional orthodoxy, associate even these typical confections with the feast.

Yet, it is delightful to undraw the veil that hangs over the still extant traditions of the past;-to wander up the stream of time and rest amidst the ancient honours with which this anniversary was celebrated; ever did its return diffuse universal joy, and establish a domestic antidote within to the gloom without. The ranks of society became linked as in one great family of nature, the feuds of nations were by consent suspended, and in an armistice of human depravity the soul of man overflowed with gratitude and benevolence.

But, Sirs, your "spirit" grows impatient, and somewhat clamorously demands iny

ILLUSTRATIONS OF IRISH TOPOGRAPHY.-No. III.

[From Original MS. Collections.]

DUNAMASE.

DUNAMASE (quasi Dun-na-maes the Fort of the Plain,) is an insulated rock of limestone, rising from the centre of the great plain, or heath of Maryborough, in the Queen's county. It is situated about 4 miles east of that town, and was originally the residence of the O'Mores, whose property once extended from Abbey-Leix, where it joined that of the Fitzpatricks, to

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this rock and thence to Mullamast. It is by some supposed to be the Dunum enumerated amongst the inland towns of Ireland, by Ptolemy, a celebrated geographer, who, I must not omit to mention, while his account of Britain is full of errors, and, in the southern parts especially, replete with Roman names, is, in his delineation of Ireland, not only accurate as to the shores, but even as to the interior of the island, its rivers, lakes, cities, and tribes; whilst the names given to all these are either Phoenician, or in close affinity with the Irish appellatives. This alone would be no small testimony to the position which I have elsewhere advocated at length, that Ireland was principally colonized from the East, and subsequently held in close connexion with it, by the continuing intercourse of Phoenician commerce. The inference is yet more strengthened by Ptolemy's express declaration, that his information was derived from Marianus, a native of Tyre.

Dunamase is said to have been made a fortress by Laighseach O'More, about the beginning of the third century, from which time it continued to be the patrimonial residence of the chiefs of this district.

Of these Duns or Raths as they are indifferently styled in the Irish annals, several are found dispersed through different parts of this country; but as in outward appearance they have much in common with the moats, or funeral mounts, care must be taken to distinguish them. The latter are smaller and more precipitous, and consequently wear the appearance of greater height, but they are wholly artificial; whilst the former are a work of art, grafted, as it were, on nature, exercised in commanding situations, cut out of the hill, not raised from the plain; and in fosses, ramparts, and entrenchments, even still presenting the similitude of "grim visaged" war. In these "Duns" the habitations of the chiefs of the district and his fa- | mily were constantly placed, consisting, in general, only of small buildings, constructed of earth and hurdles, in a fashion, however, so very beautiful as to elicit the admiration and eulogy 'of venerable Bede.

843, The Danes took the fortress of Dunamase by storm, and cruelly put to the sword the Abbot of Tirdaglas, Prior of Kildare, and many other persons of note, who were then sojourning there.

1050, Silver is supposed to have been coined here about this time by the O'Mores, and some specimens of it are stated to have been found in digging near the hill.

1172, Dunamase, on the intermarriage and political connexion of the O'More family with that of Mac Murrough, had become one of the royal fortresses, and frequently the residence of the kings of Leinster; and in this year it was in the possession of that Dermot Mae Murrough, whose expulsion from the sovereignty of Ireland induced the invasion by Strongbow. This buccaneer of the day, having married Dermot's only child became entitled to Dunamase, and transmitted it to his heiress, Isabei.

1216, Said Isabel became the wife of William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, whose possessions on the failure of his issue male, gavelled amongst his sisters. Dunamase fell into the portion of that one who had married William de Braosa, the Lord of Brecknock, whereupon that nobleman repaired thither, erected it into a manor, established a court-baron to which the tenants should resort to do suit and service, and on the site of the old Irish fortress erected that castle whose barbican is so graphically delineated above. No place could, indeed, have been better suited for the purpose, as before the use of fire-arms it must have been almost impregnable, when garrisoned, as it then was, by a military tenantry, prepared at all times to appear

in arms in the service of their lord.

