The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1892-02-20
A DAY IN DUBLIN.
Beautiful Bridge and Old Trinit.
I. With It's Many Memorable
Volumes.
WHAT c. w. STODDARD SAW

A Brief But Interesting Sketch o1
/ Ireland's Metropolis, and
It's Resources.
0 bay of Dublin girded about with
low. green hills, whose tops a. 6 swathed
in mist, and whose gentle slopes ooze
perpet11ally, writes G. W. Stoadard
How eagerly watched for your undis,
covered shores to shape themselves out
of the great cloud that lay upon the face
of the waters! How lmpatientjy I wait
ed that dreary day in the Irish channel
while the wind and the rain aud the
sleet beat upon us and drove us within
the lingy cabiu, where four mortal hours
we tossed gidiily 'twixt Hulyhead and
kipgstown, until we touched land at
last, drenched and discounted
The caves Of everything gushed and
gurgled. The cutters we're az high
tide--bnt the roar of the sea was we'll
out Of our ears and there was some COM
fort in that. Had [ but tithe OF the
philosophy of Carlyle-who was one Of
the most unhappy Of tour'sts~I might
have found much of interest in the ship
that brought me over. He did, Turn
to his Irish Notes and SEQ how he told
himself the tales of his fellow Travellers
He had tender corner in his crustv
heart had Carl, le; and his companions
in misery could awaken his sympathy
when no one else could.
! Well, there was nothing to rest the eye
during the brief run by rail from Kings
town to Dublin; nothing but a broad
side of big raindrops lashing the shut
windows. So stared about at the, tired
faces of my unknown neighbors, and not
one of us but were leaking at the elbows
and had a limp hat brim willing over
! his eyes. I have somewhere read that it
rains in Ireland, and so it does God
love it But Ireland is justly proud of
her green mantle; and but for the proili-
gal rains, how would it keep it's color?
! AS for Dublin the not TOO fattering
Thackeray has said of it: "A handsonaer
town it is impossible to see on a SUM
mer's day. O, best beloved OF novelists
Moreover, it is summer now, and I have
seen Dublin town in rain and shine, and
I joyfu|ly repeat-a kandsomer town is
not Within the range Of summer possi-
bi}ities
[ have measured the length and
breadth of Sackvil}e street, pronounced
by competent judges the finest thor
oughfare n Europe nave stood
| ON CARLISLE BRIDGE,
with it's three arches spanning the Liffey
and seen the quays and the great build
ings, the monuments and the columns,
and with all my heart pronounced them
good. I have threaded the numerous
tramways, running in almost every di-
rection. Have dropped down upon su-
burban Donnybroolx, Of frolicsone MEN,
ory, and found it the most peaceful Of
hooks, with spruce village air, and
never the shadow of shil allah to glad
| den the eyes Of me, and assure me that
The dear old Ireland Of my dreams is not
all dream. There are grassy fields
there, where the sheep feed in peace and
plenty; and a highly respectable chapel
or two--but no fair for me TO behold
with these longing and questioning eyes;
for it is not the fair season, and Donny-
brook is as quiet as the grave.
! Glasnevin, on the other hand, has it's
botanical garden, and that is always in
bloom. It was once a private park, the
property OF the great Tickell; and here
no doubt be composed his best work, the
ballad of Colin and Lucy Parneil, the
author of THE Hermit Brinsley Sheri-
dan, Swift, and even Swift's poor Stella
! frequented it's pleasant paths; and one of
the latter is known to this day as fAd-
| dison's Walk, for it was the one the au-
thor Of the Spectator loved best of all.
! tried to find their footprints, the pic
| 5ure of them as they loitered under the
oaks-out Of the rain--chatting gai1y
| with one another. All ! what rare chaff-
/ ing there must have been in those days
when there is SO much of IFS .palatable
| flavor left even to these times! My
search was vain; [ found only trim
walks, under the sharp eyes of a half
score of officials, and peremptory order
to refrain from smoking on the promises.
Close at hand is the cemetery; there lies
the
DUST OF cuRRAN AND o'coNrEnL.
4 narrow path worn through the thick
sod Heads to the former; but O'Connell's
body, in it's oaken casket, reposes under
q high, grey tower, that looks not unlike
q decapitated lighthouse. When the