WATERFORD--CARRICK-ON-SUIR--KILKENNY--DUBLIN AGAIN.
Business now called us back to the lower part of Ireland, and we will
here take a look at Waterford and other places.
Waterford is one of the most noted places of Southern Ireland, and
has for centuries played an important part in history and commerce.
We arrived here at 6.30 P. M., after a ride of five and a half hours
from Dublin. The city is situated on the right bank of the River Suir,
nine miles from its entrance into Waterford Harbor. It has an extensive
suburb, with a pleasant settlement called Ferrybank, on the other side
of the river, opposite a part of the city. The population of Waterford
proper is 23,349. The quay is the finest in Ireland. It is 120 feet
wide, extends for three quarters of a mile along the river, and is
well built of stone. Bordering this, on the land side, are stores of
various kinds. It looks like an old commercial place, and the general
dingy look of everything suggests great dampness of atmosphere. There
are not many buildings of importance. Few of the streets are wide, but
most of them are narrow and crooked, and lanes and alleys abound. We
were impressed with the aspect of poverty. The shore opposite is bold,
rocky, and precipitous, and, at the lower end, about the bridge and
railway station, is romantic and picturesque.
The old, long bridge is a structure of stone, and of considerable
consequence. It was erected in Ireland's memorable year, 1798, and near
this place one of her most important battles was fought, which ended to
her disadvantage, and resulted, in 1801, in the surrender of her power,
and the establishment of English rule. It is too much to expect that
England, who so long ago established its authority in India, and in our
time in Cyprus, thousands of miles away, should resist the temptation
of subjugating a land so indefensible as Ireland, which lay at her very
door. The bridge having been built in her last great battle year, a
stone slab in the parapet records the fact.
Here are the inevitable barracks. They are of stone, three stories
high, and very extensive. There were evidences of military rule in
every place yet visited. The soldiers are all young. None are over
thirty years of age, and many not more than eighteen. All are stout
and robust, and each is a picked man. The uniform coats are red, with
gilt buttons, the pants are a dark plaid; they look dandyish. These
men are the best physique of the nation, and, as a whole, put to a bad
use. They are always to be found on the street, either singly, by twos,
or in squads, each with a switch-cane, said to be furnished by the
government.
The police are English, for no Irish person is trusted, and they are
finely dressed in dark clothes. They are very civil and gentlemanly,
and, like the soldiers, are picked men. Save on a single occasion in
Dublin, we saw no disturbance of any kind, nor any service rendered by
the police.
What interested us most was an old tower on this main thoroughfare,
situated at the extreme end of the quay on the land side, and just
out to the sidewalk line, in close contiguity with the surrounding
buildings. It is fifty feet high, and about thirty-five feet in
diameter, and is built of irregular ledge stone, of a dark gray or
brownish color; is very plain, as far as a projection near the top, of
a few inches; above this it is continued up plain some two or three
feet higher, having a conical roof which comes down apparently inside
of the stone work. There is a single door in the first story. Just
above this, to the left, is a stone tablet, about two and a half feet
wide and five feet high, with pilasters and pediment top,--the whole
much like a dormer window. The inscription is as follows:--
IN THE YEAR 1003
THIS TOWER WAS ERECTED
BY REGINALD THE DANE.
IN 1171 IT WAS HELD AS A FORTRESS
BY STRONGBOLD, EARL OF PEMBROKE.
IN 1463 BY STATUTE 3D, EDWARD IV,
A MINT WAS ESTABLISHED HERE.
IN 1819 IT WAS REEDIFIED IN ITS
ORIGINAL FORM AND APPROPRIATED TO
THE POLICE ESTABLISHMENT
BY THE CORPORATION BODY OF
THE CITY OF WATERFORD.
RT. HON. SIR JOHN NEWPORT, BT., M. P., MAYOR,
HENRY ALCOCK, ESQ.,}
WILLIAM WEEKS, ESQ.} SHERIFFS.
The city is very old, and was founded about the year 850, or more than
one thousand years ago, at which time Sithric the Dane made it his
capital. In 1171 Strongbow and Raymond le Gros took the place, and put
to death most of the Danish inhabitants. King John gave it its first
charter, and resided here for some time. The place was unsuccessfully
besieged by Cromwell, but was afterwards captured by the intrepid
Ireton. There are remains of old fortifications and monasteries.
