Lough Ree
Photo—Lawrence, Dublin.
Circular tourist tickets for one day trips are issued by the Railway Company. Details will be seen on summer time tables.
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Map of Cork CityMap of Cork City.
Enshrined in song andsaga, set in the beautiful valley of a romantic river, Cork is one of the pleasantest places within the four shores of "the most distressful country." It is the capital of the rich Province of Munster, "the wheat of Ireland," says a Gaelic proverb, and while it preserves the characteristics of an old Irish town, here, too, the traveller, familiar with the quaint cities of the Continent, will meet with much that is suggestive of foreign scenes.
Map of Environs of CorkMap of Environs of Cork.
Cork sits snugly at the foot of, and leans her back up against, high hills that shelter her from the north, and the breeze that blows up from the sea is fresh and mildly bracing. From a height to the north overlooking the city a bird's-eye view can be had of the entire surroundings, and of what the poet Spenser called—
"The pleasant Lee, that like an island fayreEncloseth Cork in his divided flood."
Away to the west the eye can easily trace the river, winding with haste to the sea, through the barony of Muskerry, "the fair country," from its fountain home over the hills and far away.
Patrick-street
Photo—Lawrence, Dublin.
More than halfway along the Mardyke Walk there is a sidepath leading down to a ferry across the Lee. Here a good view may be had of the river looking towards the city, with Sunday's Well, Blair's Castle, and Shandon standing high on the hill.
The history of the foundation of Cork City, and its progress through the centuries, is well authenticated. Towards the close of the sixth century, the place was founded by Lochan, son of Amirgin, the great smith to Tiernach M'Hugh, the proud chief of the O'Mahonys. Lochan has since come to be called St. Finbarr. His feast day is a retrenched holiday in the diocese of Cork, and his patron day is kept by the peasantry at the shrine of Gougane Barra, by the cradle of the river Lee. The Irish name, Cork, signifies that the locality was amarsh, and in the life of its founder it is described as a "land of many waters."
The Marina
Photo—Roche, Dublin.
For less than three hundred years the little city throve, and then came the Sea Rovers, hungry for spoil. In 820 they burned down Cork, carrying away as pillage the silver coffin wherein St. Finbarr was buried. Shortly afterwards they returned, and seized on the marshes lying beneath Gill Abbey Rock, fortified them, and founded another little city—but their own. There they sang their "Mass of the Lances; it began at the rising of the sun," and, as the Four Masters assure us, "wheresoever they marched they were escorted by fire."
But in time the Rovers were absorbed, and race hatreds died out. They paid tribute to the MacCarthys, and were married and given in marriage to the Irish. Merovingian Kings came to buy and sell in Cork, and the Sagas of the North tell of many a hardy Norseman who fell captive to the maidens of Munster. To this day the Danish blood moulds the nature of many in Cork, and among the men especially the passionate affection for the sea is a characteristic. When the Normans invaded Ireland they found Cork a Danish fortress. They broke the power of the Danes in a sea fight, and won over the allegiance of MacCarthy, the old King of Cork, through the wiles of a woman. The strangers had not been long in the city when they, like the Danes before them, were absorbed, and became more Irish than the Irish themselves. As their island city grew in opulence, they began to assert an independence similar to the free cities of the Continent. A historical writer of repute points out that they were practically independent of external authority. Their edicts had nearly the force of laws. They levied taxes, and regulated commerce. They judged, pilloried, and hanged offenders. To suit themselves they modified the English laws of property. They set up a mint of their own, and their money had to be declared by the English Parliament to be "utterly damned."
Their audacity can be imagined from the part they played in Perkin Warbeck's rebellion of 1492. They decked him out "with some clothes of silk," and John Walters, the Mayor, insisting that the poor Fleming was son to the Duke of Clarence, demanded that the Lord Deputy should declare him King. Failing in this a number of Cork merchants sent him to France, where they duped the King, and induced the Duchess of Burgundy to give them armament and money. They then sailed for Kent, and having landed there, proclaimed their foundling "Richard the Fourth, King of England and Lord of Ireland." But the sequel of all this bravura behaviour was not so happy, as Warbeck and Walters lost their heads, and Cork lost its charter.