1264, The Earl of Desmond, having taken prisoners the Lord Justice of Ireland, and some of his principal officers, confined them in this castle and in the adjacent one of Leix.

1310, Lord Roger Mortimer having married William de Braosa's only daughter, became the proprietor of Dunamase; and it is in allusion to his management of her estates, and the bad effects resulting from the absence of the other English lords who inherited under the sisters of the Earl of Pembroke, that Baron Finglas, who knew much of the grievances of Ireland, thus writes in the reign of Henry the Seventh :—

"The aforesaid lords, husbands of the said ladies, having great possessions in England of their own, regarded little the defence of their lands in Ireland; but took the profits of the same for a while as they could, and some of them never saw Ireland, and when their revenues of the same began to decay then he that had Dunamase, in Leix, retained an Irishman, one of the Mores, to be his captain of war in Leix."

-1325, Lysagh O'More, the person alluded to by the baron, was certainly so entrusted with the care and protection of Lord Mortimer's estate; but the agent was himself the ancient proprietor; the possessions of his fathers lay widely extended before him, the kinsmen of his house taunted him on his landless destiny, the warriors of his ancient sept swore upon their swords to vindicate his rights. His feelings were excited from their depth, he rose in arms, assumed the title of the O'More, took eight castles in one evening, destroyed Dunamase, and recovered the whole district into his own possession. In the weakness of the English government this act was suffered to go unpunished; the aggression was even so far sanctioned, that the same O'More was within a few years after summoned as a powerful Irish chieftain, to assist the king in the Scottish war.

1329, Dunamase was recovered from the Irish.

1344, It was again seized by the O'Mores, but they were dispossessed in about two years afterwards, when the Lord Justice Bermingham compelled O'More to acknowledge that he held Dunamase as under and in right of the Lord Roger Mortimer.

During the two succeeding centuries, Dunamase participated in the visitations that then desolated Ireland. Alternately recovered from the English, or wrested from the O'Mores, it was subjected to all the ruinous action and re-action of oppression and revenge. The heart sickens at the retrospect of those centuries of Irish history. Feudal principles and passions were introduced into the country, not with the magnificence and chivalry that are their usual associates, but debased by the wants and necessities with which they were mixed up, and stimulated into riotous desolation by the impunity with which they might be exercised in this then comparatively secluded country. The epochs of history became beacons of tyranny and crime; like the crosses that meet the traveller in southern climates, they but point where guilt has done its work!

1641, At the commencement of this rebellion the insurgents secured Dunamase together with other places, which were relieved by Sir Charles Coote. On the retreat of Ormond it submitted to General Preston, but was retaken by the king's forces, in whose possession it continued until 1646, when it was seized upon by Owen Roe O'Neill.

1650, It surrendered to Colonels Hewson and Reynolds, and was then blown up and effectually dismantled. The only remains of this ancient castle and fortress are some of the walls and gates, yet venerable in their ruins. The rock, on which the castle stands, is an elliptical conoid, inaccessible on all sides except the east, which in its improved state was defended by the BARBICAN. On each side of this barbican were ditches, and where they could not be continued by reason of the rock, walls were erected. To the south and south-east were two towers, the latter protecting the barbican, through which was the approach to the gate of the lower ballium, which is seven feet wide, and its walls six feet in thickness. It had a parapet crenelles and embrasures. The lower ballium itself extends 312 feet from north to south, and 160 from west to east. Through it the visiter proceeds to the gate of the upper ballium, which is set in a tower, and from this point begin the walls that divide the upper and lower ballium. On the highest part was the keep and the apartments for the officers. Here were also a sallyport and prison.

Grose has given three plates of the hill, and Ledwich a ground plan of the fortifications.