Curraghmore, the seat of the Marquis of Waterford, containing four
thousand acres, is near the city. After a stay till 9 P. M. of
this day, we took train for the town of
CARRICK-ON-SUIR,
where we arrived at 9.45, and took room at Madame Phalan's Hotel.
It is a very comfortable place, and thoroughly Irish, but of a good
sort,--a little old inn of the first water; and, as usual, a woman
sixty years old was the "man of the house." A good night's rest, and,
next morning a tramp over the town, and the business for which we had
come was attended to. The place was very clean and neat, the buildings
being of stone, with slate roofs. Many were plastered on the outside,
painted in tints of cream-color or gray, and blocked off to represent
stone. They are generally two or three stories high. We have spoken
of the slate roofs. Some were new and clean, like the best in Boston.
Others were ancient, and made of thick slates, little better than thin
stones of small size, and often mortared up so as to give a very clumsy
appearance. On many of them were large patches of thick, green, velvety
moss, and not unfrequently growing in it, and in the roof-gutters, were
specimens of snapdragon in full bloom. The people refrain from removing
these excrescences, unless for repairs which compel them to do so.
We were delighted with the old market-place, and with the thoroughly
Irish houses, one story high, built of stone, plastered and
whitewashed, and situated in narrow lanes, which were paved with
round cobble-stones, and kept remarkably clean. The place shows
cultivation and a good civilization. It is a market-town, and a parish
of Tipperary, and is situated on the pretty River Suir, crossed by a
bridge built over five hundred years ago. It has a population of 8,520.
It was formerly enclosed by walls, and has a parish church of great
antiquity. A fine Roman Catholic Church has lately been built, and a
large school is connected with it, having an elegant building of gray
limestone. There is a castle of some repute, formerly belonging to the
celebrated Ormonde family. The town also has a prison, a hospital, and
barracks.
Improvements in the river, made in 1850, rendered it navigable for
vessels of considerable capacity, which can now come up to the town,
which has quite a trade in cotton, corn, and general produce. Monthly
fairs are held in the market-place. There are some shade-trees, and the
town in many parts has a rural look. But few very Irish-looking people
are seen. While the town is unmistakably Irish, it is of a high grade;
and, notwithstanding many of its buildings are quaint and old, for the
most part it is modern, though not of course like New England. The
place has two banks, and a number of good stores. We had seen no place
quite like Carrick, but, as we aftewards found, it anticipated Kilkenny.
The good wine was, however, kept till the last, for we had an exquisite
suburban trip. At 1.30 P. M. we took a team, standing in the
street for hire, for our journey to Pilltown. We didn't care to inquire
where the village got its name, and doubt of success had we made the
attempt. A half-mile out, and we were in love with the scenery. There
presented itself every kind of view imaginable,--hills, fields, groves,
and mountains in the distance. We thought then, and we think now, that
little section is the garden of Ireland. How fine the landscapes! how
balmy and clear the atmosphere! what good vegetation, and what sleek
horses, beautiful healthy cows, and splendid sheep! and how very civil
they were, and how confiding, when we strangers came near them! We
were so full of satisfaction that we had but little real ability to
appreciate what we saw next,--a street as wide and clean as can be
desired, some of the neatest possible one-story stone houses, with
appropriate front-yards with flowers in them; and nowhere to be found,
in either street or yard or house, so far as we could see, a thing to
amend or alter. Well, we almost knew there was an especial cause for
all this. No lot of mortals, fallen from the assumed high plane of
Adam and Eve, ever existed,--at all events that we have heard of,--who
would of themselves get into this Eden-like condition. We inquired
the cause, and soon the mystery was at an end, for we were told that
Lord Bestborough,--we hope that name is given right,--a much beloved
landholder, owned all, and gave annual prizes for the best kept houses
and grounds. A committee of ladies and gentlemen have the matter in
charge; they make two especial visits, and award five prizes in all,
the largest being two pounds, or ten dollars.
We rode on, and were soon at the original Purcell estate, which has
for some hundreds of years been occupied by the family of that name,
from which one of the writers came in the course of human progress.
In talking of our own company, we are not inclined to say _descent_,
and especially in these days of Darwinism; so we draw it mild when we
refrain from saying _ascent_, and are contented with suggesting that we
have advanced or progressed.