In 1847 the city suffered fearfully from the ravages of famine and famine fever. The failure of the potato crop drove the unfortunate, hunger-stricken peasantry into the city for sustenance; and it has been estimated that upwards of a million of people emigrated in these unhappy years through the port of Cork. During the Fenian movement, 1865-67, Cork was a hotbed of treason, and more prisoners were sentenced from there than from all the other parts of Ireland put together. Thus, in the nineteenth century, the name of "Rebel Cork," which was earned so far back as the time of Perkin Warbeck, was still deserved.
The manners of the people, gentle and simple, rich and poor, are perfect. There is, perhaps, too often a tendency to adopt your view of anything or everything with the most accommodating agreeableness. This is very pleasant, if not always sincere, but in this respect a thing never to be forgotten is that Cork is only a few miles from Blarney, and
"There is a stone there, whoever kisses,Oh! he never misses to grow eloquent.'Tis he may clamber to a lady's chamber,Or become a Member of Parliament.A clever spouter, he'll sure turn out, orAn 'out-an'-outer' to be let alone;Don't hope to hinder him, or to bewilder him,Sure he's a pilgrim from the Blarney Stone."
Thackeray, like many another man before his time and since, has paid tribute to the loveliness of the girls of Cork. There is a graceful charm about them before which the most inveterate bachelor succumbs. The accents of the Siren singers were never so insinuating and caressing as the Munster brogue as it slips off the tongue of a gentlewoman. Blue eyes predominate, but are excelled in lustre by what Froude has been pleased to call "the cold grey eyes of the dark Celt of the south of Ireland." Edmund Spencer, when he was not busy "undertaking" Rapparees, or smoking Raleigh's fragrant weed—"than which there is no more fair herb under the broad canopy of heaven"—wooed and won and wedded a fair woman of Cork; not of the city, though, but of the county. She was a country lass, as he is at pains to point out to the Shandon belles who fain would vie with her:—
"Tell me, ye merchant daughters, did ye seeSo fayre a creature in your town before?Her goodlie eyes, like sapphyres shining bright;Her forehead, ivory white;Her lips like cherries charming men to byte."
There is nothing of peculiar interest about the streets of Cork but their number, their narrowness, and the irregularity of the houses. St. Patrick's-street, which is the principal thoroughfare, has many handsome shops, and winds its way in three curves through the city.
From the "Dyke," as it is locally known, through the "Band Field"—the baby park of Cork—we can cross to an entrance to the Queen's College on the Western-road. The College itself is a handsome building of white Cork limestone, in the later Tudor style, forming three sides of a quadrangle, and consisting of lecture-rooms, museum, examination hall, &c. It is built inthe centre of well-laid pleasure grounds, which are open to the public, and which formerly were the site of St. Finbarr's old monastery. During the session proper, practically from November to June, visitors will not be admitted through the building without an official order, which may be had at the Registrar's office.
Queen's College
Photo—Roche, Dublin.
During the vacation the steward or assistant officials are in attendance to conduct visitors. The large palm-house is one of the most successful in Ireland, and the Crawford Observatory will repay a visit. The grounds were laid out under the personal supervision of the late president, Dr. W. K. Sullivan, a distinguished scientist. While at the south side of thecity, St. Finbarr's Cathedral[2](Church of Ireland), eastward from the College, should be seen. It is a very dignified design of the French Early Pointed style. The nave, aisles, and transepts are grouped under three lofty towers with spires.
St. Finbarr's Cathedral
Photo—Roche, Dublin.
From the foot of the street a few minutes' walk will bring us under the old bi-coloured steeple, which contains the famous Shandon Bells. The church was built in 1772. The steeple is unique, inasmuch as the southern and western sides are of white limestone, and the northern and eastern red sandstone—
"Parti-coloured, like Cork people,Red and white, stands Shandon steeple."