In my next I shall endeavour to abridge for your readers, some notices of the celebrated antiquities of GLENDALOUGH, selected from an antiquarian "HISTORY OF THE COUNTY WICKLOW," which I compiled a few years ago, but which no English publisher would, and no Irish could, undertake to put forward. Oh! how piteously the literature of our poor country appeals for national encouragement, and liberal publishers!.

J. D.

PROGNOSTICS DRAWN FROM TERRESTRIAL BODIES.-1st. If the flame of the lamp sparkles, or if it forms an excrescence, there will be, in that case, a strong probability of rain.-2nd. The same happens when the soot loosens and falls down the chimneys.—3rd. If the coals in the grate blaze more than usual, or flame with more activity, it is a sign of wind.--4th. On the contrary, when the flame is steady and uniform, it is a sign of fine weather.-5th. If the sound of the bells is heard from afar, it is a sign of wind, or a change of weather.-6th. If pleasant or offensive smells are condensed, that is, become stronger, they are signs of rain. 7th. The frequent change of the wind is the forerunner of a violent storm.

put

this design into execution, so strongly did the passion prey on her that she determined to make its object acquainted with it. For this purpose she composed a poem, full of tenderness, which she persuaded Craftiny, a celebrated musician and harper of the period, to set to music, and convey to the French court. It appears that it was the beauty of the melody, and the affecting nature of the appeal made in it to his recollections of home, that induced the prince to undertake the expedition already noticed, which had no sooner been completed by his triumphant establishment on the throne than he sought the hand of Moria, and was united to her. There is nothing absolutely improbable in this story, but the following is utterly incredible, unless taken in a figurative sense, and considered to develope, by fable, some remarkable circumstance or quality connected with this man's life or character. It was the custom of ancient historians and poets, in all countries, to represent, by typical illustration, such subjects as it was deemed dangerous or impolitic to convey in direct terms; and thus it was, perhaps, that the well-known classical story of Midas having ass's ears arose, as well as the similar one before us.-Labra Longseach is said to have had the singular deformity of a horse's instead of human ears. To conceal it he had his hair dressed only once a year, and always put the unfortunate operator immediately to death. In a short time it became necessary to select the victims by lot, which on one occasion fell on a young man, whose entreaties, sustained by his widowed mother's, induced the king to spare him on the condition of keeping the secret at the risk of his life. The unlucky confidant being of weak mind, became oppressed by the knowledge of his monarch's misfortune, and pined nearly to death under its burthen. At length he was advised to reveal it to a tree, and having done so, recovered his health. This tree, being willow, was shortly after cut down, and part of it formed into a harp for the king's minstrel; but strange to say, the harp would emit no sound but the awful secret-Labra Longseach has the ears of a horse;" which so appalled the king that he repented of his cruelty, and no longer concealed the occasion of it. The weakest understanding will at once perceive how ridiculous it would be to believe in the literal truth of this affair; but, though it be obviously fable the most shrewd mind could scarcely surmise its real origin. It is probable it meant that this prince was addicted to some pursuit, or subject to some weakness, inconsistent with his high personal reputation; or that his public policy evinced some principles analogous to the characteristics of the animal alluded to, and which were exposed through the natural imbecility or unfitness for confidence of the individuals he employed as instruments. But though conjecture on this point is nearly as idle as belief in the actual occurrence of what is related, yet we cannot but admire the ingenious and beautiful poetical invention it displays, whether as an illustration of real circumstances or a mere emanation of the fancy with no obje i but imposture. C.

TALES OF MY CHILDHOOD.

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Who is there that has had the good fortune of paying a summer visit to the healthy little watering place of Youghal, prettily situated on the sea-coast, about 20 miles from Cork, that has not felt his bosom expand with delight as he wandered along its far-extending strand, inhaling the ocean breeze, the rippling waves dying in gentle murmurs at his feet. Far, far at sea, what was at first only a speck upon the horizon, the white sail would be seen gliding through the trackless deep; while nearer home the fishing smack would flap its heavy sails, and the plashing of the oars would seem to beat time to the boatman's song, mingling with the melancholy screech of the sea-gull.

