i "^ii. f-Lva sgy ^8C i..>Uk-.i* ^«^ V»; tmmaauiaauemamgmsm y ^t^ ^ .k m^^^m^M^^^M^' «^ff?mr^.(r>' ^-iir^hm /) ^i M ?Pv) •j> UNSVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES s-^> mi v-^* ^^KJ l- '^ 'V. H.\ J ' > THE GIFT OF MAY TREAT MORRISON IN MEMORY OF ALEXANDER F MORRISON n ^^#:^' '^' iVA* lit; V .-^ jt i "y K ^ BY MRS. L. C. LANE. Scrijiseris < * * * » * Si quid tanien olim * ttonuinque prematur in annum : * * * nescit vox missa reverti." " But if ever you shall write anything, let it be suppressed till the ninth year ; a word once sent abroad can never return." — Horace. SAN FR.\NCISCO: A. L. BANCROFT & COMPANY. 1886. J ' Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1886, By Mrs. L, C. Lane, In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 1 1 i 1 ft t « i ft I . «. * • ' ft i ft ft «. t t ft ft » t I ft u. CO O CJ D i IS Inviting beam the skies of Morning lands To us who tarry by far Western strands ; The pilgrim's longings in our bosoms wake, From wonted task we willing respite take ; N 'Neath Southern Cross, 'neath Northern Star, ^ With questioning eye and thought we wander far, While now fair Art and now sweet Nature wooes, Z. And rival lands with varying charm confuse. in oE c: Reluctant back to shores that claim our birth o We turn, to find the fairest spot on earth Is home, sweet home." P. C. L. 4g9780 CONTENTS. CHAPTER. PAGE. I. — QUEENSTOWN — CoRK — BlARNEY CaSTLE — LaKES OF KiLLARNEY MUCKROSS AbBEY - - - 9 11. — Antiquity of Ireland — Bogs — St. Bridget's Monastery — Ancient Dublin — Strongbovv and Eva — Past and Present — University and Parliament House - - - - - 26 III. — Round Towers — Portrush — Giants' Cause- way - - - - - - - 39 IV. — Glasgow — Edinburgh — Ayr - - - 50 V. — London — Royal Institute - - - - 58 VI. — Climate — Men and Women - - - 70 VII. — London — Letter to a Friend - - - 82 VIII. — St. Paul's — Westminster Abbey - - 88 IX. — The Tower of London ----- 104 X. — Knights Templer and Their Temple - - 117 XL — British Museum — Carlyle in his Home — Albert Memorlal — National Portrait Gal- leries — Huxley AS Teacher and Lecturer — London School of Cookery - - - 131 vi. CONTENTS. CHAPTER. PAGE. XII. — Avignon — The Year of Jubilee - - 145 XIII. — Avignon — Letter to a Friend - - i55 XIV. — Avignon — History - - - - 159 XV. — Savoy — Uriage — Mt. Cenis Tunnel — Italy - - - - - - -169 XVI. — Milan — Palace and Cathedral - - 177 XVII. — M I L A N — Galleria Vittorio — Italian Lakes - - - - - - -184 XVIIL— Switzerland — Lak e Lucerne — Lake Geneva - - - - - - 192 XIX. — The Rhine — Cologne — Berne — Stras- BURG — Hamburg - - - - - 201 XX. — Denmark — Copenhagen — Market Place — Holmenskirche - - - - 213 XXI. — Copenhagen — Thorwaldsen — His Life, Works and Museum - - - - 224 XXII . — Copenhagen — Fredericksberg Have — Gardens of Tivoli and Vauxhall — Denmark's Sculptors - - - 235 XXIII. — From Denmark to Norway — Christiania - 243 XXIV. — Scenery IN Norway — Incidents of Travel 253 XXV. — Autumn in Norway — Rural Life - - 262 XXVI. — Lake Tinn — The Oldest Church in Norway — Dress and Morals of the Peasantry - - - - - - 270 XXVII. — Falls of Tinnefoss — A Norwegian Inn — Return to Christiania - - - 279 CONTENTS. vii. CHAPTER. PAGE. XXVIII. — Sweden and its Lakes — A Swedish Inn - 286 XXIX. — Stockholm — House of Emanuel Sweden- BORG — Royal Palace — Hotels — - Ole Bull - - - - - - 294 XXX. — Stockholm — Public Building s — Royal Mausoleum -- - - - -302 XXXI. — Stockholm's Museum — Mythology in Statuary and Paintings — Relics - 310 XXXII. — Upsala — Its University — Cathedral — Monuments — Home of Linnaeus - - 320 XXXIII. — St. Petersburg — View of the City from the Neva — Beauty of Architecture — Brilliancy of Coloring - - - 329 XXXIV. ^ — St. Petersburg — Tomb of Alexander Nevsky — Statue of Peter the Great — Magnificent Churches — Surpassing Splendor of the Cathedral of St. Isaac ------- 337 XXXV. — St. Petersburg — Winter Palace - - 348 XXXVI. — St. Petersburg — Devoutness of the People — Tea Drinking and Smoking — Imperial Museum of Catherine the Great — Fortress of St. Peter and St. Paul — Royal Tombs — -Visit of the Czar to the Tomb of his Son - - 357 XXXVII. — A Royal Celebration in Berlin — The Emperor of Germany and his Court — The Chapel of the Old Schloss - - 370 viii. CONTENTS. CHAPTER. PAGE. XXXVIII.