IRELANDWhen the glass is up to thirty,Be sure the weather will be dirty.When the glass is high, O very!There'll be rain in Cork or Kerry.When the glass is low, O Lork!There'll be rain in Kerry and Cork.* * * * * *And when the glass has climbed its best,The sky'll be weeping in the west.Kate Douglas Wiggin.Theshortest sea voyage between Scotland and Ireland is from Stranraer to Larne. Stranraer is a short ride from Ayr, but theS. S. Princess Victoriawas five hours crossing the channel. It was cold and rough, and many of the passengers were ill.One of the most fascinating of trips is that to the Giant's Causeway. From Larne the road takes its way through a number of thriving towns, and the country looks neat and has an air of the well-to-do.At Portrush the scene changes, and becomes, almost at once, one of wild ruggedness. The cliffs rise high on one side, and the steep precipice at the edge of the tramway goes down to the sea on the other.This is an extraordinary coast. The action of the waves and the tides on the limestone has made the rocks take on fantastic shapes. The ocean is always tempestuous. It must be beautiful from the water, but nothing save small boats can venture here, so the view is almost unknown. This sort of scene continues until we reach Dunluce Castle.Perched on the summit of an isolated rock, not far from the shore, is this picturesque fortress, separated from the mainland by a deep chasm. The castle is reached by a drawbridge, while beneath, the waves beat madly against the sides of the rock, black with the age of centuries.The word "causeway" means paving, and these Irish giants paved well. Basaltic rock is plentiful along the north coast, but this particular district alone embraces these odd varieties of form. The caves along the coast can be seen only by means of rowboats. These are manned by strong and trustworthy sailors. The sea is very rough, and the boatmen delight in making the trip seem even more hazardous than perhaps it really is. After the caves have been explored the boat is rowed to the extreme end of the Causeway, and it is during thewalk back that we get the best idea of these wonderful formations, and have a hair-raising experience on a narrow path three hundred and twenty feet in air. At first it was delightful—high, of course, but with a broad path. On turning a sharp corner, suddenly we came to a narrowing of the way, with nothing but rocks and sky above, and rocks and sea below. We dared not turn back, and we walked that terrible pass until we came to a widening in the path—it seemed hours—and then Ruth and I sat down and cried from sheer exhaustion. It cost us ten shillings to enter by the sea and six to make our exit by land.How is that for the downtrodden Irish?KILLARNEY:I wishI were a poet! But even the poet laureate, who recently visited here, says, "Words cannot do justice to this sweet, sad scene." His word "sad" pleased me, for I said yesterday to Ruth that the scenery of Ireland has a tenderness about it that makes one be quiet and think things.DUNLUCE CASTLEWe started at nine-thirty in a four-horse coach with a bugler. The road liesalong the north side of the lower lake, and it wasn't long before the exquisite mountain scenery came into view. The Purple Mountains grew more interesting at every step. Presently we came to Kate Kearney's cottage, and our Irish guide turned and asked, in the richest of brogues:"Oh! have you ever heard of Kate Kearney?She lived at the Lakes of Killarney;One glance of her eye would make a man die;And have you never heard of Kate Kearney?"Further on we struck the mountain pass, where the coach could not go. We dismounted and were placed on ponies. I thought at first I could not ride one, but I soon got used to the saddle, and I would not have missed the wild, weird pass over the mountain for anything. There was nothing "sad" or "tender" aboutthat. It was fearful, awesome and mysterious.We left the ponies at the foot of the mountains and paid toll into Lord Brandon's estate in order to reach the boats. Lunch was served on the banks of the upper lake.These lakes have to be explored in rowboats, on account of the narrows, a pass between the rocks not more than ten feetapart. Such varied beauty I have seen nowhere else. The tender grace of the heather-strewn valley against the background of hills, the frequent change from the gentle to the stern, the calm-flowing waters, the smiling cascades turning into dashing cataracts over dangerous piles, are a never-ending source of surprises.The upper lake is more placid and less changeable, but the lower has every change, from smooth, glass-like waters to the rapids, which we "shoot" in no fearless manner. Finally we alight on Innisfallen Island to see the ruins of the abbey; then we cross to Ross Castle. Here another coach and four was in waiting to carry us home. After ten miles by coach, five on horseback and thirteen by boat, I actually dress for dinner.We were up with the larks this morning, packed everything very carefully, sent the basket off by carted luggage, and nearly came to blows with the stupid paddy at the station over the settlement.After breakfast the coach