"A fine extensive prospect this," said I to General Picket, so was my guide called.
"That's the good truth for your honour," he replied, "only it's a mighty lonesome place, and they say it's haunted by spirits, though Tim Marcks says there's no such thing. May be your honour wouldn't know Thicus Morckus; he's a long stocah of a fellow, with a big nose, wears knee breeches, corderoy leggings, and takes a power of snuff. And, if your honour would like to see him, he lives at Corrigmalvin, at the top of High Street, in the town of Killarney. To be sure, some people say, all that comes from Tim isn't gospel, but that's neither here nor there; so, as I was saying, 'I don't believe in spirits,' says he to me, of a day he was mending the road here, and I along with him—'The dickins you don't,' says I, 'and what's your rason for that same?'—'I'll tell you that,' says he; 'it was a could frosty night in the month of December, the doors were shut, and we were all sitting by the side of a blazing turf fire. My father was smoking his doodeen in the chimney corner, my mother was overseeing the girls that were tonging the flax, and I and the other gossoons were doing nothing at all, only roasting praties in the ashes. "Was the colt brought in?" says my father. "Wisha, fakes then! I believes not," says I. "Why, then, Tim," says he, "you must run and drive him in directly, for it's a mortal could night." "And where is he, father?" says I. "In the far field, at the other side of the ould church," says he. "Murder!" says I, for I didn't like the thoughts of going near the ould church at all, at all. But there was no use in saying agen it, for my father (God be merciful to him!) had us under as much command as a regiment of soldiers. So away I went, with a light foot and a heavy heart. Well, I soon came to the bounds' ditch between the farm and the berrin ground of the ould church. Then I slackened my pace a little, and kept looking hither and over, for fear of being taken by surprise. The moon was shining clear as day, so that I could see the gray tombstones and the white skulls; when, all at once, I thought one of them began to move. I could hardly believe my two eyes; but, fakes, it was true enough; for presently it came walking down the hill, quite leisurely at first, then a little faster, till at last it came rolling at the rate of a fox hunt. "Twill be stopped at the bounds' ditch," thinks I; but I was never more out in my reckoning, for it bowled fair through the gap, and made directly up to me. "By the mortal frost," says I, "I'm done for;" and away I scampered as fast as my legs could carry me; but the skull came faster after me, for I could hear every lump it gave against the stones. It's a long stretch of a hill from the berrin ground down to the road; but you'd think I wasn't longer getting down than whilst you'd be saying "Jack Robinson." Sure enough I did make great haste; but if I did, "the more haste the worse speed," they say, and so by me any how, for I went souse up to my neck in a dirty Lochaune by the side of the road. Well, when I recovered a little, what would I see but the skull at the edge of the Lochaune, stuck fast in a furze bush, and grinning down at me. "Oh, you're there," says I; "I'll have one rap at you any how, for worse than die I can't;" so I up with a lump of a blackthorn, I had in my fist, and gives it a rap, when what should it be after all, but a huge rat, which had got into the skull, and, trying to get out again, it made it to roll down the hill in that frightful way. To be sure,' said Tim, 'to be sure it was mighty frightful, but it wasn't a ghost after all; and, indeed, (barring that) I never saw any thing worse than myself, though we lived for a long time near the ould church of Aghadoe.'"
This is all we can spare room for at present. The second volume is untouched, and will afford us a few extractable pieces—but they must be short. We have heard of all stages of laughter—as being convulsed—ready to burst—splitting sides—and if our readers promise not to die, in due order, with laughter—we may probably recur to Mr. Croker's very tickling volumes.
SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY.
Analogous Growth of Trees and Animals.
Trees placed in an exposed situation have their resources;—the object being to protect the sap-vessels, which transmit nutriment, and which lie betwixt the wood and the bark, the tree never fails to throw out, and especially on the side most exposed to the blast, a thick coating of bark, designed to protect, and which effectually does protect, the sap-vessels and the process of circulation to which they are adapted, from the injury which necessarily must otherwise ensue. Now, if an animal is in danger of suffocation from want of vital air, instead of starving by being exposed to its unqualified rigour, instinct or reason directs the sufferer to approach those apertures through which any supply of that necessary of human life can be attained, and induces man, at the same time, to free himself from any coverings which may be rendered oppressive by the state in which he finds himself. Now it may be easily proved, that a similar instinct to that which induced the unfortunate sufferers in the black-hole of Calcutta to struggle with the last efforts to approach the solitary aperture which admitted air to their dungeon, and to throw from them their garments, in order to encourage the exertions which nature made to relieve herself by perspiration, is proper, also, to the noblest of the vegetable tribe. Look at a wood or plantation which has not been duly thinned:—the trees which exist will be seen drawn up to poles, with narrow and scanty tops, endeavouring to make their way towards such openings to the sky as might permit the access of light and air. If entirely precluded by the boughs which have closed over them, the weaker plants will be found strangely distorted by attempts to get out at a side of the plantation; and finally, if overpowered in these attempts by the obstacles opposed to them, they inevitably perish. As men throw aside their garments, influenced by a close situation, trees placed in similar circumstances, exhibit a bark thin and beautifully green and succulent, entirely divested of that thick, coarse, protecting substance which covers the sap-vessels in an exposed position.
There is a singular and beautiful process of action and re-action which takes place betwixt the progress of the roots and of the branches. The latter must, by their vigour and numbers, stretch out under ground before the branches can develope themselves in the air; and, on the other hand, it is necessary that the branches so develope themselves, to give employment to the roots in collecting food. There is a system of close commerce between them; if either fail in discharging their part, the other must suffer in proportion. The increase of the branches, therefore, in exposed trees is and must be in proportion with that of the roots, and vice versâ; and as the exposed tree spreads its branches on every side to balance itself against the wind, as it shortens its stem or trunk, to afford the mechanical force of the tempest a shorter lever to act upon, so numerous and strong roots spread themselves under ground, by way of anchorage, to an extent and in a manner unknown to sheltered trees.—Quarterly Review.