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Build a Frontend Web Framework (From Scratch)
MEAP V05
1. MEAP_VERSION_5
2. Welcome
3. 1_Are_frontend_frameworks_magic_to_you?
4. 2_Vanilla_JavaScript—like_in_the_old_days
5. 3_Rendering_and_the_virtual_DOM
6. 4_Mounting_and_destroying_the_virtual_DOM
7. 5_State_management_and_the_application’s_lifecycle
8. 6_Publishing_and_using_your_framework’s_first_version
9. 7_The_reconciliation_algorithm:_diffing_virtual_trees
10. Appendix._Setting_up_the_project
MEAP VERSION 5
Welcome
Thank you for purchasing the MEAP for Build a Frontend Web Framework
(From Scratch). I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I’ve enjoyed
writing it. I’m looking forward to you getting the same feeling of
accomplishment as I did when you see your own frontend framework—
written from the ground up—power web applications. There’s something
magical about building your own tools and seeing them working.

Throughout the book, you’ll learn the most important concepts behind what
makes frontend frameworks such useful tools, but not through lots of theory,
but by writing all the code yourself. To make the most out of this book, I’ll
assume that you’ve got a decent understanding of JavaScript, Node JS and
the Document API in the browser.

You’ll start by writing an application using just JavaScript, without a

framework. From that exercise, you’ll identify what are the pain points of
writing applications without the help of a framework. It’s crucial that you
understand the need for them in the first place; after all, we take them for
granted these days. You’ll then create your own simple framework to address
what you’ll discover is the main problem with vanilla JavaScript
applications: the mix of DOM manipulation and business logic code.

After just two chapters (chapters three and four) you’ll have a working
framework, a very simple one, but a framework that you can use in small
applications nevertheless. From there onwards, you’ll keep adding
improvements to it, such as a Single Page Application (SPA) router that
changes the page without reloading it, or a Webpack loader to transform
HTML templates into render functions.

By the end of the book, you’ll have written a pretty decent framework of your
own. Not only can you use this framework for your own projects (something
that’s extraordinarily satisfactory), but you’ll share it with the rest of the
world via NPM. You heard me well! You will be publishing it the same way
the big frameworks get released. Sure, the framework won’t be even close to
competing with the big frameworks out there, but you’ll have a good
understanding of how they work that you can use to keep improving yours.
But more important than creating a framework that can compete is the
amount of fun, gratification and learning that you’ll get from working on this
project.

There’s one last thing I want to mention. I’m writing this book for you, so it
doesn’t matter how much effort I put into it if my explanations aren’t clear
enough for you to follow. If you get lost, it’s definitely not because you don’t
know enough, it’s because I’m not expressing my thoughts as clearly as I
could. So, if you do get lost or think I could be explaining things in more
detail, I’d love to hear from you. Conversely, if you think I spend too much
time explaining things you already know, also let me know. You, as a MEAP
reader, have a very important role in making this book useful for the readers
that’ll come after you. Oh! and if you’re enjoying the book as is, please do
tell me as well. Your feedback is essential in developing the best book
possible, so please visit the liveBook's Discussion Forum and leave your
comments.

—Angel Sola Orbaiceta

In this book

MEAP VERSION 5 About this MEAP Welcome Brief Table of Contents 1

Are frontend frameworks magic to you? 2 Vanilla JavaScript—like in the old
days 3 Rendering and the virtual DOM 4 Mounting and destroying the virtual
DOM 5 State management and the application’s lifecycle 6 Publishing and
using your framework’s first version 7 The reconciliation algorithm: diffing
virtual trees
Appendix. Setting up the project
1 Are frontend frameworks magic
to you?
This chapter covers
Why you should build your own frontend framework
The features of the framework we’ll build together
The big picture of how frontend frameworks work

How you ever wondered how the frontend frameworks you use work
internally? Are you curious about how they decide when to re-render a
component, and how they do to only update the parts of the DOM that
change? Isn’t it interesting how a single HTML page can change its content
without reloading? That the URL in the browser’s address bar changes
without requesting the new page to a server? The inner workings of frontend
frameworks are fascinating, and there is no better way to learn about them
than by building one yourself, from scratch. But why would you want to learn
how frontend frameworks work? Is’t it enough to just know how to use them?
—you might ask.

Good cooks know their tools; they can use knives skillfully. Great chefs go
beyond that: they know the different types of knives, when to use each one,
and how to keep their blade sharp. Carpenters know how to use a saw to cut
wood, but great carpenters also understand how the saw works and can fix it
in case it breaks. Electrical engineers not only understand that electricity is
the flow of electrons through a conductor, but also have a deep understanding
of the instruments they use to measure and manipulate it; for example, they
could build a multimeter themselves. If their multimeter breaks, they can
disassemble it, figure out what’s wrong, and repair it.

As a developer, you have a frontend framework in your toolbox, but do you

know how it works? Or, is it magic to you? If it broke—if you found a bug in
it—would you be able to find its source and fix it? When a single-page
application changes the route in the browser’s URL bar and renders a new
page without requesting it from the server, do you understand how that
happens?

1.1 Why build your own frontend framework?

The use of frontend frameworks is on the rise; it’s uncommon to write pure-
vanilla JavaScript applications nowadays, and rightly so. Modern frontend
frameworks boost productivity and make building complex interactive
applications a breeze. Frontend frameworks have become so popular that
there are jokes about the unwieldy amount of them at our disposal. (In the
time it took you to read this paragraph so far, a new frontend framework was
created.) Some of the most popular frontend frameworks even have their own
fan groups, with people arguing about why theirs is the best. Let’s not forget
that frontend frameworks are tools, a means to an end, and that the end is to
build applications that solve real problems.

Framework vs. library

Frameworks and libraries are different. When you use a library, you import
its code and call its functions. When you use a framework, you write code
that the framework executes. The framework is in charge of running the
application, and it executes your code when appropriate trigger happens.
Conversely, you call the library’s functions when you need them. Angular is
an example of a frontend framework, whereas React claims to be a library
that you can use to build UIs.

For convenience, I’ll refer to both frameworks and libraries as frameworks in

this book.

The most popular frameworks currently available, such as Vue, Svelte,

Angular, and React, are all exceptional. You might be wondering, why
create your own frontend framework with so many great options already
available? Well, aside from the satisfaction and enjoyment of building a
complex software piece from scratch, there are practical reasons to consider.

Let me tell you a little story about a personal experience to illustrate this.
1.1.1 "Do you understand how that works?"

When I was a little kid I went to one of my cousins' house to hang out. He
was a few years older than me and a handyman. His cabinets were full of
cables, screwdrivers, and other tools, and I’d spend hours just observing how
he fixed all kinds of appliances. I remember once bringing a remote control
car with me so we could play with it. He stared at it for some time, then asked
me a question that got me by surprise: "Do you understand how this thing
works?" I didn’t; I was just a kid with zero electronics knowledge. He then
said, "I like to know how the stuff I use works, so what do you say we take it
apart and see what’s inside?" I sometimes still think about that.