came dashing up, and away we flew again, over the purple hills, through shady lanes, past the wee farms and the hovels, catching glimpsesof castles, churches and ruins. The most beautiful of all is Muckross Abbey. I had no idea we could possibly repeat the pleasures of yesterday, but in some respects we exceeded them. Our road today wound up and around Eagle Nest Mountain, in the dark recesses of which the eagle builds its nest. Here, too, is the home of the famous Killarney echo. The effect produced by the notes of a bugle is almost supernatural.The coachmen have a clever manner of talking to the echoes. For instance, ours called out, "Pat, were you drunk last night?" and the confession came back from a thousand hills, "Drunk last night, drunk last night, drunk last night."The literary Killarnian claims for this beautiful region that it was the ruins of the old castle on the shores of the Middle Lake which called forth Tennyson's masterpiece, "The Bugle Song."The Purple Mountains take their name from the purple of the heather. One can see every shade, from the light pink-lavender to the dark, almost red, purple.We arrived at Glengariff just as the sun was sinking. The valley, the lakes, the mountains, the red coach, with its four bighorses darting in and out of the winding road, and finally galloping up to the exquisite little inn at Glengariff, high on a knoll overlooking the blue waters of the Bay of Bantry, are among the delightful details of today's picture.The shore line of this attractive bay can be appreciated only when one is taken in a small boat, threading one's way through the numberless private yachts that dot its waters. One of the gentlemen of our party, thinking to have some sport with the boatman, said that only one lady could go in each boat, and that he must choose the one he wished to go with him. After a critical survey the answer came, "Divil a step will I go without the both of yez!" and he handed us both into the boat, and left the gentlemen to seek a boat by themselves.CORK:We leftthe coach at Bantry and took an observation car to Cork. After a rest of a few hours and a dainty luncheon a jaunting-car "shook" us over the road to Blarney Castle. The road lies through a beautifully cultivated country. There is a charm about the sweet old castle that isindescribable. The view from the top is superb, taking in the valley of the Lee, with the old Roman bridge in the far distance.When any one tells you that he kissed the Blarney stone, take it with several grains of salt. It is a physical impossibility for one who wears petticoats.Cork is, to my mind, the prettiest town in all Ireland. It lies in the midst of limestone quarries, and is white to a degree. I had not read Thackeray's "Sketch Book" before I came here, and I wondered why some one had not raved over this magnificent part of the world. I have since been delighted to find that hedidrave—I use the word advisedly—as no one but Thackeray can.Cork has more well-known landmarks than any other place in Ireland. In a little three-storied bell-tower in the center of the town hangs the chime of bells made famous by Francis Mahony in his—"With deep affection and recollectionI often think of the Shandon bells."One of the pleasant drives from Cork takes one to Sir Walter Raleigh's home at Youghal. For more than four hundred years it has stood with but little change.Attached to the grounds is the garden where Raleigh experimented with the potato, which here was first grown in Ireland.We were a rather solemn lot on the drive to Queenstown, for all but Ruth and me were to sail from there for home. This seeing people off isn't what "it's cracked up" to be, especially when they are off for the land where "some one loves you and thinks of you far away," but we wished thembon voyage, and Ruth and I turned our hard-set faces northward.DUBLIN—Great Denmark Street:"No wind can drive my bark astray,Nor change the tide of destiny."And so this all too happy summer must come to a close. I remain here to study, and Ruth goes to Iceland. We shall meet in the spring, when I shall have taken my degree (?), and go to sunny Italy together.It is said that to travel through Europe with one and still remain friends, stamps both as remarkably amiable persons. Without wishing to seem egotistical, I'd like you to know that before bidding Ruthgood-bye she invited me to join her later in this jaunt through Italy.I was sitting on the deck of the ship that was to carry Ruth away from me, looking at the lights out over Dublin Bay, when some one touched me on the shoulder, and, on turning around, there stood dear Miss B., who was with us for a time at Killarney. I met her father on the street the other day, and told him of Ruth's intended departure. They were very good to come to us that night, and I shall never forget their kindness in helping me over these first days without my blessed Ruth. Through them I have made some charming friends who occupy the time before I start in to study.I have had a delightful outing, one which enabled me to see, and in an uncommon manner, certain out-of-the-way places where the casual tourists rarely go, and it has all been