But the "Bells" are the chief attraction, and the quaint inscriptions on them amuse the curious. In the stillness of a summer night their sweet chimes sound with peculiar cadence across the waters which encircle the old city of the Lee. The charter song of Cork is:—
THE BELLS OF SHANDON.With deep affection and recollectionI often think of the Shandon bells—Whose sounds so wild would, in days of childhood,Fling round my cradle their magic spells;On this I ponder, where'er I wander,And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee;With thy bells of Shandon,That sound so grand onThe pleasant waters of the river Lee.I have heard bells chiming full many a clime in,Tolling sublime in cathedral shrine;While at a glib rate brass tongues would vibrate,But all their music spoke nought to thine;For memory dwelling on each proud swellingOf thy belfry knelling its bold notes free,Made the bells of ShandonSound far more grand onThe pleasant waters of the river Lee.
Shandon Church
Photo—Roche, Dublin.
Francis Sylvester Mahony, author of this ballad, known in the world of literature as "Father Prout," was born in Cork in 1804. He was educated for the priesthood, but spent the best years of his life in London, as a magazine writer.
Further north than Shandon is St. Mary's Roman Catholic Cathedral, an ample piece of architecture, not particularly attractive. Coming down the hill towards the city on Pope's-quay, St. Mary's Dominican Church may be seen. It is a very beautiful church, of the composite style of architecture. The Grecian portico is remarkable for the gracefulness and justness of its proportions, and is very much admired. It is, perhaps, the most chaste building of its kind in the kingdom.
Besides the churches and public buildings already enumerated, the Courthouse and the Municipal Schools of Science and Art should be seen. The Courthouse is in Great George-street. In a recent fire there many valuable records were destroyed. Courthouses seem to be ill-fated in Cork. The old Courthouse fell during the trial for treason in the Penal days of the Catholic Bishop of Cork. The present Courthouse was burnt on Good Friday, 1891.
The punning, duel-fighting, hanging judge, Lord Norbury, of whom the country people still say, "He'd hang a man as soon as knock the head off a rush," often dispensed with an escort in the most exciting times, and rode here on circuit with a brace of pistols at his saddle-bow. But he was a man of uncommon determination. Once, when his acts were unusually unjudicial, he was reprimanded from Dublin Castle and threatened with compulsory retirement. He rode instanter to Dublin, and never stopped until he drew rein at the Castle gate. He demanded to see the Lord Lieutenant, but the then Viceroy, Lord Talbot, was in England. He was ushered into the presence of a courteous official, who was a little astonished to be authoritatively asked, "Who are you?" "I, sir," said the Under Secretary,whom he addressed, "am Mr. Gregory." "Then you be d——d, and don't Sir me," said his Lordship. "Fifty-two years ago I began life at the Irish Bar with fifty guineas and a case of pistols. Here it is! I have fought my way to preferment. Within a few months I expect a letter of an unpleasant character from the Castle. Tell the writer he may take his choice of these, and send me his second." History does not record whether "the letter of an unpleasant character" was ever written.
Cork Exhibition
Photo—Guy and Co., Dublin.
The Municipal Buildings of Science and Art in Emmet-place can bear comparison with those of any town of the same size in Great Britain or Ireland. The sculpture and picture galleries are open to visitors. The splendid collection of casts from the antiques in the Vatican Gallery were executed under the superintendence of Canova, and sent by Pope Pius VII. to George IV. The ship which carried them by long sea from Italy put into Cork, and was there detained for harbour dues. The King, instead of paying, transferred the Papal gift to the Cork Society of Arts.
A paltry exhibit of coins, antiquities, and fossils forms the Museum. Although Cork County has been one of the richest in Ireland in "finds" of gold and metal work of the ancient Irish, they are absolutely unrepresented.
The county of Cork is the largest shire in Ireland. The pleasure seeker, the artist, the antiquary, the sportsman, the invalid, will each find within its broad barriers much to meet his wants. Sir Walter Scott is credited with the statement that the history of this single county contains more romance than thehistory of the lowlands and highlands of his own dear land of the mountain and the flood.
The surface of the county Cork is as diversified as the people. In some places, such as Kilworth, Mushera, and Ballyhoura, the elevation is considerable, elsewhere it sinks to a low-lying plain, such as at Kilcrea, where the bog is that tradition says saw the last wolf in Ireland killed, and Imokilly, where the sea is yearly eating into the lowlands. The county is watered by no less than twenty rivers of importance.