So now, let me ask you a question similar to that my cousin asked me: you
use frontend frameworks every day, but do you really understand how they
work? You write the code for your components, then hand it over to the
framework for it to do its magic. When you load the application into the
browser, it just works. It renders the views and handles user interactions,
always keeping the page updated (in sync with the application’s state). For
most frontend developers—and this includes me from years ago—how this
happens is a mystery. Is the frontend framework you use a mystery to you?

Sure, most of us have heard about that thing called the "virtual DOM," and
that there needs to be a "reconciliation algorithm" that decides what is the
smallest set of changes required to update the browser’s DOM. We also know
that single-page applications (SPAs for short) modify the URL in the
browser’s address bar without reloading the page, and if you’re the curious
kind of developer, you might have read about how the browser’s history API
is used to achieve this. But do you really understand how all of this works
together? Have you disassembled and debugged the code of the framework
you use? Don’t feel bad if you have not; most developers haven’t, including
some very experienced ones. This reverse-engineering process isn’t easy; it
requires lots of effort (and motivation).

In this book, you and I—together as a team—will build a frontend framework

from scratch. It’ll be a simple one, but it’ll be complete enough to understand
how frontend frameworks work. From then on, what the framework does will
no longer be a mystery to you. Oh! And it’ll be lots of fun as well.
1.2 The framework we’ll build
I like to set expectations early on, so here it goes: We won’t build the next
Vue or React as part of the book. You might be able to do that yourself after
reading this book by filling in the missing details and optimizing a couple
things here and there. The framework you’ll build can’t compete with the
mainstream frameworks—that’s not the objective anyway. The objective of
this book is to teach you how these frameworks work in general, so what they
do isn’t magic to you anymore. You don’t need to build the most advanced
framework in the world to achieve this. In fact, that’d require a book four
times as thick as this one, and the process of writing it wouldn’t be as fun.
(Did I mention that writing your own framework is fun?)

The framework we’ll build borrows ideas from a few existing frameworks,
most notably Vue, Mithril, Svelte, React, Preact, Angular and Hyperapp. Our
goal is to build a framework that’s simple enough to understand, but that at
the same time includes the typical features you’d expect from a frontend
framework. I also wanted it to be representative of some of the most relevant
concepts that are behind the source code of the most popular frameworks.

For example, not all frameworks use the virtual DOM abstraction (Svelte in
particular considers it to be "pure overhead," and the reasons are simply
brilliant—I recommend you read their blog post), but a big portion of them
do. I chose our framework to implement a virtual DOM so that’s
representative of the framework you’re likely using today. In essence, I chose
the approach that I thought would result in the most learning for you, the
reader. I’ll be covering the virtual DOM in detail in chapter 3, but in a
nutshell, it’s a lightweight representation of the DOM that’s used to calculate
the smallest set of changes required to update the browser’s DOM. For
example, the following HTML markup:
<div class="name">
<label for="name-input">Name</label>
<input type="text" id="name-input" />
<button>Save</button>
</div>

would have a virtual DOM representation like that in figure 1.1. (Note that
the saveName() event handler in the diagram doesn’t appear in the HTML
markup: event handlers are typically not shown in the HTML markup, but
added programmatically.) I’ll be using these diagrams a lot throughout the
book to illustrate how the virtual DOM and the reconciliation algorithm
works. The reconciliation algorithm is the process that decides what changes
need to be made to the browser’s DOM to reflect the changes in the virtual
DOM, which is the topic of chapters 7 and 8.

Figure 1.1. A virtual DOM representation of some HTML markup

Your framework will have some shortcomings that make it not an ideal
choice for complex production applications, but definitely fit for your latest
side project. For example, it’ll only support the standard HTML namespace,
which means that SVG won’t be supported. Most of the popular frameworks
support this namespace, but we’ll leave it out for simplicity. There are other
features that—for the sake of keeping the book to a reasonable size and the
project fun to build—we’ll leave out as well. For example, we’ll leave out
component-scoped CSS support, which is a feature that’s present in most of
the popular frameworks, one way or another.

1.2.1 Features

Your framework will have the following features, which you’ll build from
scratch:

A virtual DOM abstraction.

A reconciliation algorithm that updates the browser’s DOM.

A component-based architecture where each component does the

following:

holds its own state,

manages its own lifecycle,
re-renders itself and its children when it states changes.
An SPA router that updates the URL in the browser’s address bar
without reloading the page.
Slots to render content inside a component.
HTML templates that are compiled into JavaScript render functions.
Server-side rendering.

As you can see, it’s a pretty complete framework. It’s not a full-blown
framework like Vue or React, but it’s enough to understand how they work.
And the neat thing is that you’ll build it line by line, so you’ll understand
how it all fits together. I’ll use lots of diagrams and illustrations to help you
understand the concepts that might be harder to grasp. I recommend you to
write the source code yourself as you read the book. Try to understand it line
by line, take your time, debug it, and make sure you understand the decisions
and trade-offs we make along the way.
Figure 1.2 shows the architecture of the framework we’ll build. It includes all
the parts of the framework you’ll implement, and how they interact with each
other.

Figure 1.2. Architecture of the framework we’ll build

I will revisit this figure, making sure to highlight each part of the framework
as we build it. You don’t need to understand all the details of the architecture
right now, but it’s good to have a high-level understanding of it. At the end of
the book, this figure will make a lot of sense to you: you’ll recognize each
and every part, as you’ll have built them yourself.

1.2.2 Implementation plan

As you can imagine, you can’t build all of this in a single chapter. We want
to break it down into smaller pieces so that you can focus on one thing at a
time. Figure 1.3 shows the implementation plan for the framework. It
resembles a kanban board, where each post-it represents the work of one or
more chapters. You’ll pick up a post-it in each chapter.

Figure 1.3. Implementation plan for the framework we’ll build

Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Irish Penny Journal,
Vol. 1 No. 14, October 3, 1840
 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other
parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may
copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in
the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are
located before using this eBook.

Title: The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 14, October 3, 1840

Author: Various

Release date: February 26, 2017 [eBook #54238]

Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Brownfox and the Online Distributed Proofreading

Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by JSTOR www.jstor.org)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL, VOL. 1
NO. 14, OCTOBER 3, 1840 ***
 THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
Number 14. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 3, 1840. Volume I.
 PADDY CONEELY, THE GALWAY PIPER.
We need hardly have acquainted our Irish readers that in the prefixed sketch, which our
admirable friend the Burton has made for us, they are presented with the genuine
portrait of a piper, and an Irish piper too—for the face of the man, and the instrument on
which he is playing, are equally national and characteristic—both genuine Irish: in that
well-proportioned oval countenance, so expressive of good sense, gentleness, and kindly
sentiments, we have a good example of a form of face very commonly found among the
peasantry of the west and south of Ireland—a form of face which Spurzheim
distinguished as the true Phœnician physiognomy, and which at all events marks with
certainty a race of southern or Semitic origin, and quite distinct from the Scythic or
northern Indo-European race so numerous in Ireland, and characterized by their lighter
hair and rounder faces. And as to the bagpipes, they are of the most approved Irish kind,
beautifully finished, and the very instrument made for Crump, the greatest of all the
Munster pipers, or, we might say, Irish of modern times, and from which he drew his
singularly delicious music. Musical reader! do not laugh at the epithet we have applied to
the sounds of the bagpipe: the music of Crump, which we have often heard from himself
on these very pipes, was truly delicious even to the most refined musical ears. These
pipes after Crump’s death were saved as a national relic by our friend the worthy and
patriotic historian of Galway—need we say, James Hardiman—who, in his characteristic
spirit of generosity and kindness, presented them to their present possessor, as a person
likely to take good care of them, and not incompetent to do justice to their powers; and
the gift was nobly and well bestowed! Yet, truth to tell, Paddy Coneely is not to be
compared with John Crump, who, according to the recollections of him which cling to our
memory, was a Paganini in his way—a man never to be rivalled—and who produced
effects on his instrument previously unthought of, and which could not be expected.
Paddy is simply an excellent Irish piper—inimitable as a performer of Irish jigs and reels,
with all their characteristic fire and buoyant gaiety of spirit—admirable indeed as a player
of the music composed for and adapted to the instrument; but in his performance of the
plaintive or sentimental melodies of his country, he is not able, as Crump was, to conquer
its imperfections: he plays them not as they are sung, but—like a piper.
Yet we do not think this want of power attributable to any deficiency of feeling or genius
in Paddy—far indeed from it:—he is a creature of genuine musical soul; but he has had
no opportunities of hearing any great performer, like that one to whom we have alluded,
or of otherwise improving, to any considerable extent, his musical education generally:
the best of his predecessors whom he has heard he can imitate and rival successfully; but
still Paddy is merely an Irish piper—the piper of Galway par excellence: for in every great
town in the west and south of Ireland there is always one musician of this kind more
eminent than the rest, with whose name is justly joined as a cognomen the name of his
locality.
But we are not going to write an article on Irish pipers, or to sketch their general
characteristics—we have no such presumption as to attempt any thing of the kind, which
we feel would be altogether abortive, and which we are sure will be so perfectly done for
us by our own Carleton. We only desire to present a few traits in the character of an
individual of the species; and these after all are more relating to the man than the
musician. We are anxious, moreover, to let our English, Continental, American, and Indian
readers understand that all our pipers are not like “Tim Callaghan” with his three tunes,
of whom a sketch has been given by a fair and ingenious contributor in our last number.
Tim with his three party tunes may do very well for the comfortable farmers in the rich
lands of the baronies of Forth and Bargie—Lord! what sort of ears have they?—but he
would not be “the man,” nor the piper either, “for Galway!” Paddy can play not three
tunes, but three thousand: in fact, we have often wished his skill more circumscribed, or
his memory less retentive, particularly when, instead of firing away with some lively reel,
or still more animated Irish jig, he has pestered us, in spite of our nationality, with a set
of quadrilles or a galloppe, such as he is called on to play by the ladies and gentlemen at
the balls in Galway. But what a monstrosity—to dance quadrilles in Galway! Dance
indeed: no, but a drowsy walk, and a look as if they were going to their grandmothers’
funerals. Fair Galwegians, for assuredly you are fair, put aside this sickly affectation of
refinement, which is equally inconsistent with your natural excitability, and with the
healthy atmospheric influences by which you are surrounded. Be yourselves, and let your
limbs play freely, and your spirits rise into joyousness to the animating strains of the Irish
jig, the reel, and the country dance; so it was with your fathers, and so it should be with
you.
But we are wandering, perhaps, from our subject, forgetful of our friend Paddy, of whose
character, not as a piper but as a man we have yet to speak; and a more interesting
character in his way we have rarely met with—a man deprived by fate of eyesight, yet by
the light of his mind tracking his journey through life in one continued stream of
sunshine, beloved by many, and respected by all whose respect is worth possessing. We
had heard enough of his possession of the qualities which had procured him this respect,
independently of his musical renown, before we had met with him, to make us desire his
acquaintance; and on a visit with some friends to Galway last year, we made an
endeavour for two or three days to get him to our hotel for an evening, but in vain. He
was from home on his professional avocations, and could not be found, till, on taking our
way towards Connemara, we encountered a blind man coming along the road, who we at
once concluded must be the Galway piper; and we were right. It was Paddy Coneely
himself, who had returned home for a change of clothes, and was on his way back to
Galway to spend the evening with a party of gentlemen by whom he was engaged to
play during the Regatta. We could not, however, conveniently return with him, and so we
determined very wisely to carry him off with us; and this we were easily able to do by
first making a seizure of his pipes, after which we soon had him, a quiet though for a
while a repining captive. “Oh! murdher, what will Mr K—— and the gentlemen think of me
at all at all?” exclaimed Paddy. “Never mind, Paddy,” we replied, “they can hear you often,
but we may never have another opportunity of doing so; so come along, and depend
upon it you will be as happy with us as with the gentlemen at the Regatta;” and so we
trust he was. In a few minutes after, we had Paddy crooning old Irish songs for us, and
pointing out all the objects of any interest or beauty on either side of the road, and this
with a correctness and accuracy which perfectly astounded us. “Is not that a beautiful
view of Lough Corrib there now, Sir? That’s St Oran’s Well, Sir, at the other side of the
road we are now passing. Is not that a very purty place of Mr Burke’s?” and so on with
every feature on either side to the end of our day’s journey at Oughterard.
We kept Paddy with us for a fortnight, when we brought him safely back to Galway; and
during that time, as well as since, we had frequent opportunities of observing his
accurate knowledge of topographical objects, and his modes of acquiring it. Ask any
questions respecting an old church or castle in his hearing, and ten to one he will give a
more correct description of its locality, and a more accurate account of its size, height,
and general features, than any one else. Speak of a mountain, and he will break out with
some such remark as this—“I discovered a beautiful spring well on the top of that
mountain, Sir, that no one before ever heard of.” His knowledge of atmospheric
appearances and influences is equally if not still more remarkable. He can always tell with
the nicest accuracy the point from which the wind blows, and predict with a degree of
certainty we never saw excelled, the probable steadiness of the weather, or any
approaching change likely to take place in it. He is a perfect barometer in this way, for his
conclusions are chiefly drawn from a delicate perception of the state of the atmospheric
air imperceptible to others, and are rarely erroneous. On a fine sunny morning when the
lakes are smooth, the mountains clear, and the sky without a cloud, we remark to him
that it is a fine morning. “It is, Sir, a beautiful morning.” “And we are sure of having a fine
day, Paddy,” we continue. “Indeed I fear not, Sir; the wind is coming round to the south-
east, and the air is thickening. We’ll have heavy rain in some hours,” or “before long.”
Again, on a rainy morning, when everything around looks hopelessly dreary, and we feel
ourselves booked for a day in our inn, we observe to him, “There’s no chance of this day
taking up, Paddy.” But Paddy knows better, and he cheers us up with the answer, “Oh,
this will be a fine day, Sir, by and bye. The wind is getting a point to the north, the clouds
are rising, and the air is getting drier. We’ll have a fine day soon.”
The power thus exhibited of acquiring such accurate knowledge of localities, and of
atmospheric appearances and influences, without the aid of sight, affords a striking
example of the capabilities beneficently vested in us, of supplying the want created by
the accidental loss of one organ, by an increase of activity and acuteness in some other,
or others. These capabilities are equally observable in the lower animals as in man; but
their degree is very various in individuals of both species, being dependent on the
delicacy of organization and amount of intellectuality which the individual may happen to
possess. Thus the power to supply the want of vision by the exercise of other organs, is
not given to every blind man in any thing like the degree enjoyed by the Galway piper,
who is a creature of the most delicate nervous organization, and a man of a high degree
of intellectuality. Paddy is a genuine inductive philosopher, never indolent or idle, always
in quest of knowledge either by inquiry or experimental observation, and drawing his own