due to the friends of Miss B. These Irish know how to do things well.We started away, a regular cavalcade, with most of the women in the coach and a few on horseback. The servants went ahead with the wagons carrying the viandsand rugs, and, oh, a hundred things we Americans would never think of.Dublin has more pleasure resorts at her door than any other city in the world. We drove out through Phœnix Park, passing the summer home of the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. We made our first stop at Killiney Castle to get the fine view of Dublin Bay. It was from this spot that the poet wrote:"O Bay of Dublin!My heart you're troublin'.Your beauty haunts meLike a fever dream."Then we dashed away to Bray and Bray's Head, along the Esplanade, through the Scalp, a wild bit of country in the county of Wicklow, and the Dargle, which is a romantic glen. We never go slowly—the horses are either galloped, or stopped altogether. Then on we flew through Enniskerry, a lovely little village, where everybody stopped or ran to the door to watch us go by, with a wave of the hand, and always a "God bless ye!"I could not believe such magnificence was possible in Ireland as was found at Powers Court had I not seen it with myown eyes. It is the finest private mansion I have seen in all my travels. The Vale of Avoca, which called from Moore these lines,"There is not in the wide world a valley so sweetAs the vale on whose bosom these bright waters meet,"did not appeal to me so much as did Killarney.The city of Kilkenny, called the "Marble City," impressed itself on me. The streets are paved with marble of their own quarrying, and what is better, the inhabitants have fire without smoke, from a peculiar coal found in that district. They also claim to have water without mud, and earth without bog, and however true these boasts may be, it is a wonderfully clean city. The coach was sent back from this place by the servants, and we returned by train.It all seems very tame in this telling of mine, but the trip, every moment of it, was delightful. Sometimes we would all get out and walk; sometimes the ladies would exchange with the men and ride horseback; or when it would rain for a few moments the men would crowd intothe coach. Then there would be good fun, and I could get an idea of their thoughts. They are great story-tellers, these Irish, and have such warm hearts. And the songs they sang, when shall I ever hear such again? And yet there was not a young person, that is, one under thirty, in the party.Other things besides wine, my dear, "improve with age."There is a pathos about the love of an Irishman for his country that is most touching, and each county vies with the others in patriotic loyalty; and let me whisper in your ear, that the Irish gentry are far and away ahead of "what the world thinks" they are. In fact, they are "deloitful."I suppose you have noticed the number of "Kills" which form some part of many of the names I have referred to. "Kil" is the Gaelic for "church."One of my Irish friends told the story of an Englishman who went over to Ireland and fell upon the following conversation between two tough-looking natives:"I'm afther being over to Kilpatrick," said the first."An' I," replied the other, "am afther being over to Kilmary.""And where are you going now?" asked number one."To Kilmore," was the answer.The frightened Englishman concluded not to tarry in such a bloodthirsty country, and stood not upon the order of his going.Since writing that last letter I have been very busy getting in trim for work, and at last I'm "fit."I have been taking my afternoons to see this wonderful city. I told you, did I not, that because I am in these blessed petticoats, I am obliged to recite "apart"—not apart from the petticoats, but apart from the unpetticoated sort.My home is in quite a good-looking house, and it is well furnished, but the landlady is away, and the maidens do it up when and how they please. I have a large room "front," and as I study here every morning, and write much of the remainder of the time, my room is "tidied" only when I ask for it, and then, of course, it is an extra.Will you believe me when I tell you that nowhere in Europe have I seen more lovely or better dressed women than right here on Sackville Street? I have accountedfor it, in some degree, by the fact that our Irish cousins follow the American styles more closely than do any of their immediate sisters. The Irish woman is always in good form. One never sees her wearing any sort of jewelry before luncheon. She is usually found in the morning in a short, tailored skirt, a chic blouse and hat; some dainty confection of lace and muslin in the afternoon; and, almost without exception, the middle class, as well as the gentry, "dress" for dinner; then it is one sees the beautiful jewels handed down by their forebears.The college buildings are delightfully quaint, with multitudes of old-fashioned wee window-panes which stud their faces. Statues of two of Ireland's beloved sons, Burke and Goldsmith, are on either side of the entrance. Opposite is the famous Bank of Ireland, beautiful in design, and the general post-office. Statues