Making the city the headquarters for a few days, there are many places of interest in the vicinity which may with ease be visited. The excellent tram system may be availed of by visitors to the sights in its immediate vicinity. A drive by Douglas and Vernamount can be recommended. Douglas was an old town, famous for its manufacture of sail cloth, and in recent years a village providence in the person of the late Mr. John Morrogh has resuscitated industry in the district by the establishment of a splendidly equipped tweed factory. With a fine day and a good "outside jaunting-car" to travel the five miles' drive toBlarney Castlewill be found most enjoyable. The famous stone, which no one should miss kissing, is set in the parapet wall. The word "Blarney," meaning pleasant "deluderin' talk," is said to have originated at the Court of Queen Elizabeth. MacCarthy, the then chieftain over the clan of that name, resided at Blarney, and was repeatedly asked to come in from "off his keeping," as the phrase in the State Papers goes, to abjure the system of Tanistry by which the clan elected the chief, and take tenure of his lands direct from the Crown. He was always promising with fair words and soft speech to do what was desired, but never could be got to come to the sticking point. The Queen, it is told, when one of his speeches was brought to her, said, "This is all Blarney; what he says he never means."
By the Great Southern and Western Railway the castle can also be reached. By this route a good stretch of the Upper Lee is seen, with Carrigrohane Castle, which belonged to the M'Sweeneys, beetling high on a rock, and the line runs through the picturesque valley of the Sournagh, which may be likened to a Swiss ravine. All the remains of the former greatness of Blarney consists of the ruins of two mansions, one of the fifteenth century, and the other of the Elizabethan period. In its time the place was one of considerable strength, and was erected by Cormac MacCarthy Laider, or the Strong-handed chief of his name. Most of the outworks and defences are gone. The old square keep, ivy-crowned, rises from a huge limestone rock, around which the Coomaun or crooked river winds. TheCastle is over 120 feet high; the great staircase at the right-hand side leads through the entire building, here and there small vaulted chambers being set in the massive walls, which are in places nine feet thick. The arched room, of which the projecting window with three lights overlooks the streamlet below, is known as the Earl's Chamber. The last fight in which Blarney Castle figured, was that in which the Confederates held out for King Charles in 1642. It fell before the superior ordnance of Cromwell's commander, Ireton. It was never afterwards used for a dwelling-house, being almost completely dismantled. From the summit of the Castle a good view of the surrounding country can be had. To the west lies Muskerry, with what Ruskin calls "the would-be hills" rising towards Mushera Mountain. To the north is St. Ann's Hydropathic Establishment, on a gentle slope, surrounded by well-wooded parks. In the village beneath is the well-known Blarney Tweed Factory of Messrs. Martin Mahony Brothers, through which visitors may be shown when convenient to the courteous proprietors. The "Rock Close," which is at the foot of the Castle at the southern side, is one beautiful jungle of foliage, in which myrtle, ivy, and arbutus intertwine with the rowan tree and the silver hazel.
Blarney Castle
If we have gone to Blarney on the "outside jaunting-car," the return journey may be made by Bawnafinny, Kerry Pike, and the Sournagh Valley, and Northern Lee road. Beneath Bawnafinny, "the pastures of beauty," we get a glimpse of Blarney Lake, a broad sheet of water bordered with tall trees, above which the old Castle raises its head. It would gladden the heart of Izaak Walton, as it is full of fish, among which is the famous gillaroo trout, which will not rise to the tantalising fly. The peasantry have a legend, that within the lake lies hidden the treasure and plate of the last of the MacCarthys, who hid them there sooner than allow his conquerors to gain possession of it. The secret is said to be known to three of the old family, andbefore one dies he tells it to the other, so that it may be recovered when the MacCarthy "comes to his own again." The milk girls also on May mornings are said to have frequently seen fairy cows along the banks of the lake, which vanish into thin mists when approached by human footsteps!
Blackrock Castle
Photo—Roche, Dublin.