conclusions accordingly. To observe his processes in this way is not only amusing but
instructive, and has often afforded us a high enjoyment. When Paddy comes to a place
with which he has no previous acquaintance, he commences his topographical researches
with as little delay as possible, first about the exterior of the house, which he examines
all round, measuring with his stick its length and breadth, and calculates its height;
ascertains the situation of its doors and the number of its windows, and makes himself
acquainted with the peculiarities of their form and material: he next proceeds to the out-
offices, which he surveys in a similar manner, feeling even any stray cart, car, or wheel-
barrow, which may be lying in the courtyard or barn, and determining whether they are
well made or not. If a cow or horse come in his way, he will subject them to a similar
examination, and, if asked, pronounce accurately on their points, condition, and value.
Having satisfied himself with an examination of all these nearer objects, if time permit he
then extends his researches to those more distant—as the roads, ascertaining their
breadth, &c.; the neighbouring bridges, streams, rivers, and even mountains; the nature
of the soil too, and state of the crops, are attended to. While we were sojourning at the
hotel at Maam last year, we found him one sunny morning standing on the very brink of a
deep river, about a quarter of a mile distant, and examining the construction of the arch
of a bridge which crossed it. How he had got there we could not possibly imagine, for
there was no other mode of reaching it than by a descent from the road of a bank nearly
perpendicular, and eighteen or twenty feet in height. But our friend Paddy made light of
it, and remarked that there was not the slightest danger of him in such explorings.
On another occasion, being about to visit the island castle on Lough Corrib, called
Caislean-na-Circe, Paddy expressed to us his desire to accompany us, as he said he never
had an opportunity of seeing it. We took him with us accordingly; and there was not a
spot on the rocky island that with the aid of his stick he did not examine, or a crumbling
wall that he did not scale, even to places that we should have supposed only accessible
to jackdaws. “Dear me, Sir,” he exclaimed on our return, “but that’s a mighty curious
castle, and must be very ancient. I never saw walls in a castle so thick before, and how
beautiful and smooth the arches were! I think they were a kind of grit-stone?” This was
added inquiringly; and so they were—red sandstone chiselled.
But we are dwelling too long on these characteristics, forgetting that we have others to
notice of greater interest; and of these perhaps the most eminent is his habitual, and, as
we might say, constitutional benevolence. Of this trait in his character we heard many
interesting instances, but our space will only allow us to notice one or two which we
artfully extracted from himself. Having heard of his kindnesses to some of his neighbours
who are poorer than himself, we had determined to make himself speak on the matter;
and, accordingly, when passing through the village in which he resides, about two miles
and a half from Galway, we remarked to him that some of those neighbours seemed very
poor. “Indeed they are, Sir, very,” he replied; “they have been very badly off this year in
consequence of the wet, the want of firing, and the dearness of potatoes.” “And how,” I
rejoined, “have they contrived to keep body and soul together?” “Why, Sir, just by the
assistance of those a little better off than themselves.” Paddy would not name himself as
their benefactor, so we had to ask him if he had been able to give them any aid, and then
his ingenuousness obliged him to confess that he had: he had lent thirty shillings to one
family to buy seed for their bit of ground, ten shillings to another to buy meal, and so on.
“And will they ever pay you, Paddy?” we inquired. “Och! the creatures, they will, to be
sure, Sir,” Paddy replied in a tone expressive of surprise at the imputation on their
honesty; but added in a lower voice, “if they can; and if they can’t, Sir, why, please God,
I’ll get over it; sure one couldn’t see the creatures starve!” This was last year. In the
present summer we had heard that Paddy’s turf was all stolen from him shortly after—
perhaps by some of the very persons whom he had assisted—and we were curious to
ascertain how he took his loss. So we inquired, “How were you off, Paddy, for firing last
winter?” “Very badly, Sir. I had no turf of my own, and was obliged to buy turf in Galway
at four shillings the kish. It would have been cheaper to buy coal, only I don’t like a
grate, for the children burn themselves at it.” “And how did it happen that you had no
turf of your own?” “Because, Sir, it was all stolen from me, after I had paid two pounds
for cutting and drying it.” “Did you ever,” I inquired, “discover who were the robbers?”
“Oh, yes, Sir,” he replied. “And could you prove the theft against them?” “I could, to be
sure.” “Did you prosecute them?” “Tut, tut, Sir, what good would that do me?” and Paddy
added, in a tone of pity, “the creatures! sure they were poor rogues, or they would not
have taken every bit away.” “Well, then, Paddy,” I inquired, “did you ever speak to them
about it?” “I did, Sir.” “And what answer or apology did they make?” “They said, Sir, that
they wouldn’t have touched it if they knew it was mine.” “Did they ever return any of it?”
Paddy replied with a laugh, “Oh, no!”
Reader, are you richer in a worldly sense than Paddy Coneely? And if, as it is probable,
you are so, let us ask you, do you just now feel an unusual warmth in your cheeks? If so,
you need not be greatly ashamed of it, for believe us, there are many nobles in our land
who might well feel a similar sensation on reading these anecdotes of the benevolence of
Paddy Coneely.
Paddy, like all or most genuine Irishmen, has a dash of quiet Irish humour and much
excitability in his character, of which we must venture to give an instance or two.
On a certain day, while Paddy was stopping at Mr O’Flaherty’s of Knock-ban, the
coachman, who was blind of one eye, was airing two horses, one of which was similarly
wanting in a visual organ, and the other stone blind. A gentleman present remarking that
here were four animals, two men and two horses, that had but two eyes among them,
proposed a race, to which Paddy and the coachman assented. Paddy was placed upon
the horse which could see a little, and the coachman got up on the blind one. Off they
started with whip and spur, and to his great delight, Paddy won. This is one of the feats
of which Paddy is most proud.
Again—We were standing in the kitchen at Maam one day, listening to Paddy telling his
stories to a happy group of young people, when he was addressed by a middle-aged
woman, who, from her imperfect knowledge of English, misunderstood him, and
imagined that he was paying court to a blooming girl, and representing himself as an
unmarried man. To his great surprise, therefore, Paddy heard himself attacked with
terrific vituperation, in whole Irish and broken English, on the heinousness of his conduct.
Before, however, she had got to the end of her oration, Paddy’s face had assumed an
expression which announced that he was determined to lend himself to her mistake, and
carry on the joke. Accordingly, when he was allowed to reply, he rated her in turn upon
her silly stupidity in supposing that she knew him—denied having ever seen her before—
declared that he was not Paddy Coneely at all, and never had heard of or seen such a
person; and added, that “it was a shame for a woman with her two eyes to be so
foolish.” The woman looked at him for a while in mute bewilderment, and actually
seemed to doubt the evidences of her own senses. But she gradually became satisfied of
his identity, and, excited into a virtuous rage, she rushed out of the house, declaring that
she would never stop till she told his wife—poor woman—of his misconduct! And she
kept her word, for we actually met her at Oughterard in a couple of days after, on her
return from Paddy’s residence.
We would gladly record some other instances of Paddy’s humour, but our limits will not
permit us; and we can only add a few words on one or two other traits in his character.
We have already stated that Paddy, despite of his humble condition, and that loss of sight
which would be deemed by most persons as one of the greatest of human calamities, is a
happy man—a happier one we never saw. He is always singing—in sunny weather,
sprightly airs, and in gloomy weather, pathetic ones; but he never looks or is sad, except
when a tale of sorrow excites his pity, or when he is about to separate from friends. The
calamity of want of sight he thinks of little moment, and inferior to the loss of any other
organ—that of hearing, in particular, which he considers as the greatest of all possible
bodily afflictions. “I don’t remember,” said Paddy, “ever wishing for sight but once in my
life; ’twas when I went to a horse race. I went with two friends, and somehow we got
parted in the throng, and I could not make them out. There was a great deal of bustle
and confusion, and I knew that the race would soon begin; and I was a long way from
the starting-post, and had not any one to lead me to it. Dear, dear, said I, if I had my
sight now, I might be able to hear the horses starting. Just then I heard some one calling
Paddy, Paddy! It was one of my friends looking for me; and I think I never seen men so
distressed when they found they had lost me. It was mighty pleasant; they never let me
go all day after, and we were just in time to hear the horses start.”
We are, indeed, reluctantly constrained to confess that Paddy, notwithstanding his
humanity, is, like many other benevolent men of higher grade, who are equally blind in
this respect, an ardent lover of field sports, as an instance will show. We were seated at
our breakfast in the hotel at Maam one morning, when our ears were assailed by a
strange din, composed of the barking of dogs and the shouting of men. We started to the
oriel window which commands a view of the road beyond the bridge for a mile or more,
and the reader may judge of our astonishment when we saw Paddy Coneely hand in
hand with Paddy Lee, one of our car-drivers from Clifden, racing at their utmost speed—
Paddy throwing his heels twice as high in the air as the other—both shouting joyously,
and attended by a number of greyhounds and terriers, who barked in chorus—and so
they raced till they were out of sight. “What in the world,” we inquired of our host,
Rourke, “is the meaning of that?” “It’s Paddy and Lee, Sir, who have borrowed my dogs,
and are gone off to course!”
But we must pull up in our own course, and not run Paddy down. Let us however add, for