It was in my earliest days I bounded over that sweet strand, with its pebbles the whitest, and its shells the clearest that ever gladdened the eye of childhood. Though many years have since passed away, it is still fresh in my memory; nor have I forgotten the Blackwater with its delightful scenery, a sail on whose tranquil bosom reflecting the richly wooded banks at either side, while summer sheds her glories over hill and dale, would well reward the visiter. It was then I listened to those wild legends of supernatural agency and fairy lore that leave such a lasting impression upon the young mind; and I remember well, it was with an intense but trembling eagerness I drank in such tales as the following.

It seems to be the characteristic feature of small towns, that high and low, gentle and simple, rich and poor, are possessed with an insatiable curiosity, a strong inhere..t desire of knowing the affairs of their nei hbours, and, perhaps, paying more attention to them than to their own. It is also very generally set

down as a fact, that not a stranger can put his foot within the precincts of their observation but the whisper immediately goes round-who is that? and what is his business? The good people of Youghal, in former days, have not escaped the odium of possessing this prying propensity in no trifling degree, but whether with truth or not I will not stop now to enquire. I will leave the adjustment of that question to more learned heads than mine, and simply relate, as I heard it, the story of THE WATER WITCH.

In the vicinity of the ferry, which is near a mile across, between Youghal and the county Waterford, lived an old woman, whose tottering gait and wrinkled visage, joined to habits of seclusion and loneliness, had procured for her the appellation of "The Witch." Though her but joined other houses, chiefly belonging to boatmen, yet few had the hardihood, after nightfall, to loiter near her domicile, where she sat in the chimneycorner, before the glimmering light of a few dried sticks, or faggots, which she picked up in her rambles. Not only her own immediate neighbours, but many others also, even to the most remote parts of the town, had their remarks to pass about Gummer Sampson. When she came in among them they could not exactly tell; but she could be no good body certainly, for she had no occupation that they could see-and how did she contrive to live? And then, she was all alone; she never visited, and she never asked a soul to darken her doors. Curiosity and conjecture were busy upon all these points, but the only conclusion they could come to was-she must be a Witch! This point once settled, there were not wanting dark and frightful stories of her midnight incantations, and the company she entertained when the rest of the neighbours were asleep. In the wildest and most tempestuous weather it was said she took the greatest delight; but not like others of her dreaded sisterhood, to ride away through the angry clouds on a broomstick; -no, the water-the foaming waves of the sea was her element, and her pleasure-yacht no other than a cockle-shell. She knew when a storm was approaching, and putting down a pot of eggs, the old hag would sit watching it, and according as they would break and mount to the top, she would say with a devilish grin, There's one !-that's another gone!-Hark! poor wretches, how they shriek !-in vain-down, down they sink into their yawning grave!"

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Jack Linehan and Bill Carty were as light-hearted and laughter-loving souls as ever cracked a joke, or sung a good song over the flowing can, or merrily footed it to the joyous sound of the bagpipes; and, withal, they were set down by the old fishermen, as being two of the most expert and steady fellows that ever handled an oar, or trimmed a sail. Fearless and fond of fun they would watch old Gummer Sampson as she hobbled out in search of her daily food and firing, and they would laugh at her, and ask her when she intended to have company next, that they might be of the party, or when she would go cruising in her cockle-shell, that they might have a sail with her. Sometimes they would nail up her door in her absence, and feel delighted at her distress; while she, shaking her thin grey locks, would mutter between her teeth, and the more serious people would advise them not to meddle with the old woman, or they may rue the consequences. Jack Linehan and Bill Carty were, therefore, it may be presumed, no favourites with Gummer Sampson.

