[Illustration: THE OLD BRIDGE OF MILTOWN, COUNTY OF DUBLIN.]
We have already taken occasion more than once to express our admiration
of the beautiful and varied scenery which surrounds our city on all
sides, and which presents such an endless variety in its general
character and individual features as no other city that we are acquainted
with in the empire possesses in any thing like an equal degree. Other
cities may have scenery in their immediate vicinity of some one or two
classes of higher beauty or grandeur than we can boast of; but it is the
proud distinction of our metropolis that there is no class of scenery
whatsoever of which its citizens have not the most characteristic
examples within their reach of enjoyment by a walk or drive of an hour or
two; and yet, strange to say, they are not enjoyed or even appreciated.
Some suburb of fashionable resort is indeed visited by them, but not on
account of any picturesque beauty it may possess, but simply because it
is fashionable, and allows us to get into a crowd--as our delightful
Musard concerts are attended by the multitude less for the music than to
see and be seen, and where we too often show our want of good taste by
being listless or silent when we ought to applaud, and express loudly
our approbation at some capricious extravagance of the performer that
we ought to condemn. The truth is, that in every thing appertaining to
taste we are as yet like children, and have very much to learn before
we can emancipate ourselves from the trammels of vulgar fashion, and
become qualified to enjoy those pure and refined pleasures consequent
upon a just perception of the beautiful in art and nature. Till this
power is acquired, our green pastoral vallies, our rocky cliffs, mountain
glens, and shining rivers, as well as our exhibitions of the Fine Arts,
and that pure portion of our literature which disdains to pander to the
prejudices of sect or party, must remain less appreciated at home than
abroad, and be less known to ourselves than to strangers who visit us,
and who in this respect are often infinitely our superiors. It is no
fault of ours, however, that we are thus defective in the cultivation
of those higher qualities of mind which would so much conduce to our
happiness; the causes which have produced such a result are sufficiently
obvious to every reflecting mind, and do not require that we should name
or more distinctly allude to them. But we have reason to be inspired
with cheerful hope that they will not very long continue in operation.
Temperance and education are making giant strides amongst us; and when
we look at our various institutions for the promotion of science, art,
and mechanics, all in active operation, and aided by the growth of a
national literature, we can scarcely hesitate to feel assured that the
arts of civilized life are taking a firm root in our country, and will be
followed by their attendant blessings.
But it may be asked, What have these remarks to do with Miltown Bridge,
the subject of our prefixed woodcut? Our answer is, that in presenting
our readers with one of the innumerable picturesque scenes which are
found along the courses of our three rivers, the Liffey, the Dodder, and
the Tolka, all of which abound in features of the most beautiful pastoral
landscapes, we have naturally been led into such a train of thought by
the fact that we hold their charms in little esteem, and that few amongst
us have the taste to appreciate their beauties, and the consequent desire
to enjoy them. The Liffey may perhaps be known to a certain extent to
many of our Dublin readers, but we greatly doubt that the Tolka or the
Dodder are equally familiar to them; and yet the great poet of nature,
Mr Wordsworth, on his visit to our city, made himself most intimately
acquainted with the scenery of the former, and thought it not inferior to
that of his own Duddon, which his genius has immortalized.
In like manner, the scenery of the Dodder, though so little known to the
mass of our fellow citizens, has been often explored by many British
as well as native artists, who have filled their portfolios with its
picturesque treasures, and have spoken of them with rapturous enthusiasm.
Thus, for example, it was, as we well know, from this fount that much
of the inspiration of our great self-taught imaginative painter Danby
was drawn; and though we could not point to a higher name, we could, if
it were necessary, give many other little less illustrious examples of
talent cultivated in the same school of nature.
Amongst the many picturesque objects which this little mountain river
presents, the Old Bridge of Miltown has always been with those children
of genius an especial favourite, and many an elaborate study has been
made of its stained and timeworn walls. It is indeed just such a scene
as the lover of the picturesque would delight in;--quiet and sombre in
its colour, harmonious in its accompanying features of old buildings,
rocks, water, and mountain background; and, as a whole, impressed with a
poetical sentiment approaching to melancholy, derived from its pervading
expression of neglect and ruin. It is for these reasons that we have
given old Miltown bridge a place in our topographical collections; and
though many of our Dublin readers, for whom, on this occasion, we write
especially, may not fully understand our language, or participate in our
feelings, the fault is not ours: our object in writing is a kind one.
We would desire that they should all acquire the power of enjoying the
beautiful in nature, and, as a consequence, in art; knowing as we do
that such power is productive of the sweetest as well as the purest of
intellectual pleasures of which we are susceptible, and makes us not only
happier, but better men.
