# Three Years in Europe, 1868 to 1871/Chapter 3

CHAPTER III.
Ireland and Wales, June and July, 1870.
I will try to give you a very short account of my tour in Ireland. We left London on the 15th June and making a short stay in Berkshire, crossed the Irish Channel and reached Dublin on the 21st June. Dublin.Dublin is a fine town with a University and a beautiful park, but the Liffy on which it stands is exceedingly filthy. Not far from Dublin is Kingstown on the sea-shore,—a favourite haunt of Dublin cockneys, and like other sea-side towns a seat of courtship and love. And manifold are the charms of sea-side towns. The old and invalid come here to recruit their health, the student and the working people to have some relaxation and enjoy a holiday, and the young people of both sexes fly to these places from the reserve and rigid rules of busy towns to pay their offerings to the shrine of Love, or in plain English, to court and be courted.
From Dublin we went to visit some other places in the county of Wicklow. The "Vale of Avoca" is a beautiful valley between high ranges of hills through which the Avoca makes its way over a bed of pebbles for miles and miles together. Avoca.The place where two tributaries meet and form the Avoca, is called the "meeting of the waters" ​immortalized by the National Poet of Ireland in one of his Irish melodies which begins thus:—
"There is not in the wide-world a valley so sweet, As the vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet; Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart." &c.&c.&c.
I cannot however help adding that the poet drew as much upon imagination as upon nature, for the valley though very pretty is nothing extraordinarily so, and hardly deserves the encomiums lavished on it by Moore. The next day we saw the lovely "Glen of the Downs." On both sides are high mountains covered with the most luxuriant foliage, while a lovely path winds through the avenue at the base. The place only wants a purling brook to complete its beauty. The "Devil's Glen" is more rugged and wild than the "Glen of the Downs," but not quite so pretty. A rivulet meanders through this glen. There is a very funny story connected with this glen. Visitors cannot enter it without the keeper opening a gate leading into the glen. It is said that two tourists managed once upon a time to get into this glen without the keeper's permission, and the latter got offended and wanted to send them out rather unceremoniously. The two visitors enquired of the keeper what right he had to send them out. "Why sir," says the surly keeper "this is my glen!" "O yes," rejoined one of the visitors, "we knew this to be the 'devil's glen,' but really, we did not expect to see the proprietor here!"
From that place we went to the vale of the seven churches. It is really a most beautiful valley cooped ​out, as it were, in the midst of high mountains surrounding it on all sides; there are two small lakes here called the lakes of Glendenlough and the whole scene is dark and gloomy. Glendenlough.The chief interest of this place lies in the ruins scattered about, of the seven churches built in the sixth century by St. Kevin, i. e., before Christianity was established in Ireland. These ruins therefore are among the very rare relics of ancient Ireland before Christianity was thoroughly established in the country. Numerous are the traditional legends told about this interesting personage St. Kevin, and of the marvels and miracles he performed. You will find in one of Moore's melodies an account of the tender affection which the gentle Kathleen felt for this stern Saint. Her love was ill requited, for when at last she followed him to his last place of repose,
"Sternly from his bed he starts, And with rude repulsive shock Hurls her from the beetling rock. Glendenlough, thy gloomy wave Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave?"
Bray is a very pretty little sea-side town in Wicklow. Bray.Thence we went to Drogheda where we stopped for about an hour and a half, and saw the spot where the fortunes of the House of Stuarts were finally decided at the battle of the Boyne. Boyne.A monument has been erected just by the Boyne "to the glorious memory of King William the Third" who, you know, was the victor in the battle.
​We left Drogheda and stopping at the busy town of Belfast for 24 hours, we left the place for the far-famed Giant's Causeway on the northern coast of Ireland. Drogheda, Belfast and Giant's Causeway.We went by train to Portrush, a town on the sea-shore and thence to the Causeway by on 'outside car.' The curious formation of the rocks here is very like what we saw in Fingal's Cave in Scotland. They are all formed in basaltic columns, having from three to nine-sides, and are all regular as if they were cut out by the chisel. The boisterous Atlantic eternally beats these regular columns with all its mighty force and beats in vain. There are three Causeways, as they are called, contiguous to one another, i. e., three promontaries jutting into the sea, and all formed of beautiful regular columns of rocks. There are numerous caves near this place dug out by the ever busy sea, but none of them can be compared to Fingal's Cave in Scotland.