One night that they were returning home late, with a few more from a christening, their laughter loud and long, and their eyes dancing in their heads from the exhilirating effects of the bottle, they proposed paying a visit to the old Witch. As they approached her hut, those that had set out with them dropped off one by one, their natural desire of prying melting away, like brass in the furnace, before the soul-harrowing image of the wrinkled hag at her midnight orgies; and as they stood before her door they were alone. What they saw and heard then was never known; but they did not appear to be the same persons after, so completely were they changed. When rallied by their friends as to their visit that night, and what they saw, they strove to laugh it off, but the sound of their own heartless voices startled even themselves, and seemed more like the hollow mockery of the echoing charnel-house, than the clear-toned merriment of former days.

On the evening after this occurrence, Jack Linehan and his mother were sitting at their little fire, repairing a fishing-net, and she trying, at the same time, with all the ingenuity of an adept in the art of fishing for secrets, to get Jack's out of his bosom by hook or by crook, but all in vain; there it lay as deep as if it were at the bottom of the ocean; and he at last silenced all further enquiries by saying, in a solemn tone, while his cheek turned to an ashy hue, "For the love of God, mother, don't ask me any more about it; I cannot tell you now what I saw and heard, perhaps when I return home to-morrow evening I may, but you must promise (and he lowered his voice) never, while the breath is in your body, to repeat it again to a living soul!"

The first grey dawn of the morning had scarcely begun to dim the lustre of the twinkling stars, when Jack and Bill were seen hastening down to the quay, and were soon busily engaged getting in their nets and trimming the sails of their fishing-smack, of which they were joint-owners. There was one young boy with them who generally accompanied them. The anchor was in-the rope coiled-they got clear of the boats around them, which were also preparing to start, and dipping their oars into the water, dropped quietly out, the first that left the quay-wall. The other fishermen remarked that they never saw "The Sisters," creep away from them so silently before; they missed the joyous shout and the hearty salute that were wont to greet their ears, and heard not the merry glees borne back upon the wind as they stood out to sea.

The day was fine, and as The Sisters cut her swift way through the waters, the spirits of Jack Linehan and Bill Carty revived once more; and they appeared to forget that awful night's adventure the more they left the scene of it behind. But as the evening set in, dark clouds were seen gathering, the wind sung in fitful moanings through the cordage; and then the old and more experienced fishermen, as they steered their boats homewards through the swelling brine, foretold a stormy night. The last of the fishing-smacks had long past The Sisters ere her owners commenced hauling in their nets; and when Jack took the helm and cried out to his companions to "stand by," the breeze, which had been every moment freshening, had increased to a tremendous gale of wind. The sea had become awfully convulsed. Now lifted upon a mountainy wave, then plunging into the yawning gulf, it required all the art and steadiness that the young fishermen were possessed of to keep their little boat from perishing. The words they exchanged were but few; it was no time, and they were in no mood for conversation. Jack, with his hand firmly grasped on the tiller, was intently looking out a-head; Bill was minding the sails, and the boy with trembling haste was bailing out the water, when suddenly Jack sung outhis head bent forwards, and his eyes starting from their sockets, "Look out a-head!" They did so; and right before them, riding upon the waves, they perceived something, but could not plainly distinguish what, apparently approaching to them. At last Bill exclaimed-" Holy queen of heaven! it is the Witch!" And the next moment Gummer Sampson was at their side, seated in her cockle-shell. A fiendish grin lit up her shrivelled features, as her croaking voice was heard above the roaring of the tempest. "Ha! ye persecuting dogs, are ye there? Ye wished to meet me on the waters, and ye have your wish. Where is your insulting laugh now? Ye were merry with the poor helpless old woman on the dry land, but it is my turn now to laugh at ye upon the stormy ocean.-Ha! ha! ha ha!" -and her devilish voice rose upon the wind, and seemed to penetrate through all the chambers of the deep. While it was yet ringing in the ears of the hapless horror-stricken fishermen, Jack's powerless hand dropped from the tiller-a wave struck the boat, and she filled instantly. A shriek of despair burst