Ballincolligis a place of some interest. The powder mill is a long-established factory, and gives considerable employment in the neighbourhood. The large cavalry barracks is amongst the finest in the south of Ireland.
Blackrockis little better than a fishing village; but the suburbs between it and Cork are filled with villa residences, pleasure grounds, and market gardens.Beside the road, between the city and the village, are situated the well-known nursery gardens belong to Hartland. The daffodil farm, when the flowers are full, is a sight very difficult to surpass in the three Kingdoms. Maxwellstown House, on the slope of a southern hill, was the scene of a tragedy, not yet forgotten in Cork. After a marriagedejeuner, the bride retired to her dressing-room to don her going-away dress, but the bridegroom waited in vain for her return. She had died suddenly in the arms of those who attended her; and the story goes that the disconsolate lover dismissed the servants, shut up the house with everything just as it was, and went on his way out into the wide world alone. Long years afterwards, when news of his death came from a far-off land, his next-of-kin had the house re-opened, and found everything just as it had been left half a century before, after the wedding breakfast. The dust and cobwebs were cleared away, and all went to the hammer.
Eastward, towards the harbour's mouth, there is much to be enjoyed. Excursionists may take the train direct from the Great Southern and Western Railway terminus, or by Passage from the Albert Station, and then by steamer to Queenstown. Taking the direct line the train runs almost parallel with the promenade called the Marina, which separates from the river side the broad pasture known as Cork Park, which is the local race course. A race meeting at Cork is well worth witnessing. The gay young bucks, described long ago by Arthur Young, still are with us, and they and their lady friends make a fine flutter during race week.
Queenstown Harbour
Photo—Lawrence, Dublin.
Passage(West) was once the busy site of ship-building and dock-yards, but the industry is no longer of anything like its original proportions. The town is an old-fashioned place, and has not escaped the pen of Father Prout, who, in what he calls "manifestly an imitation of that unrivalled dithyramb," The Groves ofBlarney—with little of its humours and all its absurdity—signs the attractions of what he styles a fashionable Irish watering-place:—
"The town of PassageIs both large and spacious,And situateUpon the say;'Tis nate and dacent,And quite adjacentTo come from CorkOn a summer's day."
Steamers ply between the railway station at Passage and the many little towns around the port.GlenbrookandMonkstownare particularly picturesque. Above the latter, nestling in the trees, may be seen Monkstown Castle, the legend attached to which says it was built for one groat. The owner of the site, one of the Archdeckens, an Anglo-Irish family, having gone away to the wars in the Lowlands, his better-half promised him a pleasant surprise on his return. She employed a number of workmen to build the castle, a condition of the contract being that they should buy their food from her while so engaged. Truly, she was a shrewd woman. Her profits were such, that she had enough to pay the entire cost of the work, less one solitary groat.
Spike Islandis mentioned in Church History as a present given by a Munster King to St. Cartach, of Lismore. In modern times it was used as a convict prison, the convicts' labour being employed in the construction of the fortifications around the harbour.
Queenstown, or, to give it its old Irish name, Cove, is built upon an island. It is the paradise of naval pensioners, and the home of all nationalities, yet Irish is still a spoken tongue not a mile away, behind "Spy Hill." The magnificent Cathedral to St. Colman, the patron Saint of Cloyne, occupies a commanding position over the harbour. It is in the later florid Gothicarchitecture, and within one of its transepts is buried the celebrated Dr. Coppinger, a learned writer and member of the most famous and enduring of the Danish families to whom Ireland became a native land. In an old graveyard on the island, Charles Wolfe, the writer of the elegy on Sir John Moore, and Tobin, the dramatist, are buried. The panorama from Spy Hill embraces the enchanting river and the wide harbour, which is capable of holding all the ships in the British Navy within the line drawn from the two forts, Camden and Carlisle, which guard the entrance. Of Queenstown, theDublin Health Recordsays:—"The climate is remarkably mild and equable, and, at the same time, fairly dry and tonic, and is especially suitable as a winter and spring residence for persons with delicate chests, to sufferers from chronic catarrhal throat affections, and to convalescents from acute diseases. It is particularly appropriate as a seaside resort to persons requiring a soothing and sedative atmosphere. From the position of Queenstown, winds from the colder points are very little felt, and it is completely protected from the north, north-east, and north-west winds. The mean temperatures of the seasons are exactly similar to those at Torquay, the noted winter health resort in the south of England, and higher than those of Bournemouth, Hastings, and Ventnor. As a winter health resort, Queenstown possesses all the best natural and climatic advantages."