We may have been prejudiced, but very delightful was the scenery in
this region. The river took a grand quarter-circle sweep just back of
the old farm, and was here a quarter of a mile wide, with remarkably
fine English grass-meadows, half a mile wide, bordering it. The distant
hills were irregular and well wooded, and over them was a fine haze,
like that of our Blue Hills at Milton. The great ravines had dark
places of interest, and made all very picturesque. Not more than two or
three scattered farmhouses were in view. No noise was heard save that
of the small birds; but conspicuous was the song of the Irish Thrush.
Two coal-vessels were at anchor in the river, and these added a strange
element to the scene. We hallooed to one vessel and beckoned, and a
boat was put out to ferry us over. In making for Purcell's we had
mistaken the road, and so had walked a mile or more out of the way, and
were on the wrong side of the river. It wouldn't be Yankeeish to go
back, but rather to go ahead, especially when, Davy Crockett-like, we
were sure we were right,--for, to use an Irishism, we were right when
we were wrong. The boat came, and we, like the two kings of ancient
Munster--Strongbow and Raymond le Gros--stepped in and were rowed over.
We gave a shilling to the boatman, and landed, and were now all right.
It would not be becoming to tell all that we saw, said, and did. We had
never seen one of that family, nor they us; nor had they seen any other
Yankees; and if any mortals were surprised, they were. Photographs of
some kindred were, however, in that very house. The whole matter of
relationship was thoroughly talked over, and in the room where the
great-grandfather died, we took tea. We stood in front of the large
kitchen fireplace, where for almost a century he used to sit, and were
delighted with a sight of old New-Englandish pots, kettles, trammels,
hooks, and large high andirons, about which the burning furze crackled.
Keats has it, "A thing of beauty is a joy forever." This is a joy
forever,--that old fireplace; but the beauty is nowhere, not even,
thought we, in the "mind's eye Horatio." To leave a cathedral or a
fine old ruin, a picture gallery or museum, caused less trouble than
our parting with this good old Irish homestead; but the spell must be
broken.
As we walked through the long, winding lane, each side well hedged,
we were delighted anew. In what profusion were the modest daisies
in the pathway; how many, many snails, their houses on their backs,
were on the bushes; and then, those exquisite primroses, in such vast
numbers,--of the most delicate, refined straw-tint imaginable. The
entire vegetation was so clean! And then the stillness--nothing but
sweet-singing birds to make a noise. Half a mile off, on a rise of land
to our right, was a little village of perhaps twenty houses,--and the
church, the mother building of them all. Here, once a Purcell was the
priest. He built the house we had visited, and was a brother of the
great-grandfather. _Advanced_ as we are, and removed from Romanism,
yet there was a charm about that old spot. Though dead a century, that
venerable priestly ancestor yet speaketh.
We wended our way to Fiddown Station. How refinedly Irish that name
is, and also that of the village Polroon; but alas, the euphony had
become exhausted before we went in imagination a half-mile back from
Polroon, and over to Purcell's Village, for that has the æsthetic name
of Moincoin. Our walk from this place was three miles, but the distance
was short enough amidst such air and scenery.
A ride in the steam-cars, of an hour from Fiddown, and at 9 P.
M. we were back, not in Carrick-on-Suir, but in Waterford, at the
Imperial Hotel, near the old Strongbold Tower before described. Not
much of Irish about the hotel! Next morning breakfast was ordered at 6
A. M. Then we went out and copied the tower inscription before
given. At 7.15 took cars for Kilkenny, where we arrived at 8.30.
The general look of the landscape between the places, and in fact all
the way down from Dublin, was very like that of New England along
shore. Trees and woods are in about the same proportion as with us,
and, excepting the houses, we saw nothing that we might not have seen
in a similar ride at home.
KILKENNY.
"Kilkenny is sure another of the Irish places," says the reader; and
it is hardly less so by reputation than Sligo, Dundalk, and Drogheda.
It is the shire town of the county of Kilkenny, and a county of
itself, situated on the River Nore, 63 miles from Dublin, and 30 miles
from Waterford, having a population of 12,664. It is divided by the
river into an Irish and an English town, the former in the vicinity
of the cathedral, and the latter near the castle. In ancient times
the place figured largely as a seat of parliaments, and was often
the scene of stirring events. As viewed from the railway, which is
one of the best points of observation, Kilkenny is one of the most
picturesque rural places that can be imagined. On the left of the
centre, and on low ground, is the castle. The original was built by
Earl Strongbow in 1172, and, destroyed by Donald O'Brien soon after.