from them-the old hag laughed still louder. "Ye will tell what ye saw and heard that night, won't ye?-aye, to the fishes. ----Ha! ha! ha!"--and the waves closed above The Sisters and her little crew. One rose, it was the boy; and while he closed his eyes at the horrible vision before him, he still gasped and struggled for life. "You never injured me nor mine," said the old woman, in a subdued tone. "The innocent may not perish with the guilty.--Cling to that oar, firmly.-Fear not, but hold on for your life;" and the boy grasped at the oar which was floating by his side. When he looked again the hag was gone— the sea was calmer, and he felt himself borne along at a swift

rate.

On the following morning, as a few people were hurrying along the strand, near Clay-Castle, on their way to town, they perceived something lying extended, which, on a nearer approach, they found to be a shipwrecked sailor, an oar held firmly in his grasp. They thought him dead at first, but on raising him the signs of life were visible, and they conveyed him to the nearest dwelling. When he recovered they could not collect from him where he came from, or what ship he belonged to; the only answer he could make to their enquiries was a laugh; and pointing forward, he would cry out, "There she is! There she is!" "Poor boy," said they, "his brain is turned through grief and fright. It was a fearful night, and perhaps he saw all his friends perishing before him."

The loss of The Sisters soon spread around, and cast a gloom over the little town. The people who first saw the shipwrecked boy mentioned the circumstance, and his friends immediately hurried out and brought him home; but he never came to his senses rightly again. One thing the neighbours thought very extraordinary, and it was with many a solemn shrug and shake of the head they remarked it to each other-old Gummer Sampson did not make her appearance after the night of The Sisters being lost. The fishermen, calling a council, came to the determination of pulling down her hut, which they soon accomplished, and burned and destroyed every article in it.

It was many days after this when the poor brain-cracked boy recovered sufficiently to relate the awful and soul-sickening occurrences of that long-remembered night; it made a deep impression upon the minds of the good people of Youghal, but they never laid their eyes again upon the wrinkled visage and stooping figure of "The Water Witch !" G. C.

A VISIT FROM THE GRAVE;

OR, THE CARPENTER'S PROMISE.

Ar Curriglass, near Youghal, in an old family mansion, there lived in former times a venerable widow lady. The estate had descended from a long line of ancestors, and had remained unimproved in the possession of the present owner for many years. It was an old three-cornered slate house, the remains of many of which may be seen in different parts of the country to the present day. It was situated at the end of a long straight avenue, almost overgrown with grass and weeds, and overshadowed by two rows of ancient elm trees. Two young grandchildren, an old butler, two maid servants, and the old lady herself composed its inmates.

There was a carpenter then residing in the town, and who, from the frequent visits he had to pay to the old mansion, to do some little repairs, in consequence of the length of time it was built, had got the name of "The Family Carpenter." He was a very communicative and jovial fellow; and the old lady had got so accustomed to him that she would have no one but Davy Connor to do any jobs that were wanting. But he had got one defect, which sometimes annoyed her-she could scarcely ever get him to do a job out of hands at once; he would promise faithfully it should be done such a day, and such a time, but would invariably disappoint her; still she did not like to part with him and get in a stranger.

In one of the rooms of the old building she wanted to have a beam, which appeared defective, replaced by a new one, and the winter was now setting in. She, accordingly, sent for Davy, who, as usual, made many fair promises, which were all destined to be broken. Her patience being nearly worn out, she at last sent to let him know that she would wait no longer, and that the next day she would get in another carpenter. Davy had the wicked and unprofitable custom of swearing, in a very great degree, and being, at the time he received this message, what seamen would term "half seas over," and what landinen would call "on the batter," he rapped out a tremendous oath, and said that no one should come inside him to do his own work; for he was as partial to the old house and to every one about it