JOURNEYS WITH JERRY THE JARVEY.

I.-BRIDGETOWN SOCIETY.

You must get some other person to drive you to-morrow, your honour, for 'tis the first Saturday in the month, an' 'tis a coachman I do be on that day in place of a jarvey. Wet or dry, 'tis the covered car I must have, an' a collar an' scarf on me like I'd be goin' to a funeral.

Quilty has a contract, taken these many years past, for drivin' all th' ould maids in the town visitin' won another. No one in the yard but me can plaze 'em. I suppose I must have a private appearance about me. An' 'tis Coachman' they'll call em while I'm goin' the round wid 'em, but 'tis 'Jerry' I'll be next mornin' agin.

I must drive 'em won be won, singly, be themselves, alone, an' whin the first will have the round done, maybe 'tis her next-door neighbour I'll take on the same coorse. 'Tis the custom wid 'em to say 'Not at home' to ache other, for 'tis well they know that, wid all the drivin' I have before me I couldn't be wastin' time standin' outside the door while they'd be talkin' to won another. I do be tired climbin' up an' down off the sate an' handin' in cards to the servant-gerruls. Won of 'em toult me that part of her juty was to sort 'em out on the Sunday mornin' and give 'em back agin to their right owners afther Mass.

It comes a dale chaper for 'em all to have the car on the same day. There's about tin of 'em, an' four shillins is what Quilty charges as the job is so regular.

The cratures are so full up of granjur an' gentility that they never lets on to won another that 'twas on the same day all the visitin' was done.

Once or twice a year, five or six of 'em will jine together an' make up the price of Quilty's ould wagonette an' two horses (you couldn't rightly call 'em a pair, alldo they're pullin' corpses together these tin years) an' we'll go visitin' all the Quality widin a drive of us.

They wouldn't like it at all if the Quality had the same regulations as themselves about visitin', an' you never see such a mournful look as one of 'em will give whin a butler throws a 'Not at home' at her on the doorstep.

Their minds do be med up for tay-drinkin' before they starts

out, an' I raly do think that if they were left into six or seven houses afther won another, the taypot would be sampled in every won of 'em. I always notice that on the drive out 'tis about their servant-gerruls they do be talkin', an' to listen to 'em you'd shurely think that all the bad characthers in Ireland was in service in Bridgetown. All the same they do be everlastingly swoppin' gerruls wid ache other for fear there'd be any sacrets in the town unknown to 'em, I suppose.

Bad luck to it for tay, 'tis it I have blemt for half the misfortunes in the counthry. There's ould women in the town wid stomachs that would make good boots, they're so well tanned from it, an' look at the state of the club below on account of it.

God be wid ould times, 'tis many the fine dacent drunkin gintleman I see comin' down them steps. An' what would you see there now? Taypots. Taypots an' more taypots agin wid maybe two or three relicts of ould times sated wid a jug of wather and an empty glass before 'em waitin' for some person to come in an' put the whiskey in it for 'em. An' I'm tould 'tis the same way at balls an' parties. Tay an' coffee an' gruel, God help us! in place of punch for the gintlemen an' nagus for the gerruls like it used to be.

I see a ball party afther a weddin', won time, in a house not too far from this, where no sober man would be allowed disgrace the house by goin' out of it. From all accounts the door-keeper wasn't kep' very busy turnin' 'em back. What I see comin' away

from there wasn't too well able to travel.

'Twas a navy captain was married the same day, an' there was a dale of sailors there. 'Tis likely they got a surfeit of wather where they kem from for they weren't usin' much of it on shore.

'Twas the wettest that ever kem before or since, an' I was out in it all night, comin' an' goin' wid ladies till near mornin'.

Whin I was takin' the last load home, the street was like a river an' I was goin' as hard as I could to get the job over me whin, all of a sudden, the mare stopped dead an' had like to throw me out on top of her back.

Of coorse I hit her a skelp of the whip, but 'tis back she ran instead of goin' on. I had the lamps lit an' they were shinin' very bright on the wather, so whin I looked down I could see very plain what was frightenin' her.

'Twas no wonder she didn't mind the whip, for right in the middle of the road there was a sight she never saw the like of before.

A very fat little man in a navy uniform, lying on his stomach in about two inches of wather, kickin' out like he'd be swimmin'. 'Get up out of that,' sez I to him.

He had his head turned lookin' over his shoulder an' his two eyes were leppin' out of his head.

'I could swim this way for ever,' sez he, but I am in dread of me life of sharks.'

People toult me afther that he was a captain of a ship from Inja.

I pulled on won side from him an' wint on home wid me ladies. Whin I was comin' back I looked for him but there wasn't trace nor tidins of him. Maybe 'twas the way the sharks had him ate. There mightn't be as much style an' granjur long ago as there now, but there was a sight more comfort.

is

I often see as much mate an' whiskey goin' into houses in this town in won week as would do the same houses for six months now. There was hardly a night but what I'd be out wid someone to a dinner, an' 'tisn't out in the could I'd be left ayther, like I do be now, but sated at the kitchen fire an' gettin' me own share of whatever'd be goin'.