We are aware also that some of our Dublin readers, whose tastes are not
uncultivated, but who have taken less trouble than ourselves to make
themselves familiar with our suburban localities, may think that we
speak too enthusiastically of the scenery of the Dodder river and its
accompanying features. But if such readers would meet us at Miltown some
sunny morning in May or June next, and accompany us along the Dodder
till we reach its source among the mountains--a moderate walk--we are
satisfied that we should be able to remove their scepticism, and give
them an enjoyment more delightful than they could anticipate, and for
which they would thank us warmly. We could show them not only a varied
succession of scenes of picturesque or romantic beauty on the way, but
also many contiguous objects of historic interest, on which we would
discourse them much legendary lore, and which we should lead them to
examine, offering as an excuse for our temporary divergence the beautiful
sound of Wordsworth to his favourite Duddon:--
Who swerves from innocence, who makes divorce
Of that serene companion--a good name,
Recovers not his loss, but walks with shame,
With doubt, with fear, and haply with remorse.
And oft-times he, who, yielding to the force
Of chance-temptation, ere his journey end,
From chosen comrade turns, or faithful friend,
In vain shall rue the broken intercourse.
Not so with such as loosely wear the chain,
That binds them, pleasant River! to thy side:--
Through the rough copse wheel thou with hasty stride,
I choose to saunter o’er the grassy plain,
Sure, when the separation has been tried,
That we, who part in love, shall meet again.
Thus, as we approached towards Rathfarnham, we should ask them to
admire that noble classic gateway on the river’s side, which leads
into the deserted park of the Loftus family, and which in its present
state, clothed with ivy and hastening to decay, cheats the imagination
with its appearance of age, and looks an arch of triumph of old Rome.
We would then lead them into this noble abandoned park, still in its
desolation rich in the magnificence of art and nature; then we would take
a meditative look at its general features and at those of the grim yet
grand and characteristic castellated mansion which with so much cost it
was formed to adorn; and we should ask our companions, why has so much
beauty and magnificence been thus abandoned? Here in its silent hall
we could still show them original marble busts of Pope and Newton by
Roubilliac; and, in the drawing-room, pictures painted expressly for it
on the spot by the fair and accomplished hand of Angelica Kaufmann. But
the interest of those objects would after all be somewhat a saddening
one, and we should return to our cheerful river with renewed pleasure,
to relieve our spirits with a view of objects more enlivening. Such an
object would be that old mill near Rathfarnham, where paper was first
manufactured in Ireland about two centuries since. It was on the paper
so made that Usher’s Primordia was printed, and the Annals of the
Four Masters were written. The manufacturer was a Dutchman--but what
matter? At the Bridge of Templeoge we should probably make another short
divergence, to take a look at the old park and mansion of the Talbots and
Domvilles; and here, beneath a majestic grove of ancient forest trees,
we should show our companions the largest bank of violets that ever came
under our observation. But the limits allotted to this article will not
permit us to describe or even name a twentieth part of the objects or
scenes of interest and beauty that would present themselves in quick
succession; and we shall only say a few words on one more--the glorious
Glanasmole, or the Valley of the Thrush, in which the Dodder has its
source. Reader, have you ever seen this noble valley? Most probably
you have not, for we know but few that ever even heard of it; and yet
this glen, situated within some six or seven miles of Dublin, presents
mountain scenery as romantic, wild, and almost as magnificent, as any to
be found in Ireland. In this majestic solitude, with the lovely Dodder
sparkling at our feet, and the gloomy Kippure mountain with his head
shrouded in the clouds two thousand four hundred feet above us, we have a
realization of the scenery of the Ossianic poetry. It is indeed the very
locality in which the scenes of some of these legends are laid, as in the
well-known Ossianic romance called the Hunt of Glanasmole; and monuments
commemorative of the celebrated Fin and his heroes, “tall grey stones,”
are still to be seen in the glen and on its surrounding mountains. We
could conduct our readers to the well of Ossian, and the tomb of Fin’s
celebrated dog Bran, in which, perhaps, the naturalist might find and
determine his species by his remains. The monument of Fin himself is on
a mountain in the neighbourhood, and that of his wife Finane, according
to the legends of the place, gives name to a mountain over the glen,
called See-Finane. But there are objects of even greater interest to the
antiquary and naturalist than those to be seen in Glanasmole, namely,
the three things for which, according to some of these old bardic poems,
the glen was anciently remarkable, and which were peculiar to it: these
were the large breed of thrushes from which the valley derived its name,
the great size of the ivy leaves found on its rocks, and the large
berries of the rowan or mountain ash, which formerly adorned its sides.
The ash woods indeed no longer exist, having been destroyed to make
charcoal above eighty years since, but shoots bearing the large berries
are still to be seen, while the thrush continues in his original haunt
in the little dell at the source of the river on the side of Kippure,
undisturbed and undiminished in size, and the giant ivy clings to the
rocks as large as ever; we have seen leaves of it from seven to ten
inches diameter. We should also state, that to the geologist Glanasmole
is as interesting as to the painter, antiquary, or naturalist, as our
friend Dr Schouler will show our readers in some future number of our
Journal.
But we must bring our walk and our gossip to a conclusion, or our friends
will tire of both, if they are not so already. Let us, then, rest at the
little primitive Irish Christian church of Killmosantan, now ignorantly
called St Anne’s, seated on the bank of the river amongst the mountains;
and having refreshed ourselves with a drink from the pure fountain of the
saint, we shall return in silence to the place from which we started, and
bid our kind companions a warm farewell.