he is a favourite with us, that Paddy is a temperate as he is a prudent man. We came to
this conclusion, from the healthiness of his appearance and the equanimity of his manner,
in five minutes after we first saw him. “You don’t drink hard, Paddy,” we remarked to him.
“No, Sir,” he replied; “I did once, but I found it was destroying my health, and that if I
continued to do so, I would soon leave my family after me to beg; so I left it off three
years ago, and I have never tasted raw spirits since, or taken more than a tumbler, or, on
an odd occasion, a tumbler and a half of punch, in an evening since.”
We only desire to add to this slight sketch, that Paddy appears to be in tolerably
comfortable circumstances—he farms a bit of ground, and his cottage is neat and cleanly
kept for one in his rank in Galway. He has a great love of approbation, a high opinion of
his musical talents, and a strong feeling of decent pride. He will only play for the gentry
or the comfortable farmers. He will not lower the dignity of his professional character by
playing in a tap-room or for the commonalty—except on rare occasions, when he will do
it gratuitously, and for the sole pleasure of making them happy. We have ourselves been
spectators on some of these occasions, and may probably give a sketch of them in a
future number.
P.
 A BIT OF PHILOSOPHY.
Disappointment—pho! What is disappointment, I should like to know? Why should any
body feel it? I don’t. I did so at one time, however, certainly, and have a vague
recollection of it being a rather unpleasant sort of feeling; but I am a total stranger to it
now, and have been so for the last twenty years.
“Lucky fellow!” say you; “then you succeed in every thing?”
Quite the reverse, my dear sir; I succeed in nothing. I have not the faintest recollection
of having ever succeeded in any single thing, where success was of the least moment, in
the whole course of my life. I have invariably failed in every thing I have tried. But what
has been the consequence? Why, the consequence has been, that I now never expect
success in any thing I aim at; and this again has produced one of the most delightful
states of feeling that can well be conceived. In fact, the reader can not conceive how
delicious is the repose, the placidity of mind, the equanimity of temper, the coolness, the
calmness, the comfort, arising from this independence of results—this delightful
quiescence of the aspirations. It is a perfect paradise, an elysium. You recline on it so
softly, so easily. It is like a down pillow; a bed of roses; an English blanket. I recollect the
time when I used to fret and fume when I attempted any thing. How I used to be
worried and tortured with hopes and fears, when I commenced any new undertaking, or
applied for any situation! What folly! what absurdity!—all proceeding from the ridiculous
notion that I had some chance of success!
Grown wiser, I save myself a world of trouble now. I know that I need not look for
success in any thing I attempt, and therefore never expect it. It would do you good,
gentle reader, to see with what calmness, with what philosophy, I now wait the result of
any effort to better myself in life. It is truly edifying to behold.
Notwithstanding, however, this certain foreknowledge of consequences as regards the
point in question, I deem it my bounden duty, both to myself and family, to make every
effort I can for their and my own advancement; to try for every situation to which I think
myself competent, and, therefore, I do so; but it is merely in compliance with this moral
obligation, and from no hope whatever of succeeding; and the result has invariably
shown, that to have given myself any uneasiness on the subject, to have entertained the
most remote idea of success, would have been one of the most ridiculous things
conceivable.
What a triumph is mine in such cases! I suffer nothing—no distress of mind, no
uneasiness, not the least of either: I am calm and cool, and quite prepared for the result,
and sure as fate it comes—“Dear Sir, I am sorry to say,” &c., &c. I never read a word
beyond this.
Perhaps it would amuse the reader to give him one of those instances—I could give him
five hundred—of what the generality of people call disappointments, which has induced
the happy state of mind I now enjoy, which enables me to contemplate such crises as
would throw any other person into the utmost agitation, with the most perfect
equanimity.
About four or five years ago, a very intimate and dear friend suddenly burst in upon me
while at breakfast one morning. He was almost breathless, and his look was big with
intelligence.
“Well, Bob,” said he, with a gleeful smile, “here’s something at last that will do you good.”
I smiled, and shook my head.
“Well, well, so you always say,” said my friend, who perfectly understood me; “but you
cannot miss this time. I have just heard from a confidential friend that Mr Bowman is
about to retire from business, and that he is on the lookout for a respectable person to
purchase his stock in trade, and the good will of his shop, privately. Now, Bob, that’s just
the thing for you. You know the trade; you know, too, that Mr Bowman has realised a
handsome fortune in it, and that his shop, where that fortune was made, has the best
business in town.”
Now, all this that my friend said was true, perfectly true. Mr Bowman had made a fortune
in the shop alluded to. It had by far the best run in town: it was crowded with customers
from morning till night. But I felt quite confident that the moment I took the shop there
would be an end of its prosperity. However, my friends prevailed. To please them, and to
show that I was willing to do any thing to better my circumstances, I took the shop. I
bought the stock and good will of the business, and entered on possession. My friends all
congratulated me, and declared that my fortune was made. I knew better.
However, to give the speculation fair play, a thing I thought due to it, I prevailed on Mr
Bowman to forego the usual proceeding in such cases of advertising his retirement from
business and recommending me as his successor, because I knew that if he did so, all
chance of my doing any good would be instantly knocked on the head. Recommend me!
Why, the bare mention of my name—any allusion to it—would be certain and immediate
destruction to me. I knew that if the public was made aware that I had succeeded to the
business, it would instantly desert the shop.
Impressed with this conviction, I had the whole matter and manner of the transfer of
property and interest in the shop managed with the utmost privacy and secrecy, my
object being to slip unperceived and unobserved, as it were, into my predecessor’s place,
that the public might not have the slightest hint of the change.
In order further to secure this important secret, I would not permit the slightest
alteration to be made, either on the shop itself, or on any of its multifarious contents. I
would not allow a box, or an article of any kind, not even a nail, to be removed or shifted
from its place, for fear of giving the public the slightest clue to the fact of the shop’s
being now mine. As to my own appearance in it, which of course could not be avoided, I
hoped that I might pass for a shopman of Mr Bowman’s.
All, however, as I expected, was in vain. The public by some intuitive instinct, as it
seemed to me, discovered that I was now proprietor of the shop, and took its measures
accordingly. On the very first day that I took my place behind the counter, I thought it
looked shy at me. I was not mistaken. Day after day my customers became fewer and
fewer, until hardly one would enter the shop.
Being quite prepared for this result, I felt neither surprise nor disappointment, but shortly
after coolly disposed of the shop, and all that was in it, to another party, who, as I wish
every body well, I am glad to say, did, according to his own account, amazingly well in it,
he declaring to me himself that it fulfilled his most sanguine expectations.
It could not be otherwise, for, as I well knew would be the case, the moment I quitted
the counter, and this person took my place, the stream of public patronage returned;
customers came thronging in faster than he and two stout active shopmen could serve
them.
Now, in this affair, as in all others of a similar kind, my friends confessed that I had given
the spec fair play, and that there was nothing on my part to which they could attribute
the blame of failure. Unable to account for it, therefore, they merely shrugged their
shoulders and said, “It was odd; they didn’t understand it.” Neither did I, good reader;
but so it was.
One rather odd feature in my case I may mention. Although I never actually succeed in
anything, I am always very near doing so—very near getting every thing—within an ace,
in almost every instance, of obtaining all I want. My friends are frequently bitten by this
will-o’-the-wisp in my fortunes, and have fifty times congratulated me on the strength of
its deceptive promises or successes, which of course are never realised.
In reply to their congratulations on such occasions, I merely smile and shake my head;
adding, perhaps, “Not so fast, my good friends; wait a bit and you’ll see. I have been as
near my mark a hundred times before.”
Perhaps the reader would like to glance at a case in point. I will present it to him: it is
not yet three weeks old. I applied for a certain appointment in the gift of a certain board.
Here is the reply of the secretary, who was my personal friend:—“My dear Sir, I am
exceedingly happy to inform you that your application, which was this day read at the
board, has been most favourably received. Indeed, from what has passed on the subject,
I may assure you of success, and beg to congratulate you accordingly. Your success
would not perhaps have been quite so certain had Mr S— been at home, as he would
probably support his friend B., who is the only person you had to fear. But Mr S—, who is
on the continent (at Carlsbad), is not expected for a fortnight, and cannot be here for a
week at the soonest; so you are safe.”
“Well, then, now surely, Bob,” said my friends to whom I showed this letter, “you cannot
doubt of your success in this instance.”
“No, indeed!” exclaimed I, with the usual shake of the head and accompanying smile of
incredulity; “never had less expectation from any thing in my life. Don’t you see, Mr S—
will be home in time, and will give his powerful interest to my rival?”
“Impossible, my dear sir; Mr S— is at Carlsbad, and cannot be home in less than a week.
Neither steam-boat nor rail-road could enable him to accomplish such a feat.”
“No, but a balloon might; and depend upon it a balloon he will take, rather than I should
get the situation. This he’ll certainly do, although he knows nothing of what is going on.”

