On The Wall The
Different Noble Families Who Belong Here, Or Have Money Invested Here,
Have Their Shields Containing Their Coats Of Arms On The Wall.
Into this
grand church have been wrought the religious ideas of the church people
for years, at the cost of L100,000, and there is an immense golden angel
on the point of a gable calling with two trumpets for L25,000 more to
finish it.
None but a rich city could afford the splendid buildings that are in
Cork. The evening on which I arrived in Cork was signalized not only by
the boat accident, but by a grand wedding, the wedding of a Sir George
Colthurst in the splendid cathedral church just mentioned, and there was
any amount of fashion, and high birth and young beauty gathered there.
The bride was beautiful, the bride was "tall," and not yet, they say,
out of her teens. She was dressed in white satin and silver cloth, Irish
lace and orange blossoms, and wore no jewels. None but invited eyes were
allowed to look at the grand ceremony which made the fair bride and the
lord of Blarney castle one. Some tenants of the bridegroom got up a
bonfire, had some barrels of beer given them to rejoice withal, and were
dancing to the music produced by six fiddlers, when they were surrounded
by a small army of disguised people, fired into, beaten and dispersed.
The first accounts put the number of wounded at twenty, to-day they are
reduced to five - perhaps that is the proportion of exaggeration in
newspaper accounts of outrage generally. The newly-made bride and
bridegroom went to see the wounded, leaving cordials and money at every
house.
One thing is observable in Cork, the determination to make an effort to
restore native industry from its present languishing condition. Passing
along the streets I notice clerks in the windows affixing labels on
goods with the words, "Irish Manufactures," "Cork made goods," "Blarney
tweeds," "Irish blankets," "Cork made furniture." There have been
meetings held on the subject since I came here. No city in the world
could appear to be more quiet and law-abiding than Cork to all
appearance.
As one instance of the exaggeration of reports concerning outrages, I
see the disturbance in Cork that took place at the rejoicings about Sir
George Colthurst's marriage advertised with the heading 20 men shot. The
local report says five injured, one shot, but not fatally.
Went down the river Lee to Queenstown. It did not rain except a few
drops during the whole time. The sun shone, the clouds, some of them
were billowy and white, and massed themselves on a deep, blue sky. The
little steamer was crowded fore and aft with holiday passengers, and a
large quantity of small babies. The river Lee, from Cork to Queenstown,
wears a green color, as if it were akin to the ocean. Flocks of sea
gulls flying about, or perching on the ooze where the tide is out, make
one think of the sea, but the green banks of the river are there to
testify against it.
We expected to find that the scenery from Cork to Queenstown was
beautiful, and so it is. There is no use in trying to praise it, for all
praise seems flat compared with the reality. There are glorious, steep
slopes leading up to fair, round hills, waving with golden grain, or
green with aftermath, checked off into fields by gay, green hedges or
files of stately trees. On the slope, half way up the slope, snuggling
down at the foot of the slope, are residences of every degree of beauty.
Houses, square and solid, with wide porticos; houses rising into many
gabled peaks; houses that have swollen into all sorts of bay windows
running up to the roof, or stopping with the first story. Houses that
fling themselves up into the sky in towers and turrets, and assert
themselves to be, indeed, castles.
Queenstown comes at last, a town hung up on a steep hillside, and on the
very brow of the hill is an immense cathedral, unfinished like St. Finn
Barre's, of Cork. In these cathedrals two forms of religious belief are
slowly and expensively trying to express themselves in stone, chiselled
and cut into a thousand forms of beauty, in marbles, polished and
carved, in painted windows, in gildings and draperies of the costliest.
Looking at these costly fanes erected to be a local spot where Jehovah's
presence shall dwell, one can scarcely believe that He will dwell in the
heart of the poor who are willing to receive Him in the day of His
power. Is the soul of the beggar more dear to God as a dwelling place
than these lofty temples? Forever the world is saying "Lord, behold what
manner of stones and what buildings are here?" And the Lord cares more
for the toiling fisherman, the poor disheartened widow, and the laboring
and heavy laden peasant than the grandest buildings. The cost of these
churches would buy out Achil island and the appurtenances thereof, I
think. It would maybe purchase the wildest tract of the Donegal
mountains. I wonder if a hardy mountain people, who could live on their
own soil, and begin to feel the stirrings of enterprise and energy,
would be as acceptable to Him who came anointed to preach the gospel to
the poor as these poems in stone. Who knows?
We sat on a bench under the trees and looked at the harbor - its waters
cut by many a flying keel, at Spike Island lying in the sun, all its
fortifications as silent and lonely looking as if no convict nor any
other living creature was there. Steamboats for "a' the airts the winds
can blaw," were passing out and away, leaving a train of smoke behind
them, and big sail vessels, three-masted and with sails packed up, are
waiting to go, and revenue cutters and small passenger boats are flying
about each on their way.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 95 of 106
Words from 95617 to 96628
of 107283