of "Hibernia," "Mercury" and "Fidelity" adorn the latter.For some reason an Irishman, in his native country, will not admit ignorance on any subject. He would rather tell you wrongly than to say, "I don't know."TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLINSome one asked a "jarvey" what thosestatues I have just mentioned were. Pat hadn't their names handy in his mind, so he drew on his imagination, and replied: "Thim's the twelve apostles, sur.""Twelve apostles," shouted the inquirer; "why, man, there are only three of them!" To which Pat, not to be caught by such a trifle, said:"Sure, an' yer honor wouldn't have thim all out in this dom rain, would ye? The rest of 'em are inside sortin' o' the letters."The first day I was shown over Dublin my guide, in pointing out the college, said: "This is the Library, and an institute for learning." I asked, "How far does the Library extend?" meaning, which was the Library and which the Institute. The honest, but thick-headed, paddy replied, "To the roof, mum."The comparative neglect by tourists of a country like Ireland, where nature has lavished her charms with such wonderful profusion, can only be explained by its hitherto unsettled condition, and its long-a-dying notoriety for inferior accommodations and modes of transportation. But whatever difficulties and discomforts mayhave existed to deter the traveler in former days, it seems to me that little now is wanting to render a tour through Ireland all that the rational traveler can desire.It is well nigh impossible to tell of the exquisite scenery of the beautiful island without seeming fulsome. Almost every county so teems with prehistoric remains, and the island is so begirt with varied attractiveness, that it is as alluring to the student and artist as it is to the pleasure seeker.
When the glass is up to thirty,Be sure the weather will be dirty.When the glass is high, O very!There'll be rain in Cork or Kerry.When the glass is low, O Lork!There'll be rain in Kerry and Cork.* * * * * *And when the glass has climbed its best,The sky'll be weeping in the west.Kate Douglas Wiggin.
When the glass is up to thirty,Be sure the weather will be dirty.When the glass is high, O very!There'll be rain in Cork or Kerry.When the glass is low, O Lork!There'll be rain in Kerry and Cork.* * * * * *And when the glass has climbed its best,The sky'll be weeping in the west.Kate Douglas Wiggin.
When the glass is up to thirty,
Be sure the weather will be dirty.
When the glass is high, O very!
There'll be rain in Cork or Kerry.
When the glass is low, O Lork!
There'll be rain in Kerry and Cork.
* * * * * *
And when the glass has climbed its best,
The sky'll be weeping in the west.
Kate Douglas Wiggin.
Theshortest sea voyage between Scotland and Ireland is from Stranraer to Larne. Stranraer is a short ride from Ayr, but theS. S. Princess Victoriawas five hours crossing the channel. It was cold and rough, and many of the passengers were ill.
One of the most fascinating of trips is that to the Giant's Causeway. From Larne the road takes its way through a number of thriving towns, and the country looks neat and has an air of the well-to-do.
At Portrush the scene changes, and becomes, almost at once, one of wild ruggedness. The cliffs rise high on one side, and the steep precipice at the edge of the tramway goes down to the sea on the other.This is an extraordinary coast. The action of the waves and the tides on the limestone has made the rocks take on fantastic shapes. The ocean is always tempestuous. It must be beautiful from the water, but nothing save small boats can venture here, so the view is almost unknown. This sort of scene continues until we reach Dunluce Castle.
Perched on the summit of an isolated rock, not far from the shore, is this picturesque fortress, separated from the mainland by a deep chasm. The castle is reached by a drawbridge, while beneath, the waves beat madly against the sides of the rock, black with the age of centuries.
The word "causeway" means paving, and these Irish giants paved well. Basaltic rock is plentiful along the north coast, but this particular district alone embraces these odd varieties of form. The caves along the coast can be seen only by means of rowboats. These are manned by strong and trustworthy sailors. The sea is very rough, and the boatmen delight in making the trip seem even more hazardous than perhaps it really is. After the caves have been explored the boat is rowed to the extreme end of the Causeway, and it is during thewalk back that we get the best idea of these wonderful formations, and have a hair-raising experience on a narrow path three hundred and twenty feet in air. At first it was delightful—high, of course, but with a broad path. On turning a sharp corner, suddenly we came to a narrowing of the way, with nothing but rocks and sky above, and rocks and sea below. We dared not turn back, and we walked that terrible pass until we came to a widening in the path—it seemed hours—and then Ruth and I sat down and cried from sheer exhaustion. It cost us ten shillings to enter by the sea and six to make our exit by land.
How is that for the downtrodden Irish?