The present structure was built in 1195. In 1319 James Butler, third
Earl of Ormonde, purchased the estate of the Pembroke (or Strongbold)
family, and with his descendants it has since remained. It is in
perfect condition, and occupied by the Marquis of Ormonde. It is a very
large edifice, of an old granite appearance, is situated on a slight
elevation, and the river runs rapidly by its base. The location is at
the centre of population, the main avenues adjoining the grounds. The
general effect reminds us of Warwick Castle. Richard II. spent two
weeks here on a visit to the Earl in 1399. In March, 1650, Cromwell,
having invested the place, opened a cannonade on the castle and made
a breach in its walls; but the attackers were twice repulsed, and the
breach quickly repaired, Cromwell was traitorously admitted by the
mayor and a few of his townsmen; and as he was in company with Ireton,
Sir Walter Butler, who was in charge of the place, deemed it expedient
to capitulate, and did so on honorable terms. He and his officers were
highly complimented by Cromwell, who informed them that he had lost
more men in storming the town than he did in taking Drogheda, and that
but for treachery he should have retired from the siege.
To the right of the centre and on very high ground we see the Cathedral
of St. Canice, one of the most interesting ecclesiastical structures of
Ireland. It was begun in 1180 by Felix O'Dullany, who transferred the
See of Sagir from Aghabo to Kilkenny. So extensive was the design of
the building that its projectors, never expecting to see it finished,
contentedly covered in the choir and consecrated it, leaving to others
the task of consummating the work. It is cruciform in plan, 226 feet
long, and 123 feet wide at the transepts. It has a low and long look,
and the tower, which is also low, gives the structure a depressed
appearance. The interior, however, is grand and imposing. The pillars
are of plain black marble, surmounted by high Gothic arches. The
arches under the tower, which is at the intersection of nave, choir,
and transepts, rest on four massive marble columns. The great western
window is triplicated, and a large cross and two Gothic finials crown
the centre, angles, and apex of the great gable. The exterior is in
tolerable repair, and the interior is in perfect condition, having been
fully restored by Dean Vignolles.
The monumental remains are numerous and interesting. Among them is
that of Peter Butler, the eighth Earl of Ormonde, and his Amazonian
Countess, known by the Irish as Morgyrhead Ghearhodh. Irish enough the
name is, and for that reason we quote it. They died in the sixteenth
century. The Countess was of the family of Fitzgerald, and did not
dishonor her blood, for she was masculine in organization, and as
warlike as any of her race. History says of her that "she was always
attended by numerous vassals, richly clothed and accoutred, the whole
forming a gay pageant and formidable army;" and it was more than
whispered, by the gossips of her day, that, like Rob Roy, she levied
blackmail on her less powerful neighbors.
Near the cathedral is one of the finest monumental round-towers of
Ireland, 108 feet in height and in perfect preservation; though like
all these solitary towers, its use is yet enveloped in mystery. No
place of Ireland presents a better opportunity of research for the
lover of antiquities than the county of Kilkenny, for it is not too
much to say that here ruins abound. A writer in "Hall's Hibernia"
says:--
So numerous are church ruins in this region, that on our way we were
guided through numerous alleys and by-lanes, to examine relics of the
olden time. We found wretched hovels propped up by carved pillars;
and in several instances discovered Gothic doorways converted into
pigstyes.
This was not quite our experience. Our impressions were that the town,
in the English part, was business-like and attractive, the streets
clean and well paved, and the inhabitants well dressed. In the Irish
portion there was the usual quota of one-story houses, and a poor
population.
The Roman Catholic Church, recently built, is an elegant structure,
with lofty towers and spires above them, and stands, as viewed from the
railroad, at about the centre of the place.
Kilkenny is celebrated as the seat of witchcraft trials. One of the
most remarkable was that of Lady Alice Kettel in 1325. There were,
however, but three executions. It should in justice to Ireland be said
that, with all its superstitions, it had comparatively few inhabitants
who were barbarous enough to force presumed witches to trial. New
England was more than her equal. Aside from these three at Kilkenny,
there was but one such execution in all Ireland; and that was at
Antrim, in 1699, seven years after the first appearance of the delusion
in New England, which occurred at the house of Rev. Mr. Parris, in
Salem, in 1692. The Antrim trial was the last, and was told as a story
in pamphlet form, entitled, "The Bewitching of a Child in Ireland."
