The Scenery From Our Elevated Position Is Glorious.
At our feet Sligo,
all her buildings, churches and convents white in the sunshine, around
her the fairest of green fields; the blue waters of Lough Gill sparkling
and glancing from among trees of every variety that in spring put on a
mantle of leaves.
On every side but the gate of the west through which
we see a misty glance of the far Atlantic, Sligo has mountains standing
sentry around her. One, Knock-na-rea, is seen from a great distance, a
long mountain with a little mountain on her breast. The bells were
chiming musically, the sound floating up to where we stood. Below us, on
the other side of the old earthwork, a little apart from one another,
stood two great buildings, that are so necessary here, the poor-house
and the lunatic asylum. These magnificent and extensive buildings must
have cost an immense sum. The asylum has been enlarged recently, as the
freshly-cut stone and white mortar of one wing testified.
As I looked, a band struck up familiar airs. We saw them standing in a
field beside the asylum. I was told that the band was composed of
patients. This made the music more thrilling. When they struck up "Auld
Lang Syne," or "There Is no Luck About the House," there was a wail in
it to my ears, after home, happiness and reason. We got down from our
high position and came home by another way, passing through some of the
poorer streets of Sligo, which are kept scrupulously clean.
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