The Irish standard., 1908-06-06

Il
needed, for everyone knows of the
colleen Bawn," Sweet Innisfallen''
and the lake into which the last of the
snakes and toads We're driven by st.
Patrick.
What though there may be larger
| and more numerous lakes in America
than the Lakes of Killarney, the in
terest in natures pictures is never de.
termlned by the size OF the canvas. The
Amazon is a very much larger river
than the Rhine, but no one goes to
Brazil to see the Amazon, while thou
sands annually visit the Rhine and
/ look at the historic places along it's
shores, with an interest that is con-
stantly increasing.
Killarney has constant stream Of
visitors, which continues during the
entire year, and none can fail to feel
the charm of the neishborhood or to
DE interested in the history of King
Dermod and his beautiful daughter
| ' >Ae'.SN Ny every uilNeF ana
b"atman in the place. In olden time
the qualification of an Irish story-tel-
ler was that he must be able to re-
late seven times fifty good stories, and
any one Of the guides at Killarney can
Qualify for the position.
In more senses than one Irish folk
lore is Irish history. The traditions
that have been handed down from one
generation to another. although in
some instances they may fail to give
all authentic record of events, truth
fully present Milesian temperament,
with its nirth and its melancholy. it's
exuberant fancy and It's short-lived
passion.
Here is the famous NTuckross Abbey
whose churchyard is said to be the
oldest burying ground In Ireland. The
building itself has so long been in
ruins. that large yew tree, apparent
ly 100 years old at least fourshes in
the middle of the place where was once
the great auditorium. A part of the
present condition of the great Church
is due, of course, to the ravaees of
time, but more to that spirit of vandal-
ism that thought the religion of
country could be uprooted by the de-
struction of it's grandest monuments,
and an obliteration of the records of
its most glorious achievements
In Ireland the effort did not succeed,
for although the architectural beauty
and massive splendor of Ireland's an
cient churches must depend upon the
Imagination for their reproducti tion, the
lrlshman's religion. is a part of the
Irish nature. and is as potent and Wig
orous when practiced under hedges and
in remote mountain places, as in the
most costly temples.
1t is impossible ITO talk about Ro-
mantle Ireland without mentioning the
native poetry and it's authors, who
have given to every spot in Ireland it's
story of love and grief, suffering and
self-sacrifice, until much of the very
language of the country is poetical
and romantic, tosene. who loves the
Island and its people, because love
quickens the ear as we'll as the heart.
The traveller has scarcely landed at
Queenstown when he. is shown, the
grave of Charles Wolf, and remembers
that Peter Tone. coach maker of
Dublin. was a tenant of the poets
father, for whom he, called his son
Wolf, and thus the name Wolf Tone
came to be written large in Irish his
tory.
This Charles Wolf one day wrote a
: Poem for a friend. who showed it to
a chance acquaintance. The latter
caused it's publication in the Newry
Telegraph, and now every school boy
declaims the verses beginning:
Not drum was heard, not a funera,
note,
! AS his corse to the rampant we hur
ried;
Not a soldier discharged. his farewell
shot
Der the grave where our hero we
buried.
At Cork you may listen to
The bells of Shandon
That sound so grand on
The pleasant waters of the River Lee"
; and you will think with added interest
of Francis Mahony. who, under the
mime of Father Prout, wrote those
beautiful lines.
Prior to the latter part of the
eighteenth century, although there
were lrishmen. like Goldsmith and
others who ll1, Ia