“There’s the postman, my dear,” said I with gentleness and equanimity to my wife, on the
morning of the third day after the conversation above alluded to had taken place. “It is a
letter from my friend Secretary Wilkins, to inform me that I have lost the situation of
——; that Mr S—, performing miracles in the way of expedition, although not impelled by
any particular motive, came home just in time to support his friend and, of course, to cut
me out.”
It was precisely so. “My dear Sir,” began my friend’s letter, “I am truly sorry to inform
you”——I read no more; not another word. It was quite unnecessary; I knew it all before.
So, laying the letter gently on the table, I said with my wonted smile, “Exactly; all right!”
Now, does the reader think that, in this, or in any other similar case, I gave myself the
smallest uneasiness about the result? Not I, indeed—not the smallest. I expected no
success, and was not therefore disappointed.
C.
OLD TIMES.
BY J. U. U.
“My soul is full of other times!”
Where is that spirit of our prime,
The good old day!
Have the life and power of that honoured time
All passed away!
When old friendship breathed, and old kindness wreathed
The cot and castle in kindred claim,
And the tie was holy of service lowly,
And Neighbour was a brother’s name,

And the streams of love and charity

Flowed far and wide,
And kind welcome held the portal free
To none denied,
And blessed from far rose that kindly star
The high roof o’er the well-known hall,
The cordial hearth, the genial mirth—
Has Time the tyrant stilled them all!

Ay, some are fallen—their courts are green;

The cold calm sky
Looks in on many a once-loved scene
Of days gone by.
And some stand on, but their lights are gone,
Their manners are new and their masters strange;
They know no trace of that frank old race
Swept off by the tide of time and change.

These would’st thou mourn, go, trace the path,

The far wild road,
To some old hill where ruin hath
Its lone abode—
Where morn is sleeping, and dank dews weeping—
Where the grey moss grows on the lintel stone—
Where the raven haunts, and the wild weed flaunts,
And old remembrance broods alone:

There weep—for generous hearts dwelt there,

To pity true—
Each light and shade of joy and care
These old walls knew.
With weary ray the eye of day
Looks lifeless on their mouldering mound:
Their pride is blighted!—but the sun ne’er lighted
A happier home in his bright round.