The beach presents the most varied and motley sights to be seen anywhere in northern Europe. Merchant seamen from every port of the world congregate here; military and man-of-war sailors are ever present, pleasure-seeking yachtsmen, pilots and fishers mix with the melancholy groups of emigrants, or the irrepressible vendors of impossible wares. Beyond in the blue waters, His Majesty's flagship rides at anchor, one or more of the "ocean greyhounds," with dead slow engines, are steaming out between the forts; tenders,whale-boats, small steamers, tugs, and every craft that sails the sea, down to the familiar Munster "hooker," are hurrying to ports far and near, or lying "idle as painted ships upon a painted ocean." Most of the Atlantic liners have offices here. Tenders convey the mails from the deep-water quays at the Great Southern and Western terminus out to the steamers, which usually ride in the fair way by the harbour's mouth. Queenstown is the principal port through which the emigrants leave Ireland. Young and old, when the "emigration fever" is rife, the tides of people may be seen flowing oceanwards. Sometimes they have a little money, and are going to better themselves; but most usually they are going out penniless to relatives abroad, or "just trusting in God." Not an unfrequent sight is to see bare-footed peasant children waiting for their turn to cross the gangway which leads to the New World. Perhaps they have nothing with them but "a pot of shamrock," or a little mountain thrush or orange-billed blackbird, in a wicker cage, to make friends with "beyant the herring-pond." It is very curious, but very Irish, that they do not at all seem to want the sympathy that is lavished upon them by the onlookers. When they are leaving their native place, the "neighbours" hold an "American wake," and in the morning, with heartrending embraces and wild caioning, give them the last "Bannact Dea Leat"—"God's blessing be on your way"; but when they come to Cove, the sorrow is smothered; they are buoyed up by that trusting faith in the future which is the first fibre in the Irish nature. They may look melancholy to us, but they themselves make merry, and before the "big ship" is but on the "Old Sea," as the Atlantic is called, the girls and young men are slipping through rollicking reels to improvised music "to show their heart's deep sorrow they are scorning." Perhaps, as the Gaelic proverb expresses it, "'Tis the heavy heart that has the lightest foot." But a truce totrouble. They tell a story of an emigrant and a grand trunk merchant at Queenstown which shows alike the hapless condition and happy-go-lucky heart of the Irishman. "Pat," said the merchant, "you're going to travel; will you buy a trunk?" "A trunk," answered Pat, "an' for what, yerra?" "To put your clothes in, of course." "And meself go naked, is it? Och! lave off your gladiatoring; sure it's took up I'd be if I did that!"
CrosshavenandAghada, two watering places inside the harbour, are within easy reach of Cove by steamer, which calls at Currabinny Pier. The Owenabwee[3]river runs between Currabinny and Crosshaven; it is a beautiful, well-wooded stream which has been celebrated in a plaintive-aired Jacobite ballad, the "Lament of the Irish Maiden."
"On Carrigdhoun the heath is brown,The clouds are dark on Ardnalee,And many a stream comes rushing downTo swell the angry Owenabwee.The moaning blast is whistling fastThrough many a leafless tree,But I'm alone, for he is gone,My hawk is flown, ochone machree."
A few hundred yards from Crosshaven river there is a fiord of the Owenabwee, known as Drake's Pool. Here the great soldier-sailor, Sir Francis Drake, with his five little sloops, hid in 1587 from a formidable Spanish fleet. The Spaniards entered the harbour, but failing to find their quarry, put to sea again in high dudgeon.
