XXXIV.
THE LAND OF FLAMES - A RELIC WITH A HISTORY - CATTLE VS.
MEN - THE MEETING
OF EXTREMES - "PUT YOURSELF IN HIS PLACE."
Was invited by a friend to visit Rappa Castle to see a celebrated
vessel which once belonged to Saint Tighernain, the saint who belongs
more especially to the west and the clock which was removed from Moyne
Abbey when it was dismantled. This vessel, belonging to the saint called
Mias Tighernain - which I would freely translate as meaning Tighernain's
own - has been used until of late years, when the clergy interposed and
forbid it, for the discovery of stolen goods. Any one swearing falsely
on the Mias Tighernain was sure to come to grief. People swearing
falsely on the Bible have been known to escape visible consequences. Our
car driver, a not very old man at all, told us he was present himself
when a numerous household were brought together to be sworn on the Mias
Tighernain for the discovery of a large sum of money which had been
stolen. The thief was discovered but money was not.
It is very pleasant to drive along through the fair but tenantless lands
that surround Ballina. The county of Mayo is beautifully diversified by
mountain and valley, wood and water, glen and stream. The tall hedges of
white thorn in their bridal white perfume the air. Myriads of primroses
smile at the passer-by from sunny banks. Small golden blossoms, like
whin blossoms, cluster thickly here and there, and the starry-eyed
daisies, white and sweet with blushes edged, lift their modest faces to
the sky. Even the bog waste is nodding all over with a cotton flower,
white as a snowflake; they call it _ceanabhan_ in Irish, and the
peasantry use it as a comparison when praising the white arms and bosoms
of the Mayo maidens. Surely one might say this bright May morning with
Tim, "Glory be to God, but it is a purty world!"
When we crossed the boundaries, passed the lodge gates into the demesne
lying around Rappa Castle, the residence of Captain Knox, there was a
change to still greater beauty. Money will build a grand and stately
home in the fair proportions of a castle, but money has to run in the
blood for centuries to produce a scene like this. Broad lands swelling
and sinking like an emerald sea, trees that stand out singly wrap
themselves in aristocratic leafiness, spreading their magnificent arms
toward you, saying, "Look at me! I am not of yesterday; the dews of
heaven, the fatness of the earth, the leisure of centuries, fanned by
breezes, tended by culture, have made me what I am, a 'thing of beauty'
to gladden your eyes." They stand in groups upon the slopes and whisper
this to one another; they open their ranks to give you delicious
glimpses into further away "spots of delight:" they are drawn up in
ranks shading mysterious walks that lead away into the grand dim woods.
They distract you and bother you with their loveliness till you wish
that the English language had a bushel more adjectives.
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