I wishI were a poet! But even the poet laureate, who recently visited here, says, "Words cannot do justice to this sweet, sad scene." His word "sad" pleased me, for I said yesterday to Ruth that the scenery of Ireland has a tenderness about it that makes one be quiet and think things.
DUNLUCE CASTLE
DUNLUCE CASTLE
We started at nine-thirty in a four-horse coach with a bugler. The road liesalong the north side of the lower lake, and it wasn't long before the exquisite mountain scenery came into view. The Purple Mountains grew more interesting at every step. Presently we came to Kate Kearney's cottage, and our Irish guide turned and asked, in the richest of brogues:
"Oh! have you ever heard of Kate Kearney?She lived at the Lakes of Killarney;One glance of her eye would make a man die;And have you never heard of Kate Kearney?"
"Oh! have you ever heard of Kate Kearney?She lived at the Lakes of Killarney;One glance of her eye would make a man die;And have you never heard of Kate Kearney?"
"Oh! have you ever heard of Kate Kearney?
She lived at the Lakes of Killarney;
One glance of her eye would make a man die;
And have you never heard of Kate Kearney?"
Further on we struck the mountain pass, where the coach could not go. We dismounted and were placed on ponies. I thought at first I could not ride one, but I soon got used to the saddle, and I would not have missed the wild, weird pass over the mountain for anything. There was nothing "sad" or "tender" aboutthat. It was fearful, awesome and mysterious.
We left the ponies at the foot of the mountains and paid toll into Lord Brandon's estate in order to reach the boats. Lunch was served on the banks of the upper lake.
These lakes have to be explored in rowboats, on account of the narrows, a pass between the rocks not more than ten feetapart. Such varied beauty I have seen nowhere else. The tender grace of the heather-strewn valley against the background of hills, the frequent change from the gentle to the stern, the calm-flowing waters, the smiling cascades turning into dashing cataracts over dangerous piles, are a never-ending source of surprises.
The upper lake is more placid and less changeable, but the lower has every change, from smooth, glass-like waters to the rapids, which we "shoot" in no fearless manner. Finally we alight on Innisfallen Island to see the ruins of the abbey; then we cross to Ross Castle. Here another coach and four was in waiting to carry us home. After ten miles by coach, five on horseback and thirteen by boat, I actually dress for dinner.
We were up with the larks this morning, packed everything very carefully, sent the basket off by carted luggage, and nearly came to blows with the stupid paddy at the station over the settlement.
After breakfast the coach came dashing up, and away we flew again, over the purple hills, through shady lanes, past the wee farms and the hovels, catching glimpsesof castles, churches and ruins. The most beautiful of all is Muckross Abbey. I had no idea we could possibly repeat the pleasures of yesterday, but in some respects we exceeded them. Our road today wound up and around Eagle Nest Mountain, in the dark recesses of which the eagle builds its nest. Here, too, is the home of the famous Killarney echo. The effect produced by the notes of a bugle is almost supernatural.
The coachmen have a clever manner of talking to the echoes. For instance, ours called out, "Pat, were you drunk last night?" and the confession came back from a thousand hills, "Drunk last night, drunk last night, drunk last night."
The literary Killarnian claims for this beautiful region that it was the ruins of the old castle on the shores of the Middle Lake which called forth Tennyson's masterpiece, "The Bugle Song."
The Purple Mountains take their name from the purple of the heather. One can see every shade, from the light pink-lavender to the dark, almost red, purple.
We arrived at Glengariff just as the sun was sinking. The valley, the lakes, the mountains, the red coach, with its four bighorses darting in and out of the winding road, and finally galloping up to the exquisite little inn at Glengariff, high on a knoll overlooking the blue waters of the Bay of Bantry, are among the delightful details of today's picture.
The shore line of this attractive bay can be appreciated only when one is taken in a small boat, threading one's way through the numberless private yachts that dot its waters. One of the gentlemen of our party, thinking to have some sport with the boatman, said that only one lady could go in each boat, and that he must choose the one he wished to go with him. After a critical survey the answer came, "Divil a step will I go without the both of yez!" and he handed us both into the boat, and left the gentlemen to seek a boat by themselves.
We leftthe coach at Bantry and took an observation car to Cork. After a rest of a few hours and a dainty luncheon a jaunting-car "shook" us over the road to Blarney Castle. The road lies through a beautifully cultivated country. There is a charm about the sweet old castle that isindescribable. The view from the top is superb, taking in the valley of the Lee, with the old Roman bridge in the far distance.