NearAghada, at the other side of the harbour, is Rostellan Castle, formerly the residence of the Lords of Thomond.Cloyneis only four miles' drive "on the long car" through a rich countryside, and on the way may be seen a Druidical cromlech, at Castlemartyr, in a very fair state of preservation. Cloyne Round Tower "points its long fingers to the sky" above the ancientchurch wherein there is a fine alabaster statue of the metaphysician, Dr. Berkeley, who was Bishop of Cloyne.Ballycottonis seven miles from Cloyne. The cliffs here are high and wild, and Youghal, shining white in the sun in summer weather, can be easily seen at the mouth of the far-famed Blackwater. There are modern hotels and moderate lodgings at Ballycotton. In the season splendid deep-sea fishing can be had in the vicinity, and the opportunities of sea-bathing are enticing.
Ballycotton
Photo—Lawrence, Dublin.
For information as to Sport to be had in the Cork District, see end of this volume, where particulars are given as to Golf, Fishing, Shooting, Cycling, &c.
For information as to Sport to be had in the Cork District, see end of this volume, where particulars are given as to Golf, Fishing, Shooting, Cycling, &c.
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Edmund Spenser spent most of his time in Cork County, at Kilcoleman Castle in the vicinity of Buttevant. The place was well chosen as the house of a poet. The surrounding country is very beautiful, and every mountain and glen has its story.
The town ofButtevanttook its name from the battle-cry of the Barrymores—"Boutez-en-avant," "push forward." The ruins of the beautiful Abbey remain. At the time of the supervision of monasteries it was described as "a nest of abbots." Buttevant is the railway station for Doneraile, and hard by is Cahirmee, where the greatest horse fair in the British Isles is annually held. The fair lasts for two days. It is held about midsummer, and attracts buyers not only from all parts of these countries, but from as far away as Vienna and Stockholm. Spenser pays tribute to the beautiful Blackwater which flows through Mallow to Youghal—
"Swift Annsduff, which of the English is called Blackwater."
Far away in the highland country between Cork and Kerry the stream rises, and comes floating and pushingdown from the haunt of the fairies and the outlaw, through the wild country of Meelin. Here is a remarkable cave, the hiding place of Donald O'Keeffe, last of the old chiefs of the land of Duhallow, who was outlawed after the fall of the Jacobites.
In the Woods at Buttevant
Photo—Roche, Dublin.
The river flows through Newmarket, the birthplace of Curran, and Kanturk, the birthplace of Barry Yelverton, toMallowwhich is the centre of the lines of railway radiating into Kerry, Fermoy, and Lismore, as well as to Cork city. The town is very beautifully situated. In the distance are the Kilworth mountains, which seem afar off to join the ample deer-park at Mallow Castle. It was once one of the liveliest and most fashionable resorts in Ireland, but its famous spas, to which gentlewomen and gallants came in the lastcentury, are now unfrequented and almost forgotten. When abductions, duelling, and such pastimes were in vogue, "The Rakes of Mallow" were in their heyday. As Lysaght sang:—
"Beauing, belleing, dancing, drinking,Breaking windows, damning, sinking,Ever raking, never thinking,Live the rakes of Mallow.Spending faster than it comes,Beating waiters, bailiffs, duns,Bacchus' true-begotten sons,Live the rakes of Mallow.Living short, but merry lives.Going where the devil drives:Having sweethearts, but no wives,Live the rakes of Mallow."
Mallow Castle
Photo—Roche, Dublin.
The Blackwaterflows past Mallow through a rich country surrounded by soft-breasted hills and well-planted lawns, to Fermoy, a garrison town of importance, from which Mitchelstown, eleven miles away, may be reached by a light railway. The caves at Mitchelstown are described elsewhere (Waterford section). We will part the branch line here and return,viaCork, to Youghal, the point from which to become familiar with the Blackwater at its best.
Youghal, except in summer-time, when the visitors to its splendid strand enliven its appearance, is a sombre old place with an air of retired respectability. It is full of memories of other days, for here the Dane and the Christian came together; the Norman made it a walled town, and the Spaniards came into its harbour.
View on the Blackwater, Youghal
Photo—Roche, Dublin.
The Clock Tower, Youghal
Photo—Roche, Dublin.
Sir Walter Raleigh's House
Photo—Roche, Dublin.