— Alexandria — Egyptian W o men — Cos- tumes — Street Scenes - - - 380 XXXIX. — From Alexandria to Cairo — Happy Beggars — Water Carriers — Villages OF Mud Huts — A Moslem Burying- Ground ------ 388 XL. — Cairo — Hotels — Pyramids — Visit to a Bedouin's Home - - - - 396 XLI. — Heliopolis — Mary's Well — Obelisk of OusERTAN — Dragoman — Sais - - 409 XLII. — Citadel of Cairo — University of Egypt — Mosques ----- 420 XLIII. — Palace of Gheezeh — Departure - - 43° LETTERS OF TRAVEL. I. QUEENSTOWN— CORK— BLARNEY CASTLE— LAKES OF KILLARNEY— MUCKROSS ABBEY. ^F there be any among us, who, after a sea voyage longer or shorter, does not bless his sole when his foot once again presses the solid earth, he must be of other than Dar- winian origin, — one whose ancestry is to be traced to some beknighted Finn, or at least to the finny tribes; and, if he land in the lap of Oueenstown, as she sits in her terraced loveliness, gracefully encircling the Cove of Cork, he may well be content with the beauties of earth, forgettinof those of the waters under the earth. Oueenstown was formerly known by the name of Cove, which was changed to its present name in commemoration of a visit of the Queen. A half hour up the river Lee by boat, or along its banks by rail, brings us to the city of Cork. One need not wish for a more charminof introduction to any country than this gives to the stranger. Indeed, nowhere else in Ireland did we find nature lO LETTERS OF TRAVEL. SO wreathed' in smile?, as on the picturesque banks pf :th"e ,''ii\)fer'L'ee,' .'whete she greeted us with an aspect as bright and cheering as the welcoming Horht in the eves of a friend. Cork, which must have been uncorked when we were there, judging from its dripping wet, offers but little attractive or interesting. Perhaps what first strikes the American here is the resem- blance of the physiognomy of the population of this city to that of our larger ones, particularly of the Eastern States. This must come from the mixture of Irish blood, which the large stream of immigration has brought to us. The erect figure of the people here was somewhat remarkable, and we watched in vain to see the bent form of age. They may be crushed to earth, but they manaofe. nevertheless, to carrv their heads hi^jh. The local feature which, perhaps, most strangely impresses Cork upon the mind, is the Shandon steeple, of which three sides are white, being built from the ruins of the Franciscan Abbey; the other side is of red sandstone, from the ruins of an old castle. In this steeple hang the beauti- ful toned *' Bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee," which inspired Father Prout to write the song which is sure to awaken in the memory of us all LETTERS OF TRAVEL. 1 I I some tone that will almost drown the Present in its magic recalling of the Past; for of all the familiar sounds of our earlier years, perhaps there is none so universally recalled, and recalled with such touching pleasure, as the wonted music from the church bells, throbbmg in tune with the pulse of harmonious Nature, or vibrating with deep- toned voice through the hushed air of the city Sabbath. "With deep affection, And recollection, I often think of those Shandon Bells, Who?;e sounds so wild would, In the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle Their magic spells." Whoever comes to Cork, comes as a matter of course to Blarney, or to Blarney Castle, which is but five or six miles distant. Although a pretty enough ruin, it is more romantic from the light of song than from the shades of time. "Oh, when a young bachelor wooes a young maid. Who 's eager to go, and yet willing to stay. She sighs and she blushes, and looks half afraid, Yet loses no word that her lover can say. What is it she hears but the blarney ? Oh, a perilous thing is this blarney! Oh, say, would you find this same blarney, There's a castle not far from Killarney, On the top of the wall — But take care you don't fall — There's a stone that contains all this blarney." 12 LETTERS OF TRAVEL. The Blarney Stone here pointed out as the "rale stone," is at the top of the tower in the wall just below the parapet, where it is clasped by two iron bands and could only be reached by hanging head downwards through the embrasure, at the risk of breaking one's neck. I have, however, good reasons to believe that we have stones of the same virtue nearer home and much easier of access. If the traveler now asks whither he shall next go, his own fancy and all Ireland will point to the Lakes of Killarney, and on to Killarney he is sure to go. The railroad brings him there three hours from Cork. The town of Killarney, which contains upwards of 5,000 inhabitants, is the property of the Earl of Kenmare, a Roman Catholic peer. It is an untidy-looking town, offering no inducements to stop at the very inviting-looking hotel, and you are almost certain to proceed some three miles further to one of the several hotels overlooking, or in near vicinity to, the lakes. And what a drive of wondrous beauty is this ! The road, somewhat narrow, but white and smooth as a floor, is enclosed on both sides by high stone walls that shut out in a great measure the sight of the fields beyond; directly behind these walls, extend on both sides for some two miles unbroken lines of majestic trees, which stand quite close together and form overhead so dense an arch of LETTERS OF TRAVEL. 