The Country On The Way To Mitchelstown Is Partly Very Rich-Looking Now
Waving With The Harvest.
There is a long valley in sight stretching away
for many miles, yellow with ripened corn and dotted with farm houses,
each with a few sheltering trees.
Upon what is called mountain land I
saw a fine little farm that had been reclaimed from the heather quite
recently. The farmer and his sons were binding after the cradle. He
holds this land at two shillings and sixpence an acre, and hopes under
the new Land Law that it shall not be raised on him. Mitchelstown is
quite a large place, and was as quiet as Indian summer. Had my worst
experience of hotel life in Fermoy, and gladly left it behind for
Cappoquin. The road lies alongside a lovely valley of the Blackwater,
and one has glimpses of the most enchanting scenery as they steam along.
Cappoquin is quite a nice town, and seems to have some trade by river as
well as by rail.
Walked out through the fair country to Mount Mellary Monastery, a
property reclaimed out of the stony heathery mountain by the monks of La
Trappe. They have succeeded in creating smiling fields among the waste
of the mountain wilderness. They hold the land on a lease of 999 years.
No woman is allowed into the precincts of the monastery proper, but
there is a hospice attached where travellers are received and
entertained without charge, but any gratuity is accepted.
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