There smiles, whose light hath passed away,

Bound young hearts fast;
 Bound young hearts fast;
And hope gilt many a coming day
Now long, long past.
There was beauty’s flower and manhood’s power—
The frail, proud things in which mortals trust;
And yon hall was loud with a merry crowd
Of breasts long mingled in the dust.

There too the poor and weary sought

Relief and rest;
His song the wandering harper brought,
A welcome guest;
There lay rose lightly, and young eyes shone brightly,
And in sunshine ever life’s stream rolled on:
And no thought came hither how time could wither—
Yet time stole by, and they are gone.

And there—the breast were cold indeed

That would not feel,
How with the same relentless speed
Our seasons steal.
The princely towers and pleasant bowers
May scoff the hours with gallant show,
In vain—they are what once these were,
And in their turn must lie as low.

The Beautiful in Nature and Art.—In looking at our nature, we discover among its
admirable endowments the sense or perception of beauty. We see the germ of this in
every human being; and there is no power which admits greater cultivation: and why
should it not be cherished in all? It deserves remark, that the provision for this principle
of the creation which we can turn into food and clothes, or gratification for the body; but
the whole creation may be used to minister to the sense of beauty. Beauty is an all-
pervading presence; it unfolds the numberless flowers of the spring; it waves in the
branches of the trees and the green blades of grass; it haunts the depth of the earth and
sea, and gleams out in the hues of the shell and the precious stone; and not only these
minute objects, but the ocean, the mountains, the clouds, the heavens, the stars, the
rising and setting sun, all overflow with beauty. The universe is its temple, and those men
who are alive to it cannot lift their eyes without feeling themselves encompassed with it
on every side. Now, this beauty is so precious, the enjoyments it gives are so refined and
so akin to worship, that it is painful to think of the multitude of men as living in the midst
of it, and living almost as blind to it, as if, instead of this fair earth and glorious sky, they
were tenants of a dungeon. An infinite joy is lost to the world by the want of culture of
this spiritual endowment. Suppose that I were to visit a cottage, and to see its walls lined
with the choicest picture of Raphael, and every spare nook filled with statues of the most
exquisite workmanship, and that I were to learn that neither man, woman, nor child, ever
cast an eye at these miracles of art, how should I regret their privation; how should I
want to open their eyes; and to help them to comprehend and feel the loveliness and
grandeur which in vain courted their notice? But every husbandman is living in sight of
the works of a diviner artist; and how much would his existence be elevated, could he
see the glory which shines forth in their forms, hues, proportions, and moral expression!
I have spoken only of the beauty of nature; but how much of this mysterious charm is
found in the elegant arts, and especially in literature? The best books have most beauty.
The greatest truths are wronged if not linked with beauty, and they win their way most
surely and deeply into the soul when arrayed in this their natural and fit attire. Now no
man receives the true culture of a man in whom the sensibility to the beautiful is not
cherished; and I know of no condition in life from which it should be excluded. Of all
luxuries, this is the cheapest and most at hand; and it seems to be most important to
those conditions where coarse labour tends to give a grossness to the mind. From the
diffusion of the sense of beauty in ancient Greece, and of the taste for music in modern
Germany, we learn that the people at large may partake of refined gratifications which
have hitherto been thought to be necessarily restricted to a few.—Channing.
 A COMMON FROG!
“Come along; don’t stay poking in that ditch; it’s nothing but a common frog,” said a
lively-looking fellow to his companion; who replied, “True, it is only a common frog, but
give me a few minutes, and I will endeavour to show you that it better deserves attention
than many a creature called rare and curious. The fact is, that the history of what we call
common animals, and see every day, is often very imperfectly known, though possessing
much to astonish and instruct us. Come, sit you down on this bank for a few minutes,
instead of pursuing your idle walk, and I will endeavour to excite your curiosity and
powers of observation. If I do so by means of so humble an instrument as a common
frog, I do better service than if I were to fix your attention by accounts of the mightiest
monsters of fossil or existing Herpetology, as the part of natural history which treats of
reptiles is called. See! I have caught him, and a fine stout fellow he is, for I perceive from
his swelling chops he is a male. Let us now consider his place in the creation: it is in the
tailless section of the fourth order of reptiles called Batrachians, and distinguished from
the other three orders by the absence of scales on the skin, and by the young
undergoing the most extensive changes of form, organic structure, and habits of life. You
know, I presume, that frogs are hatched from eggs, or as they are called in mass, spawn,
which is laid early in the year in shallow pools, and resembles boiled sago. The peasantry
believe that as it is laid in more or less deep water, so will the coming season be dry or
wet. This, however, like many other instances of supposed prescience in animals, does
not stand the test of observation, for spawn is frequently laid where, when the weather
proves fine, the water is dried up. Nevertheless, its position does in some degree indicate
the state of the atmosphere, as, under the low pressure of air which precedes and
attends rain, the spawn, owing to bubbles of air entangled in it, floats more buoyantly,
and is fitted for shallower water than it could swim in under other circumstances. But to
our subject. The product of this spawn is in every thing unlike the perfect frog we now
behold. He commenced life with some twelve hundred in family, a tiny, fish-formed
creature, with curious external gills, which in a short time became covered with skin; and
he then breathed by taking in water at the mouth, passing it over the gills, and out at
orifices on each side, just as we see in ordinary fishes. The circulation of his blood was
also similar to that of those animals. His head and body were then confounded in one
globular mass, to which was appended a long, flattened, and powerful tail; his mouth
was small, his jaws suited to his food, which was vegetable, and his intestines were four
times longer in proportion than they are now. After some time of this fish-like life, two
limbs began to bud near to the junction of his body and tail—then another pair under the
skin near his gills. His tail absorbed in proportion as his limbs developed, until, casting
away the last of his many tadpole skins, and with it his jaws and gills, he emerged from
the water a ‘gaping, wide-mouthed, waddling frog,’ to seek on land his prey, in future to
consist exclusively of worms, insects, and other small living beings; still retaining his
power of swimming and diving, but accomplishing it by powerful exertions of his hinder
legs, which serve him on land to effect his prodigious jumps, of which we may form an
estimate by knowing that a man exerting as great a power in proportion could jump
upwards of one hundred yards. He cannot, however, breathe under water; and though
his skin, which possesses enormous absorbing powers, may contribute a portion of the
necessary stimulus to his blood, yet he must breathe as we do by getting air into his
lungs, and therefore, except when he is torpid from cold, he cannot continue any great
length of time under water. Observe now his mode of breathing—see with what regularity
his nostrils open and shut, while the skin under his throat falls and rises in the same
order, for as he is without ribs or diaphragm, his mode of inspiration is not effected as
ours is; but he takes air into his closely shut mouth through his nostrils, which he then
closes, and by a muscular exertion presses the air into his lungs. Were you to keep his
mouth open, he would be infallibly smothered. His tongue is one of his most striking
peculiarities, for instead of being rooted, as in other animals, at the throat, it is fastened