When any one tells you that he kissed the Blarney stone, take it with several grains of salt. It is a physical impossibility for one who wears petticoats.
Cork is, to my mind, the prettiest town in all Ireland. It lies in the midst of limestone quarries, and is white to a degree. I had not read Thackeray's "Sketch Book" before I came here, and I wondered why some one had not raved over this magnificent part of the world. I have since been delighted to find that hedidrave—I use the word advisedly—as no one but Thackeray can.
Cork has more well-known landmarks than any other place in Ireland. In a little three-storied bell-tower in the center of the town hangs the chime of bells made famous by Francis Mahony in his—
"With deep affection and recollectionI often think of the Shandon bells."
"With deep affection and recollectionI often think of the Shandon bells."
"With deep affection and recollection
I often think of the Shandon bells."
One of the pleasant drives from Cork takes one to Sir Walter Raleigh's home at Youghal. For more than four hundred years it has stood with but little change.Attached to the grounds is the garden where Raleigh experimented with the potato, which here was first grown in Ireland.
We were a rather solemn lot on the drive to Queenstown, for all but Ruth and me were to sail from there for home. This seeing people off isn't what "it's cracked up" to be, especially when they are off for the land where "some one loves you and thinks of you far away," but we wished thembon voyage, and Ruth and I turned our hard-set faces northward.
DUBLIN—Great Denmark Street:
"No wind can drive my bark astray,Nor change the tide of destiny."
"No wind can drive my bark astray,Nor change the tide of destiny."
"No wind can drive my bark astray,
Nor change the tide of destiny."
And so this all too happy summer must come to a close. I remain here to study, and Ruth goes to Iceland. We shall meet in the spring, when I shall have taken my degree (?), and go to sunny Italy together.
It is said that to travel through Europe with one and still remain friends, stamps both as remarkably amiable persons. Without wishing to seem egotistical, I'd like you to know that before bidding Ruthgood-bye she invited me to join her later in this jaunt through Italy.
I was sitting on the deck of the ship that was to carry Ruth away from me, looking at the lights out over Dublin Bay, when some one touched me on the shoulder, and, on turning around, there stood dear Miss B., who was with us for a time at Killarney. I met her father on the street the other day, and told him of Ruth's intended departure. They were very good to come to us that night, and I shall never forget their kindness in helping me over these first days without my blessed Ruth. Through them I have made some charming friends who occupy the time before I start in to study.
I have had a delightful outing, one which enabled me to see, and in an uncommon manner, certain out-of-the-way places where the casual tourists rarely go, and it has all been due to the friends of Miss B. These Irish know how to do things well.
We started away, a regular cavalcade, with most of the women in the coach and a few on horseback. The servants went ahead with the wagons carrying the viandsand rugs, and, oh, a hundred things we Americans would never think of.
Dublin has more pleasure resorts at her door than any other city in the world. We drove out through Phœnix Park, passing the summer home of the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. We made our first stop at Killiney Castle to get the fine view of Dublin Bay. It was from this spot that the poet wrote:
"O Bay of Dublin!My heart you're troublin'.Your beauty haunts meLike a fever dream."
"O Bay of Dublin!My heart you're troublin'.Your beauty haunts meLike a fever dream."
"O Bay of Dublin!
My heart you're troublin'.
Your beauty haunts me
Like a fever dream."
Then we dashed away to Bray and Bray's Head, along the Esplanade, through the Scalp, a wild bit of country in the county of Wicklow, and the Dargle, which is a romantic glen. We never go slowly—the horses are either galloped, or stopped altogether. Then on we flew through Enniskerry, a lovely little village, where everybody stopped or ran to the door to watch us go by, with a wave of the hand, and always a "God bless ye!"
I could not believe such magnificence was possible in Ireland as was found at Powers Court had I not seen it with myown eyes. It is the finest private mansion I have seen in all my travels. The Vale of Avoca, which called from Moore these lines,
"There is not in the wide world a valley so sweetAs the vale on whose bosom these bright waters meet,"
"There is not in the wide world a valley so sweetAs the vale on whose bosom these bright waters meet,"
"There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet
As the vale on whose bosom these bright waters meet,"
did not appeal to me so much as did Killarney.