1 3 leafy verdure that the noon-day is converted into twilight. The peculiar beauty comes upon you so suddenly and envelops you so completely, that you begin to think of the fairies of this country, and you believe in the beauties of fairyland. As you approach the few scattered dwellings called by courtesv the " Villaofe" of Cloehreen, the landscape opens to the view, and on a hill at our left, a burial-place to-day as it was in the past, we see the ancient church of Killaghie, said to be the smallest in the kingdom, as is easily believed. It is, of course, of stone, walls and roof still unbroken, the former three feet thick, while the roof, half covered with wild flowers and grasses that have taken root in its crevices, looks, and probably is, equally heavy. The stone belfry is partly in ruins ; the floor inside is fallen in, but at the end we see a plain marble altar, a foot or two in front of which several steps descend into a burial vault, the remains of whose tenant or tenants have long since disappeared. If they built according to their faith, the faith of the builders must have been small. At the foot of this hill, and just fitted in size to the way-side nook it occupies, is a beautiful little modern church, which the Protestant owner of this demesne has built, and which he supports for himself and tenantry. It forms, in its architect- ural taste and harmony with the scene, a minia- 14 LETTERS OF TRAVEL. ture gem in the chain of magic beauty thrown around the Lakes of Killarney. The greatest charm of Irish scenery Hes in its coloring ; the green is wonderful, so brilliant, so living, intense, yet delicate as a fairy's wing ; and no one endowed with any degree of sensitiveness to the power of Nature, could tarry by the Lakes of Killarney without being impressed by a sensa- tion almost supernatural in the magic effect of the hushed air, unbroken by song of bird or hum of insect, and this greenness of Nature's robe almost unearthly in its beauty, and intensified by the constant gray of the skies overhead. We felt the effect of the stillness for some days before we thought to inquire its cause, and were greatly astonished at finding its apparent explanation in the absence of birds and almost total absence of insects. On the morning after our arrival, just at that state of uncertain consciousness when one is apt to be opening the mouth instead of the eyes, a voice called to us, " Are you going through the gap to-day?" Supposing this to be the Irish way of asking if one was waking up, we answered, "Yes;" but the experience of a day or two con- vincing us that the people here were not much given to being wide awake, we took pains to find out the meaning of this regular morning saluta- tion, and found it to mean nothing else than to LETTERS OF TRAVEL. 1 5 ask if we were going to make the tour of the lakes that day. After waiting for good weather and seeking in vain for some weather-wise seer, we were obhged to do as everybody else did — prepare for rain, hope for sunshine, and start. For the profit of the people hereabouts, whose only business seems to be to swarm around travelers, our trip is broken into parts, so that a large number of persons are called upon to wait on us, and thus a larger num- ber of those "remembrancers" which one is expected to give to everyone who serves him, are distributed every day among a dozen or more persons, who find fault with a sixpence, look dis- contented with a shilling, and are never quite contented with one's attempt to satisfy their " whatever you please sir." On reaching the town of Killarney we were surrounded by a score or more of men and boys with ponies, which they wished us to hire for our ride through the Gap of Dunloe, to which our conveyance was to carry us, and through which there was no reason it should not take us, except the principle of division of labor, or rather, of wages. It was almost impossible to rid ourselves of this cavalcade, which accompanied us more than a mile, when it began to diminish till finally it numbered two ponies to each passenger. In vain did we tell the extra ones that they were not 1 6 LETTERS OF TRAVEL. wanted. In vain did we explain that none of us intended to ride more than one horse at a time; each one understood himself and pony to be hired, and went with us till he despaired of being hired to turn back. Havinof rode some eio;ht or ten miles, our driver told us that was as far as the conveyance was to take us, so