Sunny Days in Ireland

Sunny Days in Ireland. BY NEPHI ANDERSON, AUTHOR OF "ADDED UPON," "tHE CASTLE BUILDER," ETC. Ireland to some people is a land of fogs and much rain; but to me it stands for blue skies, warm, soft breezes, the green of growmg grass and blossoming trees; and, above all, a week of warm, sunny days in pleasant company. That week in the Emerald Isle stands out in my memory as one of the most pleasur- able in my life. President Heber J. Grant, his wife, Emily W, Grant, their two little girls, Emily and Frances, and the writer, left Liver- pool on the Dublin boat at twelve noon, Saturday, May 20, 1905, landing at Dublin the following morning. President Grant was due in Belfast the next day to attend conference, but owing to missing train connections, and the lack of Sunday traits, it appeared as if he would fail to reach his destination in time. In his characteristic determination to "get there," he even made enquiries if it were possible to get an automobile for the trip to the north of the island; but this failed also. He, however? managed to arrive in time to attend some of the conference meetings. There is a thriving branch of the Church at Dublin, most of the members not being Irish, but German. A number of enterpris- ing German Saints, having found it a profitable business to sell pork in all its varied forms and grindings to the inhabitants of Dublin, had invited others of their fellow countrymen to come over and partake of their good fortune and opportunities, and so there is quite a colony of German pork-butchers in the capital of the Emerald Isle, The Saints received us loyally. We attended the

SUNNY DAYS IN IRELAND. 33 Sunday school in their hall, away up in the third story of a build- ing on Sackville street, Dublin's one big, wide street. As the day was fine, Sunday afternoon, one of the Saints showed Sister Grant, the little girls and me around. There are a good many places of historic interest in the city, but as it was Sunday we did not have access to them. In our rambles we were led to Phoenix park — and that put an end to further sight-seeing in the capital city of Ireland. Phoenix park is one of the largest in the world, comprising a tract two thousand acres in extent. The point which lies nearest to the city consists of a high plateau, laid out in walks, grass, lakes, tiny watercourses and . falls, flower beds, a beautiful and remarkable variety of trees and shrubbery. Lying there, high above the smoke, dirt and noise of the city, it is an ideal place for rest. One of the largest lawn plats — acres in extent — stretched away in velvety green, soft and smooth and level as the rug on a parlor floor. Great, beautiful trees bordered this lawn, and scat- tered here and there were an abundance of restful, easy chairs. There were a good many people out, but not enough to make it crowded or disagreeable. Children played on the grass. The ladies sat and read contentedly. Others strolled about. We remained in the park until it was time to go home and to the even- ing meeting. Monday morning we went back to the park. We wouldn't think of going anywhere else — not while Phoenix park was so near at hand, and the day was so sunny and warm. We engaged an Irish driver, and had our first ride in a jaunting car around the park, to the extent of ten or a dozen miles. We visited the big stone monument erected to that famous Irishman, the Duke of Wellington. Then we went to the beautiful corner-spot again. That afternoon the place was ideal. The day was perfect — warm, soft, inclined to be dreamy. There was just a sprinkling of nurses with baby carriages, and children tumbling over the lawn. We sat on the easy chairs and tried t) read, but that was impos- sible. It was sacrilige to try to get interested in a printed page when nature spoke in such eloquent beauty all around us. There is a very good zoological garden in Phoenix park. We saw the animals that afternoon. The monkey house was one of

31 IMPROVEMENT ERA. the biggest I had ever seen— and one can watch a house full of monkeys with never flagging interest. But the lions and tigers were especially attractive. There were a good many, and when feeding time came the lions roared lustily. It was an impressive sight to see a tiger, with cat-like agility, catch the raw meat thrown to it, and then keep a continuous snarl of fierce outbursts for fifteen minutes before it would be quiet enough to eat. President Grant joined us the next day, and we planned to leave for Killarney on the noon train, but we were hindered, for some cause, and had to wait until three o'clock. What should we do to spend the time? Why, go to the Phoenix park, of course — and so we did. The train took us right across Ireland, and we obtained a good view of the wonderfully green island in the sweep of the warm Atlantic winds and rains. The whole of the interior seemed to us to be one low level stretch, boggy and wet. Hedges lined the roads and boundaries, and a brilliantly yellow furze bush made great daubs of color on the universal green. The next morning we awoke at Killarney. The word is sug- gestive of "sL bewitching vista of blue hills, placid lakes, sparkling streams and romantic waterfalls," but we find that none of these are to be seen. The sights are a mile or more away. The town itself is a small, somewhat squalid village, a hundred and eighty- six miles southwest from Dublin. The whole town, together with much of the surrounding country, belongs to the Earl of Kenmare. And now arrangements must be made to visit the famous lakes. The town is full of people who are eager to help you do this. The hotels have elaborate excursions outlined by which the tourists may get to see Killarney in all its parts and details, at the same time prolonging his stay as long as possible. We, however, nad no time — not to speak of means — for this, so we arranged to "do" the lakes in one day. We began our pilgrimage by seating ourselves in a buggy — in Ireland it would be called a carriage or car — and being driven along the borders of the lower lake towards the mountains. In the course of an hour or so we arrived at the entrance of the Gap of Dunloe, a gorge or small canyon in the hills. Here we were shown "Kate Karney's cottage," wherein we saw the turf

