THE JAUNTING CAR--SCENERY IN DONEGAL--MOUNTAIN PASTURES--A VISIT TO
GLENVEIGH CASTLE.
I have returned to pleasant Ramelton, and will write my visit to
Glenveigh Castle from here. This town will always be a place of
remembrance to me on account of the Christian kindness, sympathy,
encouragement and counsel which I have received in it.
It was my great good fortune to get an introduction to Mr. and Miss
McConnell, a brother and sister, who are merchants in this place. They
are of the stock of the Covenanters, a people who have left the stamp of
their individuality on the piety of the North of Ireland. Sufferers
themselves from Lord Leitrim's tyranny and greed, they sympathize with
other sufferers, and sympathize with me in my work to a greater extent
than any others since I left home. I can say with feeling, I was a
stranger and they took me in.
I have been driven in many directions sight-seeing in their cosy little
pony carriage. It is a nice little two-wheeled affair. I believe the
orthodox name of it is a croydon. It carries four, who sit back to back,
while the back seat turns up when not wanted. It was in quite a
different trap that I rode in on my visit to Glenveigh. During my
journey there we talked, my guide and I, of what constitutes a good
landlord. It was a negative sort of goodness which he expected from the
good landlord--"that he would not harry the tenants with vexatious
office rules; that he would let them alone on their places so long as
they paid their rent; that he would not raise the rent so that all grown
on the land would be insufficient to pay it." Since the Land League
agitation some landlords have granted a reduction of rents, and some
have even given a bag of potatoes for seed as a gift to the poorer
tenants.
The road to the new castle leads through scenery of grand mountain
solitudes, treeless, houseless and silent. Our road wound in a
serpentine fashion among the mountains. The drains that regularly score
the foggy mountain sides produce a queer effect on the landscape.
As we wound along the serpentine road nearing the castle, the hills
seemed to get wilder and more solemn. No trace of human habitations, no
sound of human life, treeless, bare, silent mountains, wastes of black
bog, rocks rising up till their solemn heads brushed the sky,--Irish
giants in ragged cloaks of heather.
At last we came in sight of Loughveigh lying cradled among the rocks,
and got a glimpse of the white tower of Glenveigh Castle. There is a
small skirting of wood near the castle where the silver barked birch
prevails from which the glen takes its name, interspersed with holly
trees, which grow here in profusion, and some dark yews, prim and
stately, drawn up like sentinels to guard the demesne.
No place could be imagined more utterly alone than Glenveigh Castle. The
utter silence which Mr. Adair has created seems to wrap the place in an
invisible cloak of awfulness that can be felt. Except a speculative rook
or a solitary crane sailing solemnly toward the mountain top, I saw no
sign of life in all the glen. Owing to the windings of the road it
seemed quite a while after we sighted the top of the tower before we
entered the avenue which sweeps round the edge of the lake shore, and
finally brought us to the castle. The castle stands on a point
stretching out into the lake. Opposite, on the other side of the lake, a
steep, bare, dark rock rises up to the dizzy height. It is the kind of
rock that makes one think of fortified castles, and cities built for
defence, that ought to be perched on a summit, but Glenveigh Castle
should be a lady's bower, instead of a fortalice. Behind the castle the
mountain slopes are clothed with young trees. The castle itself is a
very imposing building from the outside; grand, strong, rather
repellant; inside it has a comfortless; ill-planned, unfinished
appearance. The mantel-piece of white marble with the Adair arms carved
on it--the bloody hand, the motto _valor au mort_, the supporters
two angels--lies in the hall cracked in two. A very respectable
Scotchman, a keeper, I suppose, showed me over the building. He must
enjoy a very retired life there, for in all the country for miles there
is not a human habitation except the police barrack that looms up like a
tall ghost at the other end of the lake.
As we drove home through the mountains I noticed that Mukish wrapped
herself in the misty folds of her veil. Soon after the storm rolled down
the mountain sides and chased us home.