From here Sir Walter Raleigh, its Mayor, went forth to found Virginia—and to the scaffold. It was a chartered city, and grew in wealth and importance from 1183 to 1579, when it was sacked by Gerald, sixteenth Earl of Desmond, then out "upon his keeping." Ormonde drove the Geraldines out of the town, and hanged the then Mayor outside his own door for aiding them. Herebuilt its walls, and placed here a strong garrison. In 1641 it was again besieged, but held out for six weeks until relieved. In 1645, Castlehaven attacked it, but was repulsed by Broghill, fifth son of the Earl of Cork. Here, during the war with the Confederates, money was struck. On the execution of Charles I., Ormonde proclaimed his son King, but the Puritans in the townrevolted to Cromwell, who wintered here in 1649. In 1660, the Cavaliers and broken followers of the Geraldines captured the town, and ten days before his actual succession proclaimed Charles II. King. With varying fortunes of war, the town passed into the hands of the Jacobites and Williamites. The objects of interest, besides the picturesque attractions of the strand and beautiful bay, are very many. The Clock Tower remains where the old South Gate to the town stood. Tynte's Castle was built by Norman settlers in the fifteenth century. St. Mary's Cathedral is cruciform, consisting of nave, aisle, transepts, choir, and massive tower. In the chantry of Our Blessed Saviour, or south transept, besides the memorial to the founder and his countess, is the grotesque mausoleum, in florid, glaring Italian style, to the Earl of Cork and his family. At Boyle's feet is the kneeling figure of his first wife, Joan; at his head is that of his second, Catherine. Over the arch is his mother, Joan, and along the margin of the plinth are nine diminutive effigies—his children. The tower was evidently constructed rather as a defence than simply for a belfry. The churchyard, where there are many ancient gravestones, is the chief centre of local superstition, and here all local ghostly visitations are alleged to take place.Myrtle Grove, whilom the residence of the ill-fated Elizabethan soldier, Raleigh, is an unpretentious, ancient gabled dwelling. The interior is remarkable for its beautiful oak wainscoting.
During his sojourn in Munster, "Captain Sir Walter Raleigh" performed many deeds of dering-do, albeit some of them were far from being like Bayard's, without reproach. He was Mayor of Youghal, 1588-9; and, with Spenser, was granted the greaterpart of the forfeited estates of the Earl of Desmond. Raleigh's grant comprised property at Youghal and along the Blackwater to Affane, already mentioned. In the garden attached to Myrtle Grove he is supposed to have planted the potato, the first planted in Ireland.
The strand at Youghal is very fine, and sea-bathers are afforded every opportunity of enjoying themselves. In summer time the watering-place is much patronized, and every year is becoming more attractive. There are good hotels, and plenty of residences and lodgings to accommodate visitors during the season. In the morning the whole fore-shore is given over to the bathers, and in the evenings it is mostly "Oh, listen to the band" along the Promenade and in the Green Park. The inroads of the sea at Claycastle are at length being successfully encountered by the Case groining system, which has been found so efficient elsewhere.
The coast-line from Youghal to Cork is indented with splendid sea cliffs, fiords, and strands. Garryvoe lies between Youghal and Ballycotton. The sea for miles along this district has been eating into the clay cliffs, and threatens to fulfil a Gaelic prophecy that it will yet reach Killeagh, a town six miles inland. Near Killeagh is a very beautiful scene of sylvan splendour, Glenbower.
The railway line runs direct from Youghal to Cork, passing the thriving market town of Midleton, the granary of Cork County, and Carrigtwohill, where there are the ruins of a Norman Castle.
A ferry from Youghal brings the passenger into Waterford County. The road above Whiting Bay leads to the fishing village ofArdmore. It was perhaps, the first place in Ireland where the light of Christianity shone, as St. Declan is generally agreed to have been a precursor of the National apostle. In the country districts surrounding, as in the fishing village itself, the language most in use is Gaelic. The round tower, said to be of later date than any other in Ireland, is unique in many respects. The Cathedral,with its exquisite chancel arch and elaborate exterior arcading, will delight the antiquary and architect. Other interesting objects are the Ogham stones in its chancel, and the narrow lintelled "Bed" of St. Declan.