The city of Kilkenny, called the "Marble City," impressed itself on me. The streets are paved with marble of their own quarrying, and what is better, the inhabitants have fire without smoke, from a peculiar coal found in that district. They also claim to have water without mud, and earth without bog, and however true these boasts may be, it is a wonderfully clean city. The coach was sent back from this place by the servants, and we returned by train.
It all seems very tame in this telling of mine, but the trip, every moment of it, was delightful. Sometimes we would all get out and walk; sometimes the ladies would exchange with the men and ride horseback; or when it would rain for a few moments the men would crowd intothe coach. Then there would be good fun, and I could get an idea of their thoughts. They are great story-tellers, these Irish, and have such warm hearts. And the songs they sang, when shall I ever hear such again? And yet there was not a young person, that is, one under thirty, in the party.
Other things besides wine, my dear, "improve with age."
There is a pathos about the love of an Irishman for his country that is most touching, and each county vies with the others in patriotic loyalty; and let me whisper in your ear, that the Irish gentry are far and away ahead of "what the world thinks" they are. In fact, they are "deloitful."
I suppose you have noticed the number of "Kills" which form some part of many of the names I have referred to. "Kil" is the Gaelic for "church."
One of my Irish friends told the story of an Englishman who went over to Ireland and fell upon the following conversation between two tough-looking natives:
"I'm afther being over to Kilpatrick," said the first.
"An' I," replied the other, "am afther being over to Kilmary."
"And where are you going now?" asked number one.
"To Kilmore," was the answer.
The frightened Englishman concluded not to tarry in such a bloodthirsty country, and stood not upon the order of his going.
Since writing that last letter I have been very busy getting in trim for work, and at last I'm "fit."
I have been taking my afternoons to see this wonderful city. I told you, did I not, that because I am in these blessed petticoats, I am obliged to recite "apart"—not apart from the petticoats, but apart from the unpetticoated sort.
My home is in quite a good-looking house, and it is well furnished, but the landlady is away, and the maidens do it up when and how they please. I have a large room "front," and as I study here every morning, and write much of the remainder of the time, my room is "tidied" only when I ask for it, and then, of course, it is an extra.
Will you believe me when I tell you that nowhere in Europe have I seen more lovely or better dressed women than right here on Sackville Street? I have accountedfor it, in some degree, by the fact that our Irish cousins follow the American styles more closely than do any of their immediate sisters. The Irish woman is always in good form. One never sees her wearing any sort of jewelry before luncheon. She is usually found in the morning in a short, tailored skirt, a chic blouse and hat; some dainty confection of lace and muslin in the afternoon; and, almost without exception, the middle class, as well as the gentry, "dress" for dinner; then it is one sees the beautiful jewels handed down by their forebears.
The college buildings are delightfully quaint, with multitudes of old-fashioned wee window-panes which stud their faces. Statues of two of Ireland's beloved sons, Burke and Goldsmith, are on either side of the entrance. Opposite is the famous Bank of Ireland, beautiful in design, and the general post-office. Statues of "Hibernia," "Mercury" and "Fidelity" adorn the latter.
For some reason an Irishman, in his native country, will not admit ignorance on any subject. He would rather tell you wrongly than to say, "I don't know."
TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN
TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN
Some one asked a "jarvey" what thosestatues I have just mentioned were. Pat hadn't their names handy in his mind, so he drew on his imagination, and replied: "Thim's the twelve apostles, sur."
"Twelve apostles," shouted the inquirer; "why, man, there are only three of them!" To which Pat, not to be caught by such a trifle, said:
"Sure, an' yer honor wouldn't have thim all out in this dom rain, would ye? The rest of 'em are inside sortin' o' the letters."
The first day I was shown over Dublin my guide, in pointing out the college, said: "This is the Library, and an institute for learning." I asked, "How far does the Library extend?" meaning, which was the Library and which the Institute. The honest, but thick-headed, paddy replied, "To the roof, mum."
The comparative neglect by tourists of a country like Ireland, where nature has lavished her charms with such wonderful profusion, can only be explained by its hitherto unsettled condition, and its long-a-dying notoriety for inferior accommodations and modes of transportation. But whatever difficulties and discomforts mayhave existed to deter the traveler in former days, it seems to me that little now is wanting to render a tour through Ireland all that the rational traveler can desire.
It is well nigh impossible to tell of the exquisite scenery of the beautiful island without seeming fulsome. Almost every county so teems with prehistoric remains, and the island is so begirt with varied attractiveness, that it is as alluring to the student and artist as it is to the pleasure seeker.