It had a large circulation, and was foolishly copied by Professor
Sinclair into his work entitled "Satan's Invisible World Discovered;"
and is frequently referred to by Sir Walter Scott, in his "Letters
on Demonology." While speaking of Sir Walter, we are reminded of the
fact that Kilkenny, as well as Melrose had its Sir Walter. His name
was John Banim. He wielded a facile pen, had a peculiar temperament,
and represented the character of his country and its people with more
fidelity and interest, if not romantic effect, than any other Irish
novelist.
We are admonished that we must here end our talk about this lovely
Kilkenny; and, as we turn once more for a final view as our train moves
away from the station, it is not without feelings allied to those which
Longfellow describes in his own sweet way:--
A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.
We are fully aware that we have not often spoken of Roman Catholic
churches, cathedrals, nunneries, and schools; and at first sight it
would appear that in this Catholic country more attention should have
been paid to these things; but recognizing the narrow space that could
with propriety be devoted to any one place, we have reluctantly had
to forego the pleasure of describing many points of interest. The
reader may rest assured that it would have given us unalloyed pleasure
to speak of hospitals, charity-schools, asylums, almshouses, and a
thousand charitable institutions we saw and heard of. All these abound.
That kind-heartedness, so characteristic of the Irish nature; that
hospitality which is part of their being, making their houses, large
or small, in Ireland or America, hospitals, asylums, or hotels,--these
qualities show themselves, in constant and varying forms, in buildings
designed as comfortable retreats for the unfortunate.
Descriptions have been given only of such buildings as are of
remarkable antiquity, and possessed of more than ordinary interest.
At best, these chapters can only be a brief and meagre synopsis of
an inexhaustible store; but perhaps they will tempt the reader to
consult the more elaborate thought of others, as found in histories and
gazetteers. No more comfortable road up the hill of general knowledge
exists, than that which one travels while reading such works. In
the former, and measurably in the latter, he finds truth stranger
than fiction, and romance supported by an obscured reality, at once
enchanting and almost incredible.
In passing over the roads from place to place there is one continual
panorama of interesting objects, each of which is out of the usual
line of observation of such travellers as ourselves,--Americans,
Yankees, with New England lineage and descent through a line of more
than a hundred years. These scenes are so interesting that hundreds
of chapters might be written about them; and when the work ended,
description proper would be just begun.
What novel can be more interesting, or what entertainment more
enchanting, than to read about Galbally, where a monastery was founded,
as early as 1204, for the Grayfriars, by a member of the celebrated
family of O'Brien. It justly boasts of its beautiful Glen Aherlow,
eight miles long and two wide, which truthful descriptions say, is
not surpassed in interest by anything in the country. It has also a
Druidical Temple, consisting of three circles of stone, the principal
one of which is 150 feet in diameter, consisting of forty stones, of
which the largest is 13 feet long, 6 feet wide, and 4 feet thick!
The Rock of Cashel, but twelve miles from Limerick,--a large lone rock,
rising boldly out of a plain,--is of world-wide celebrity, by reason of
its association with one of the most interesting ruins in the kingdom,
which still repose on its summit,--those of a grand castle, held by the
chiefs of the family Hy Dunnamoi, now called O'Donohue. They consist
chiefly of a round-tower, ninety feet high; a small church in the
Norman style, with a stone roof; a cathedral church, in Gothic style;
and a castle and monastery; and yet in addition, are the fine ruins of
Hore Abbey at the base of the rock. Let the intelligent reader know of
these, and he has at hand strange and enchanting romances in no way
inferior to "Kenilworth," or "The Lady of the Lake."
We shall be pardoned for seeming egotism when we name Loughmore
Castle,--a fine old building in ruins, showing yet a massive
castellated front, with strong square towers at each end, the one at
the right being of great antiquity, the remainder having been built in
the sixteenth century. On the opposite side are the church and chapel
of Loughmore. The estate was long the seat of the Purcells, from whom,
in a maternal line, has probably descended one of the authors of this
volume.
