A little further
west is the classic little town of Ballyporeen, which has danced to
music that was not wedding music more than once during late years.
After we left Clogheen and struck through a wide plain for Cahir the
moon came out and touched the dark mountains with silver and they folded
away their gray robes until we should return. Those eight Irish miles
from Clogheen to Cahir were the longest miles I have ever met with,
exceeding in length the famous Rasharken miles. Here in a rambling,
forsaken like assemblage of stairs and passages, called a hotel, we
found a room and I rested for the remaining hours of the night. I never
bestowed whip money so grudgingly as I did on the sullen driver who
brought me through the Knock-me-le-down mountains. Under his care all my
bags and parcels came to grief in the most innocently unaccountable way
and were carried in in a wrecked condition.
In the morning the melancholy waiter who set my little breakfast at one
end of a desert of a table in a dusty wilderness of a room, commenced
bemoaning over the poverty of the country. It was a market morning and
there were many asses, creels and carts with fish drawn up in the market
place. I ventured to suggest a fish for breakfast, which was an utter
impossibility. Cahir has a handsome old castle standing close to its
main street which is still inhabited.
We dropped down by rail through Clonmel to Waterford, our companions by
the way being all returning tourists, English and Welsh people over for
a holiday to see the disturbances in Ireland, which they had always
missed seeing some way. We amused ourselves in drawing comparisons
between the lines of rail in Ireland and those in other countries to the
total disparagement of Irish railways. They spoke of the railways in
England and Wales, and I exalted Canadian railways.
Waterford seemed a pretty, lively, bustling town. The river seemed alive
with boats; there was a good deal of building going on near the depot,
and the people had a step and an air as if they had something to do and
were hurrying to do it. It looked very unlike its ancient name, which
was, I am told, the Glen of Lamentation. Tales still linger here of the
sack of Waterford by Strongbow and his marriage to Princess Eva, and of
the landing here of Henry the Second when he came to take possession.
From Waterford up through Kilkenny in the sunshine, wondering to see hay
still being cut in September. Heard no word of Kilkenny black coal or
Kilkenny marble and passed on to Bagenalstown in Carlow and up through
Kildare to Dublin.
The days were passing so swiftly away that there was but a little time
to see Dublin sights; the question was, therefore, what to see and what
not to see. Owing to the kindness of Miss Leitch, an art student, I had
the privilege of half an hour in the Academy. Having so little time I
spent it all before Maclise's picture of the marriage of Strongbow and
Princess Eva and in a small way understood how a great painter can tell
a story. The museum of Irish antiquities was the next place. I wanted to
see the brooch of Tara and saw it, but I was not prepared to see so many
reliques of gold and silver telling their own tale of the grandeur of
the native rulers of the Ireland of long ago. The ingenuity shown in the
broad collars of beaten gold which made them be alike fitted for collar
or tiara was surprising. The shape of the brooches and cloak clasps are
so like the Glenelg heirlooms which I saw in Glengarry families that the
relationship between the clans of the Highlands and the Irish septs is
quite apparent. There was quite a large room entirely devoted to gold
and silver ornaments. One side was given up to gold collars, neck
ornaments, bracelets, armlets and cloak clasps, all of gold. There was
another cabinet of rings of various kinds. Some of the rings and
bracelets are quite like modern ones. Saint Patrick's bell was another
object of great interest to me. It was plain and common-looking,
evidently for use, shaped a good deal like a common cow bell. I liked to
think how often it had called the primitive people to hear God's message
of mercy to them from the lips of his laborious messenger. Beside it
stood the elaborate case which the piety of other ages manufactured for
the bell. It is such an easy matter to deck shrines and garnish the
sepulchres of the righteous when they are gone past the place where the
echoes of man's praise can reach. It is easier than hearing and obeying
the message which they carry. We were given a powerful magnifying glass
to inspect the workmanship of the shrine that held the bell, but my
thoughts would turn back to the plain common-looking bell itself. Still
I did admire the exquisite workmanship of the shrine, which could only
be fully appreciated when seen through the magnifying glass. It required
the magnifying glass also to fully bring out the richness of the
delicate tracery on the brooch of Tara. There were in another room quite
a number of short swords of cast bronze similar to the one presented to
me in Mayo. Some of them had been furbished up till they looked like
gold.