I was always very great wid cooks, but I was greater wid Maggie Kinealy, that was ould Tom Considine's housekeeper, than wid any won of 'em. She was entirely the best looking woman in Bridgetown, so much so that 'twas wid a gun ould Tom had to be mindin' the boys away from her.

Every Friday, as sure as Friday would come, he'd give a dinner party, an' 'twas always the same four I'd have in the car for it. The doctor, the Petty Sessions clerk, the D.I., an' the bank manager. All ould lads like himself that would as soon be dinin' on a Friday as on a Saturday, for 'tisn't mate was troublin' 'em but drink. 'Twas always the same thing for dinner-salt herrins.

I don't know if your honour ever heard it, but there's nothin' in this world would give a man such an appetite for punch.

I remember won night. I tuk the four of 'em out as usual an' was sittin' at the kitchen fire along wid three or four more boys like meself, while Maag was dishin' up the dinner to 'em.

Afther a while she kem out from the dinin'-room, an' sez she:

They'll be late to-night, an' we'll have plenty time to make ourselves comfortable an' have a sup of punch as well as themselves, for I put an extra shake of salt on the herrins.'

So we did, an' a very laughable an' jovial time we had thrickin'

wid won another an' Maag. All through I was very great wid her.

Afther some time up she lepped an 'Holy Biddy!' sez she, ‘I forgot to milk the cow. Come out Jerry an' hould the candle for me.' She took the can an' I tuk the candle an' out wid us.

Well, as sure as you're there, the teats was hardly wet before the cow give a twist to her tail an' quinched the candle.

'Have you a match, Jerry?' sez she.

'I have not,' sez I, have you?'

'You should know be the smell of me breath that I don't smoke,' sez she.

'There's many a won that don't smoke that might have a match,' sez I, an' wid that I began searchin' her for won.

"Twas a bright night an' the moon was shinin' in the door of the cow-house whin I looked up an' see ould Tom aimin' at us wid a big brass blunderbuss wid a mouth on it like a drain-pipe.

'Come out,' sez he, 'till I blow the head off you.'

I squez meself as tight as I could in agin the cow an' said nothin'. Only for the wish I have for that cow,' sez he, 'I'd shoot you where you are.'

'Begob! if you shoots me, sir,' sez I, 'I'll carry the cow to glory wid me.'

The word was hardly out of me mouth till Maag stept out from behind the cow as bould as brass.

'If you lave that shot go,' sez she, 'I'll spill the milk, for the noise of a gun always makes me lep.'

Shure the divil a tint of milk was in the same can no more than in me pocket the same time.

'What's that?' sez she agin; 'Oh, Blessed Mother, 'tis the dinin'room bell. The Gintlemen must be out of the matarials. 'Tis you'll be the talk of Bridgetown to-morrow afther the dry dinner you gave' em.'

Ould Tom began to curse an' swear be this an' be that, an' shoulderin' the blunderbuss, away wid him into the house to give out more whiskey.

'Twas afther that I found out how asy 'twas to milk a cow in the dark.

ALEXIS ROCHE,

THE POPULAR FALLACY OF THE' FOURTH

DIMENSION.

BY PROF. G. H. BRYAN, F.R.S.

THERE is a certain mythical concept, described as 'the Fourth Dimension,' which from time to time figures in magazines and popular journals containing articles of a semi-scientific character. This so-called Fourth Dimension appears to afford a certain fascination to some members of the professional and business classes, such as engineers, doctors, retired army officers of private means, and even millionaires, who not infrequently spend their time in writing books or papers on the subject, sometimes publishing these at their private expense. Moreover, people possessing little or no mathematical knowledge will frequently spend hours together in debating the question What is the Fourth Dimension?'

The object of this article is to show that the phrase 'the Fourth Dimension 'is meaningless and misleading, and that there is no single unique entity which can claim to be correctly described by these three words.

According to the definitions of our text books, a point has no magnitude, a line has length without breadth, a surface has length and breadth but no thickness or depth, and a solid has length, breadth, and depth. These definitions are not very lucid, but they indicate that in space three independent measurements are possible, and the fact that the number is three and no more has naturally led mathematicians to speculate and theorise on what would be the properties of a space in which the number of possible independent measurements is assumed to be four, five, or more. Why should there only be three?

The inquiring reader should naturally ask, ' If you are plunging into the realms of imagination and speculation, why stop at four dimensions?' And the only explanation that can be given is that four is the next number higher than three. Mathematicians know no such limitation, and when they have broken adrift from the restrictions of plane and solid geometry they usually extend their results not only to five or six dimensions but to space of any number of dimensions whatever, denoting this number by the letter n, and the space by the symbol S(); while they use the term 'hyperspace' to designate any space having more than three dimensions. It will thus be seen that 'the' fourth dimension