Let our investigator continue his research, and he will be informed of
the remarkable ruins of Kildare, thirty miles out from Dublin, among
which is the Chapel of St. Brigid, called the Firehouse, it being the
locality of the perennial fire which the nuns maintained day and night,
during a thousand years, for the benefit of strangers and the poor. A
thousand years of never extinguished charity-fire! How incomprehensible
the fact and story!
Ireland is indeed a land of romance, which is merged in the obscurities
of a time which the records of man do not reach or measure.
Superstition and general ignorance long prevailed, but the temperament
and organism of the race have made a history peculiar to itself.
There's a deal of strength and nationality in the blood. Dilute it,
generation after generation, and its idiosyncracies are still there.
Where can romance inhere, if not in conditions like these? What, if not
legends of fairies, visions, miracles, could result from the operations
of this religious turn of mind, and its accompanying superstitious
beliefs? Castle, church, monastery, abbey, tower, must come into being;
and their convictions were so influential that these people "builded
better than they knew."
We arrive at Maryboro at 7.30 P. M., and here we meet with
our first and last experience of a tardy train, which is an hour and
a half late at a junction. We remained over night at Borland's Hotel,
paying for supper, lodging, and breakfast, $1.50 apiece. At 8.40 A.
M. next day, May 2, took train for Dublin again, arriving at 11
_A. M._ This was to be our last day in Erin, and so we went directly to
the steamer Longford and engaged "passage out of Ireland," paying for
the passage to Liverpool $2.37 each. And now for one more tramp over
the Irish metropolis.
We had been informed of the completion of Christ Church Cathedral,
and that on this day the great public opening was to take place. We
soon discovered that we were unfortunate in not being one of the
dignitaries, as they only had tickets of admission. But no Yankee of
good blood would be three thousand miles from home, and lose a sight
on which a million dollars had been expended; and so, with as much
faith that we should gain admission to their building, as most of the
prelates perhaps had of one day entering "the house not made with
hands," we made our demand, and were of course repulsed. Remembering
the daring of Strongbow, whose bones were reposing inside the
cathedral, and that _we_ were of Irish extraction, we were emboldened,
and bethought ourselves of who we were; for, like one of old, we were
citizens "of no mean country," and were ready to fight spiritually with
the beasts of Ephesus. We made an effort, and came off conquerors.
"Americans," said we. That was the charm which held the attention of
the official, robed and consequential, with whom we talked, and who
was moved by that talismanic word. Although he had refused, and with
righteous indignation declared he could not--and perhaps felt that he
would not--let us in; yet, as soon as he knew who we were, he came down
from his lofty position and the cathedral door swung open. His whole
being was filled with a consciousness of the good of which he was the
happy author. We complacently bowed our compliments, as all triumphing
Americans should do; then we went in and surveyed everything, and in
due time were out and taking our last look of the city.
At 6 P. M. we were on board our steamer; and soon she steamed
out of the harbor and into the bay and channel, and we were once more
on the briny deep. A pleasant sail, and a comparatively quiet one,
landed us at 7 A. M., on Saturday, May 3, on the soil of Old
England.
We have with comparative thoroughness--that is, for a tourist's
statement--given an account of Old Ireland; and now, before we begin
our similar account of Old England, we think it well to add a page
or two more, and give a few leading points in regard to Ireland as a
whole; for in these chapters, be it anew remembered, we are to try
and give such incidental information as will be useful as well as
entertaining to the general reader, so that he will know more of the
country than he would learn from mere statements about a few things we
chanced to see.
As is well known, the Emerald Isle--so called from the luxuriance of
vegetation induced by a mild and moist climate--is one of the four
divisions of Great Britain, England, Wales, and Scotland being the
others. It is separated from England by the Irish Sea and St. George's
Channel, and contains an area of 32,531 square miles. This is not far
from the size of the State of Maine, which contains 35,000. Ireland is
divided into four provinces, Leinster, Munster, Ulster, and Connaught,
and these comprise thirty-two counties. Its greatest population was in
1841, when it amounted to 8,199,853. During the next ten years, owing
to famine and emigration, it decreased 1,600,000, that is to 6,599,853;
and this was about 200,000 less than in 1821, when the first census was
taken. The number of inhabited houses in 1861 was 995,156; in ten years
they decreased to 960,352. The average number of persons to a house was
seven, giving for 1871 a population of 6,722,464. This is not far from
the present population, which is more than ten times that of the State
of Maine, 626,915, and twice that of all New England, 3,487,924. As New
England has 68,460 miles of surface, and Ireland 32,531, it follows
that the latter has about four times as many persons to the square mile
as the former.