36 IMPROVEMENT ERA. fire burning in the fireplace, and Kate Karney's daughter or grand- daughter— I forget which — eager to sell us souvenirs. Here, at the entrance to the Gap, we alighted from the carriages, as this is as far as the wagon road is made. The four miles through the defile must be walked, or horses must be hired for riding. Out of the small band of ponies and shaggy horses offered us, we selected two for the little girls— the rest of us decided we would rather walk. Viewed by the eyes of Westerners, from the Rocky mountains, the Gap of Dunloe is somewhat of a tame affair. It might be likened to a tenth-rate Utah canyon, though, of course, it might appear quite grand to those who had never seen anything grander. "And to think," we said, "that we have traveled this long dis- tance to see this, when a walk up City Creek canyon would give us an equally beautiful view!" There are some large, fantastic rocks on either side, but there is plenty of room for a wagon road. A few boulders are left, no doubt for a purpose, where a road might easily be made. But the owners of horses in the vicinity must also make a living, as well as the coachmen and wagon men, and so the wagon road ends where it docS, The day was fair and warm, just pleasant for walking; and we were not permitted to gaze at the scenery all the time, for all along the route we met with people who desired to amuse us. There are some good echoes in places, and for sixpence a man would fire a shot that we might hear the echo. Another played the violin, and the echo came clear and distinct from the crags on the other side. A small stream flows along the bottom of the defile, expanding now and then into- small lakes of black-looking water. One of these, — Black Lough — we are told, is the identical spot where St. Patrick drowned the last snake in Ireland. Seated on the rocks by the roadside, at proper distances apart, were Irish women selling milk to the thirsty traveler. If the milk pitcher did not tempt us to drink, the women drew aside their shawls and gave us a peep at someohi-ng stronger in a flask, with the assur- ance that we would get a "drop of the creature" in our milk. The owners of the horses accompanied us, and if desired would lead them along for the rider. These genial Irish gentlemen have a vast fund of information to give to the visitor. Here is a sample:

SUNNY DAYS IN IRELAND. 37 "Among the nearby hills there is a small lake renowned for its fabulous depth. A well-known professor, who was in that part, was climbing the hills, when Pai, his guide, asked him if he would like to see this lake, 'for it's no bottom at all, sorr,' 'How do you know that, Pat?' asked the professor. 'Well, sorr, I'll tell ye. Me own cousin was showin' the pond to a gentleman one day, sorr, and he looked incredulous like, just as you do, and me cousin couldn't stand it for him to doubt his word, and so he said, I'll prove the ^ruth of me words, he said, and off with his clothes and into the water he jumped.' The professor's face wore an amused expression. 'Yes, sorr, in he jumped, and didn't come up again, at all, at all!' 'But,' said the professor, 'I don't see that he proved his point by drowning himself.' 'Is it drowned? Not a bit drowned, at all, he was ! Sure, didn't a cable come from him next day in America askin' for his clothes to be sent on!' " Dunloe Gap opens into a valley wherein lies the upper of the Killarney lakes. We caught a glimpse of the water from over the hills, and we soon wended our way down into the valley. Before we could reach the lake, however, we had to pass a toll gate and THE ISLANDS, UPPER LAKE KILLARNEY