When returning from these Causeways we paid a visit to the Dunluce Castle built on an immense mass of rocks projecting into the sea. The position of the castle is bold, as bold as it could be. The ever busy waves of the sea have beaten and beaten in vain for centuries together against the three sides of the adamantine rocks on which this bold castle is built. The fourth side too used at one time to be washed by the sea, but now the waters have receded. This rocky peninsula, formerly a rocky isle, is connected with the main land by a narrow bridge, the only entrance into the castle.
​From Portrush we went to the historic town of Londonderry. The most interesting object to be seen here is the monument of Walker, Londonderry.the gallant defender of the town during the great siege,—the hero who with his unsubdued enthusiasm kept up the failing spirits of the besieged, and almost prophetically assured them of speedy succour. The succour though long delayed came at last, and the town was saved. We went up the monument, and saw the figure of Walker with his hand stretched forth, as if triumphantly pointing out to the famished people the long promised succour which had come at last like Noah's ark to save the people. I am sure you cannot have forgotten Macaulay's graphic description of the siege of this virgin fortress, which came vividly to our mind as we walked on the proud and unsubdued walls of the town.
From Londonderry we went to Enniskillen, a dirty town, as almost all the Irish towns are, but situated on a most beautiful lake, the Lough Erne. Enniskillen.We had plenty of rowing on that lake, landed at a small island called the Devenish Isle, and saw the ruins of a very old church and abbey of which all accounts are lost. There too we saw a round tower, a very beautiful specimen of that sort of buildings, which one sees in almost every part of Ireland, but of which no one can trace the origin. They are long cylindrical columns, sometimes very high, and look like monumental spires. The one on the Devenish Isle is 16 yards in circumference. No one knows when or why they were built.
​From Enniskillen we went to Athlone, passing through Sligo. Thence we went in an outside car to the "Deserted Village" of Goldsmith. The "Deserted Village."We saw the ruins of "the village preacher's modest mansion," which rose "where a few torn shrubs the place disclose;" we saw too the ruins of the "three pigeons" where "village politicians looked profound, and news much older than the ale went round." "The busy mill, the never-failing brook," the village church that topped the neighbouring hill" were also pointed out to us. Auburn, otherwise called Lishoy, is the most central spot in Ireland, and draws crowds of spectators to its deserted fields through the magic of the poet's pen.
We left Athlone for the busy town of Limmerick, whence we went to see the falls of Shannon, or as they are generally called the "rapids of the Doonas." Limmerick.There are no regular falls here, but the great Shannon gets very shallow and clatters along at a tremendous rate over a wide and rocky bed. All around you see the luxuriant vegetation of spring; trees and shrubs overshadow the river, little isles every here and there are reflected in the bosom of the river, clear and placid where it is deep, while in other places the rushing and troubled waves are torn on a hundred little pebbles and spread in a white sheet of foam. Near this place are the ruins of a very ancient castle of which no accounts can be had.
From Limmerick we went to the magnificent lakes ​of Killerney, the pride of Ireland, and equal in picturesque beauty to the prettiest lakes of Scotland. Killerney.We took a long drive in a car, and then had a ride through one of the wildest valleys that I have ever seen, the "Gap of Dunloe." It is not quite so bleak and barren as the vale of Glencoe in Scotland, but the mountains are quite as high and the whole scene is quite as wild and picturesque.
Emerging from that valley we came to the lakes and took a boat. The scenes through which we then passed defy all description. Enough be it to say that it is the wildest and the most picturesque scene that can he made up of mountains, rivulets, lakes, istands, creeks, promontories, and wild vegetation. The lakes being surrounded on all sides by high mountains, every loud sound was echoed most distinctly. Our guide had a bugle with him which he sounded, and thrice was it echoed distinctly by the surrounding rocks. Our boatman repeated a long sentence, pausing a little after every word, and every word was echoed back as distinctly as possible! At another place, the "Eagle's Nest," the echo seemed to be louder than the bugle sound itself! One of the lakes of Killarney is the scene of action of the beautiful drama "Cawleen Bawn." The rock from which "Cawleen Bawn" is supposed to have been thrown into the water was pointed out to us.