Ireland has ninety-two harbors and sixty-two lighthouses. There are in
all 2,830,000 acres of bog land that is available for fuel, or about
one seventh of all the island. At Dublin the mean temperature for the
year is fifty degrees, which is seven degrees warmer than the average
of Boston; and there is an average of but three degrees of difference
between the extreme northern and southern parts. There is a perpetual
moisture, which induces vegetation and maintains unfailing pasturage.
This is due to the prevalence of westerly winds, which bring with them
the warm moist atmosphere of the Gulf Stream. The average rainfall is
thirty-six inches, or about six inches less than at Boston.
Ireland boasts of great antiquity. We will, however, speak of it only
from the time of St. Patrick, who was sent here by Germanus of Rome,
to convert the people to Christianity. He arrived about the middle
of the fifth century, and died in 493, leaving the island nominally
Christian. Schools and monasteries were established; and so noted did
the country become for the learning and piety of its ecclesiastics,
that it was called _Insula Sanctorum_, Isle of Saints. In the year 646
many Anglo Saxons settled on the island, and in 684 it had become of
sufficient importance to be invaded by Egfrid, king of Northumberland,
who destroyed churches and monasteries. From this time invasions were
common. In 1002 Brian Boru, who was king of the province of Munster,
was powerful enough to expel the Danes who had come in, and was crowned
at Tara, "King of all Ireland." Hence Moore's poem, "The Harp that once
through Tara's Halls."
Brian Boru wrought great reforms, for he founded churches and schools,
opened roads, built bridges, and fitted out fleets. He introduced
surnames, heretofore not in use, and made the marriage contract
permanent. The Danes again invaded Ireland in 1014; and on Good
Friday--April 23, of that year--Brian, an old man of eighty years, was
killed in his tent, although his party had triumphed.
Internal dissensions and civil wars followed. The island soon fell
into a state of degeneracy, and lost its good character as the Isle of
Saints. St. Bernard called the attention of the Church authorities of
Rome to its condition, and Pope Eugenius III. sent Cardinal Papiron to
restore discipline. In March, 1152, a synod was held at Kells, when
the supremacy of Rome was acknowledged, and the archbishoprics of
Dublin and of Tuam were established. In 1155 a bull is said to have
been issued by Pope Adrian IV. conferring the sovereignty of Ireland
on Henry II. of England. Next came invasions by two bands of Normans,
one under Robert Fitzstephen in 1169, and another under Earl Pembroke
(Strongbow) in the same year. Henry II. issued a proclamation recalling
Strongbow, and all Englishmen, under pain of outlawry. Then there was
a series of interesting battles, sometimes one party being successful,
and sometimes the other.
In 1341 Edward III. ordered that all offices held by Irishmen, or by
Englishmen who had estates or wives in Ireland, should be vacated, and
filled by Englishmen who had no personal interest whatever in the Green
Isle. Great resistance and trouble followed, and the English triumphed.
A parliament was held in Dublin in 1537, when the Act of Supremacy was
passed, declaring Henry VIII. supreme head of the Church, prohibiting
intercourse with the court of Rome, and making it treason to refuse
the oath of supremacy. Then began a new series of wars and troubles.
Each subsequent page of history is stained with blood. Insurrections
and resistance were oft repeated. Finally, in 1798, new battles were
fought, the English being in the end victorious. The next year a bill
of amnesty was passed, and the country settled down into comparative
quiet. Jan. 1, 1801, Articles of Union were agreed upon, and from then
till now, with occasional outbreaks and riots, England has maintained
her hold. Much of the work done by Henry VIII. has been good in its
results; but much has proved to be wrong in the extreme. The principle
of entailing landed estates tends to impoverish the people, drive them
to emigration, and so depopulate the country. These are the seeds of
decay for not only Ireland, but for England herself. It is a wrong "so
rank it smells to heaven," and deliverance is sure to come. And now, we
bid adieu to Ireland, where we have enjoyed so much, and for whose good
time coming we watch and wait in sympathy with her sons.
ENGLAND.