38 IMPROVEMENT ERA. pay a shilling to get through. Here we parted company with the horses and their attendants, they climbing back again through the Gap to be ready for the morrow's victims. Our guides proved to be pleasant fellows, even though they did not know the difference between the Irish shamrock and a common three-leaved clover. A boat, two rowers, and a lunch basket were waiting for us. We were glad to spread the lunch on the grass and to eat. The rest was also acceptable. But we soon embarked, and the boat was headed down the stream. We soon came to the Upper lake proper, a small body of water two and one half miles long by half a mile wide. The lake is studded with, islands — some mere bare rocks, others covered with grass and trees. The hills on each side are densely clad with verdure, oft reflected in the placid waters. We glided in and out among the islands, and shortly came to the stream which connects this body of water with the Middle lake. We soon came to the Eagle's Nest, a high mountain on the left, where again the echoes are very easily awakened. At the lower end of the channel the water flows more swiftly, and we should have ''shot the rapids" under the old Weir Bridge; but this event, described in the guide books as a very exciting thing to do, was a very tame affair. Perhaps the water was low that season, for the boatman had to push with the oars, and the boat scraped on the bottom as we passed through. We were now at what, with Irish perversity, is called the "Meeting of the Waters," for the stream here separates into two channels. There is not in this wide world a valley so sweet, As the vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet, sang the poet of this spot; and we can call it nothing but beauti- ful, although we would not go quite so far as the poet. We now emerged into the Middle lake, about a mile wide and two long. We were soon rowed across the straight that leads us into the large Lower lake, a beautiful body of water about five miles by three. Thackeray, in his Irish Sketch Book, when replying to the question, "What is to be said about the Middle lake?" said: When there, we agreed that it was more beautiful than the large lake; then when we came back, we said, "No, the large lake is the more

SUNNY DAYS IN IRELAND. 39 beautiful;" and so at every point we stopped, we determined that that particular spot was the prettiest. The fact is, I do'n't care to own them, they are too handsome. As for a man coming from his desk in London or Dublin, and seeing the whole lakes in a day, he is an ass for his pains. A child, doing a sum in addition, might as well read the whole multipli- cation table and fancy he had it by heart. The writer of this sketch may come under Thackeray's classi- fication; "but sure" he was enjoying it, even if but for a day. Those who had time and money certainly would do better to linger longer among these charming spots, but for us half a loaf was better than no bread. The day continued to be clear. When we were well out into the MEETING OF THE WATERS, KILLARNEY. larger lake the wind came up, and the waves began to roll pretty high. Our boat was a small one, and we had to be careful lest the waves dash over into our laps. We watched the expression on the faces of the rowers, as the wind came stronger, and we saw that they turned to get under shelter of a headland. It was a good thing that they did, for the lake soon became pretty rough. In rounding the outer point of this headland we saw the island of Innisfallen, one of the most beautiful of the many

40 IMPROVEMENT ERA. islands in this lake. We could not land and inspect it, so we will have to be satisfied with Moore's famous lines: Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well, May calm and sunshine long be thine. How fair thou art let others tell, While but to feel how fair be mine. Sweet Innisfallen, long shall dwell In memory's dream that sunny smile Which o'er thee on that evening fell. When first I saw thy fairy isle. We were landed at the ruins of Rose castle — big' high walls of stone, which, of course, has its romantic history. There are more famous echoes around Rose island, among which might also be named this Irish story: Paddy, wishing to improve on the original article, sent a man to conceal himself in the ruin* of the castle. Then the boatman sings out, "How do you do, Paddy Blake?" to which the response comes, "Very well, thank you!" This particular guide always speaks of the echo as if it were a lady. "Pat," he was asked, "why do you apply the feminine gender when talking about the INNISFALLEN, KILLARNEY.

SUNNY DAYS IN IRELAND. 41 echo?" "Feminine gander, your honor? Sure, I never called the echo a goose, she's too smart for that!" "No— you don't understand— why do you address the echo as a woman ?" "Sure," replied the enlightened Pat, " 'tis because she always has the last word." At Rose castle we took the carriage back to Killarney and the hotel; but, as there was still a good part of the beautiful after- noon left, we drove out to Muckross abbey and its grounds, situ- ated on the shore of the Lower lake. Muckross abbey is one of those * 'beautiful ruins' ' which the tourist so much admires. Its great age gives it an added charm — it was built in the year 1340. The grounds around this ruin in truth are very charming. The gently rolling greensward is dotted with trees, some of which we pronounced the most beautiful we had ever seen. Immense, they were, with great, round, smooth branches reaching skyward. Queen Victoria, while on a visit to this spot, planted a group of trees, now called the Royal Family. Within the walls of the ruin, a magnificent yew tree spreads its branches over the crumbling, moss-covered stones. The grounds are beautifully laid out and kept. The luxuriant vegetation, sone of which seems to be of a semi-tropical nature, shows that this is a protected spot of the Emerald Isle. We could well believe the statement made to us, that Jay Gould himself had tried to buy the estate. The day closed before we saw very much of these lovely grounds, so we had to go back to the hotel. Sister Grant, how- ever, was not to be cheated out of a more intimate acquaintance with such loveliness. We had planned to visit Cork, and Blarney castle, the next day, but she chose to remain and bask one more day in the sunny mellowness of Killarney, rather than to risk the tiresome journey further south. So I left them and contin- ued on the southern trip alone, singing: By Killarney' s lakes and fells, Emerald isles and winding bays. Mountain paths and wooded dells, Memory ever fondly strays.