From Killarney we came to Cork, paying a visit to Blarney, which notwithstanding the magical Cork.powers ascribed to ​it does not seem to have given me the gift of the gab! We left Cork by a steamer for Bristol.
Before I conclude my letter on Ireland, I must add a few words about the beautiful green aspect of the country which has given it the name of "the Emerald Isle." As one is hurried on through the open county by the train, his eye is refreshed by the deep-green fields and plains which surround him on every side—by the clusters of deep-green trees and woods and thick vegetation such as one would seek for in vain in England. Irish Peasantry.Potato is the main food of the lower classes of people who cannot afford to indulge in the luxury of having any kind of meat on their table, and the extensive and never-ending fields of potato which are to be seen anywhere and everywhere certainly strike the visitor. As for the villagers they are poor indeed. Man, wife, and children, a good round number in all, are often seen working in the same field in sun and rain, and are housed together in the night probably with their pigs and geese in the same wretched hut. This is not the only fertile country in which the cultivators are exceedingly poor!
At Bristol we stopped for seven hours and saw the grave of Raja Ram Mohun Roy in the beautiful cemetery of that town. A monument in the Indian style of Architecture is erected over the grave. Bristol.We also saw the celebrated Redcliffee Church which possesses a literary interest as being connected with the life and acts of
"That marvellous boy The sleepless soul that perished in its pride."
It was here that Chatterton professed to have found the "Rowley's poems" as he called them—literary forgeries with which he succeeded, for sometime at least, to deceive the learned and the elite of his age.
From Bristol we went to Milford Haven in Wales, considered as one of the finest havens in Europe. It is deep and spacious enough to give shelter to the entire British Navy. Wales. Milford Haven.It was here that Henry, Earl of Richmond, landed with his army destined to win the battle of Bosworth Field which transferred to him the crown of England. And turning from history to poetry, it was here that the innocent and sweet Imogen was sent by her suspecting husband Posthumous to be cruelly murdered.
From Milford we went to Aberystwyth, a sea-side place in Wales. On our way we stopped for some time at the old town of Carmarthen, reputed to be the birth-place of the great sage Merlin. Carmarthen and Aberystwyth.In later times Sir Richard Steele, the friend of Addison and the writer of some of the finest letters in the Spectator, lived here. Aberystwyth is one of the finest sea-side places that I have ever seen. Surrounded on three sides by high mountains, and on the fourth washed by the sea, this town can boast of a romantic aspect which is met with in very few places. From Aberystwyth we visited the far-famed Devil's Bridge.
​We next went to Carnarvon in North Wales, a very old town and containing the ruins of a fine ancient castle. Carnarvon.Edward I. when he conquered Wales signalized his conquest by the erection of a great number of strong castles all over the country, and of all these the Carnarvon Castle is undoubtedly the most splendid. From Carnarvon we went to Llanberis, a most picturesque town, surrounded on all sides by high mountains and beautiful lakes. We passed through the "Llanberis Pass" which in its aspect of bleak sublimity yields to none else that I have yet seen. At its foot a mountain torrent rushes and foams over a bed of stone, and makes its way through vast masses of rugged rocks which have rolled down from the mountains on both sides. When we had left behind this terrible pass—a most beautiful valley greeted our eye. We were now very near Snowdon but could not see its top which was shrouded in mists and clouds, it being a misty day. Snowdon and Llanberis Pass.Soon after we reached the picturesque town of "Bedgelert," i.e., the "grave of Gelert" said to be the identical spot where Llewyllen, King of Wales, buried his faithful dog Gelert who had saved his child from a wolf, but whom the king slew through a mistake. The tree under which the dog is said to have been buried was pointed out to us. We passed through another bleak and magnificent pass, that of "Aberglaslyn" and came back to Carnarvon.
Next day, we came to Conway, also containing a castle ​built by the warlike King Edward I. on his conquest of Wales. It was in this town that Mrs. Hemans passed some of the happiest days of her life. Conway.We saw the Conway Valley and sailed up the beautiful river 12 miles. From Conway we came direct to old London which we reached on the 14th July at 9-30 p. m.