to his under lip, and its point is directed to his stomach. Nevertheless, this strange
arrangement is well suited to his purposes, and his tongue as an organ of prehension is
very effective. It is flat, soft, and long, and is covered with a very viscid fluid. When he
wishes to use it, he lowers his under jaw suddenly, and ejects and retracts his tongue
with the rapidity of a flash of light, snatching away a luckless worm or beetle attached,
by the secretion before alluded to, to its tip. The insertion of the tongue in front of the
lower jaw serves not only to aid mechanically in its ejection and retraction, just as we
manage the lash of a whip, but it saves material in its construction, for it would require
much greater volume of muscle to accomplish the same end posited as tongues usually
are; and it has also the advantage of bringing the food into the proper place for being
swallowed, without further exertion than that of its retraction.
Look now at the splendour of the golden iris of his eyes, and his triple eyelids; see,
notwithstanding the meagre developement of his head, as a phrenologist would say, his
great look of vivacity; though his brain is small, his nerves are particularly large, and his
muscles are accordingly possessed of more than ordinary excitability, which property has
subjected his race to very many cruel experiments, at the hands of physiologists,
galvanists, &c. A favourite experiment was, by the galvanic action of a silver coin and a
small plate of zinc, on the leg of a dead frog, to make it jump with more than the force of
life. Should you be inclined to study his anatomy, you will find ample stores in the
ponderous folios of old writers, who have so laboriously wrought out his story as to leave
little to be accomplished by us. The frog, now abundantly dispersed over Ireland, was
introduced into this country not much more than a century since by Doctor Gwythers of
Trinity College; and in thus naturalizing this pretty creature, cold and clammy though it
be, he did a service, for it contributes materially to check the increase of slugs and
worms. I have often vindicated the frog from charges brought against him by gardeners.
I have been shown a strawberry, and desired to look at the mischief he has done. I have
pointed out, that the edge where he was accused of biting out a piece was not only dry,
but smaller than the interior of the cavity, and it therefore could not be formed by a bite.
I have then shown other strawberries with similar wounds, in which small black slugs
were feeding; and I have cut up the supposed strawberry-devouring frog slain by the
gardener, and shown in his stomach, with several earthworms, a number of little black
slugs of the species alluded to, but not one bit of fruit: thus proving, I hope, that the
cultivator of strawberries ought for his own sake to be the protector of frogs.
The frog is a good instance of the confusion that constantly arises from applying the
same words to designate different animals in different countries. The common frog of the
continent is the green frog (Rana esculenta), while our common frog is their red frog
(Rana temporaria). The former is of much more aquatic habits than the latter, and is not
known in Ireland. I once made an attempt to introduce it here, and when in Paris
directed a basket of 100 frogs to be made up for me, giving special instructions that no
common frogs were to be amongst them, which order I found on returning was obeyed
as understood in that country, and not a single green frog was in my lot, though I
intended to have none other. As articles of food there seems to be little difference, but
the preference is given to the green frog. The vulgar opinion that Frenchmen eat frogs
for want of better food is quite erroneous; the contrary is the fact; for a fricassee of
these animals is an expensive dish in France, and is considered a delicacy. Its chief merit
appears to me to be its freedom from strong flavour of any kind; a delicate stomach may
indulge in it without fear of a feeling of repletion. In this country the foolish prejudices
which forbid the use of many attainable articles of wholesome food, applies with force to
frogs. Our starving peasants loath what princes of other nations would banquet on, and
leave to badgers, hedgehogs, buzzards, herons, pike and trout, sole possession of a very
nutritive and pleasant article of food. When devoured by the heron, it is in part converted
into a source of wonder to the unenlightened; for the curious masses of whitish jelly
found on the banks of rivers and other moist places, and said by the country people to be
fallen stars, are, so far as I have been able to observe, masses of immature frog spawn
in a semi-digested state; and they seemed to me to have been rejected by herons, just
as we see hawks and owls reject balls of hair, feathers, or other indigestible portions of
their prey.
While on the subject of eating frogs, one of many of my adventures with the animal
comes upon me with something like a feeling of compunction. When I was at school, it
happened on a great occasion that a party of the ‘big boys’ were allowed to sit up much
beyond the ordinary time of retiring. Finding it cold, it was proposed to adjourn to the
kitchen, poke up the fire, and make warm before going to bed. Proceeding accordingly,
we were startled by the repetition of some heavy sounds on the floor, and on getting up
a blaze we discovered a frog of gigantic proportions jumping across the room. He was
seized, and a council being held upon him, it was resolved that he should be killed,
roasted, and eaten; and this awful sentence was at once put into execution—the curious
for curiosity, the braggarts for bravado, and the cowards, lest they be thought so,
partaking of the repast. We discovered next day that the unfortunate devoured had been
for three years a settled denizen of the kitchen, where he dealt nightly havoc on the
hordes of crickets and cockroaches it contained. I have had for three years a frog in
confinement where his food is not very abundant, and he has grown proportionally
slowly, being still of a very diminutive size. Linnæus and others distinguished ours as the
mute frog, believing it did not possess a voice. They were mistaken: you hear our
captive, when I press his back, give utterance to his woes; but if you desire to attend his
concert, get up some bright night in spring, seek out his spawning place about the
witching hour, and you will then hear sounds, of strange power, which seem to make the
earth on which you stand to tremble. On investigation you will find it to proceed from an
assembled congregation of frogs, each pronouncing the word Croak, but dwelling, as a
musician would say, with a thrill on the letter r. When speaking of the tadpole, I forgot to
allude to the fact, that recent experimenters find that by placing them in covered jars,
the developement of the frog is arrested. The tadpole will continue to grow until it
reaches a size as great as that of an adult frog. This has been attributed by the
discoverer to a withdrawal of the agency of light; but it strikes me he has, in his anxiety
to prop a theory, lost sight of the true reason, which appears to be, that while he
excluded the young animal from light, he also put it in such a situation as to compel it to
breathe alone by its gills, and afford it no opportunity for the developement of its lungs,
and so it retained of necessity its fish-like functions. As you are probably more of a
sportsman than a naturalist, you have observed in rail shooting, your pointer, after a
show of setting, roll on the ground: if you had examined, the chances are you would
have found a dead frog of no very pleasing perfume. Why the dog so rolled, I cannot say,
unless it be, that he like other puppies wished to smear his hair with nasty animal
odours. I have now I think worked out your patience; and though I could dwell much
longer on the subject, and eke out much from ancient lore, I will end by a less pompous
quotation of part of a well-known song—

‘A frog he would a-wooing go,

Whether his mother would let him or no.’

And the catastrophe,

‘A lily white duck came and gobbled him up.’

Pray apply the moral. Had the said frog had his mind cultivated, and had he been
acquainted with nature, he would not have engaged in a thoughtless courtship, that
could have no good end, nor have disobeyed the voice of experience, and so met with
the fate that awaited him. You may now go on your walk; and if a common frog cannot
interest you, take care of the lily white duck.”
B.