at his request, "remembering the driver," we left hini to mount our ponies, and, by the way, the only "Irish bull" I saw in Ireland was an "Irish pony," for in length and height the pony is a good-sized horse and can only derive its name from its semi-transparency. All the way from Killarney, after having first been accosted by the man with the bundle of shillelahs under his arm, who invited us to buy "a rifle that never missed fire." wc had been followed by troops of children, who made nothing of running and keeping up with the carriage or "car" for a mile and begging all the way. " The price of a book, sir," or "a penny, sir," "don't be so small with your silver, sir, and we'll show you how grateful we'll be, sir;" and during our drive and ride of more than a dozen miles there could not have been a mile altogether that the cry for a gift was not being sounded in our ears; little children who could not talk enough to beg, ran by the side of the older ones till they tottered and fell. The children were clean and healthy looking, and LETTERS OF TRAVEL. 1/ seemed to thoroughly enjoy the business. Their principal cry was for "the price of a book," and considering how little they cared for books, this formed one of the ludicrous features of the trip. It was of no use that we said to them, "igfnorance is bliss," " knowledge is unhappiness," and other trite proverbs — they still insisted that the thirst for knowledge is as insatiable to-day in Erin as it once was in Eden. Having reached the Gap of Dunloe, this enter- tainment was varied by the addition of women, awaiting at intervals of a few steps to offer us a "dhrap of the mountain dew." We were told that from the place where we took horses to the lake the distance was four miles, and the few unfortu- nate ones who, forgetting it was four Irish miles, chose to walk rather than to trust to the ponies, were sadly wearied. We found the pass by no means equal to what we had been lold of it. The grandest feature was the Purple Mountain, which rises abruptly to the height of nearly 3,000 feet. It derives its name from the dark stones with which a great part of its surface is covered, and which give a dark purple color to the mountain. Our expecta- tions were, however, more than realized at the wondrously fine echoes at several points. Never was I more entranced by sound than when I heard the voice of the mountain take up the 1 8 LETTERS OF TRAVEL. bugle-notes and repeat them, first from near, then from afar, till we felt that we could stand for hours listening to the wild, soft music. We pass a remarkable stream, which the guides call the "Hidden River;" it is apparently the outlet of a lake beyond, whose waters have become lost under the immense heap of debris of rather small stones which fill up the bed of the valley; the ear can distinguish the sound of unseen running water. Beyond this we come to a lake whose waters are dark almost to blackness, under the shadow of the overhanging mountain ; it is called Serpent Lake, and tradition has made St. Patrick select it as the burial-place of the last snake which he carefully enclosed in a wooden box before entrusting it to these waters to carry it to the depths of Ocean. Passing beyond the Purple Mountain, we emerge into the Gap as the road turns into an open country, and here we leave at our right a misty gorge extending far into the distance between two ranges of hills, through which we indistinctly trace the winding course of the Gerhameen River making its way to the waters of the Upper Lake. Here in this black valley " fairies love to dwell," and many a guide will tell you h(; has seen them there. Soon we come to the Logan Stone, remarkable for being so nicely balanced that it can be made to move by a LETTERS OF TRAVEL. 1 9 slight touch. It is much smaller than we had imagined, being only some twenty feet in circum- ference. At last we reach the shore of the lake, and each of the party having "remembered" the bugler, and "remembered" the cannoneer, we now " remember" our guides, and dismissing them with their ponies, enter the boats that have been sent up from the hotel to meet us at the Lakes, the boatmen of which are to be "remembered" in their turn, although the services of all these men are charged to us again in our bill. The Lakes of Kdlarney are three in number and about eleven miles in length; the Upper Lake is two and one-half miles long, by half a mile in width; it is more completely shut in by the moun- tains that rise abruptly from its shores, than either of the other lakes ; the outlet from it is by a little strait but a few feet in width, and as this is hidden by jutting rocks we seem to be entirely shut in by land, and the eye seeks in vain for an outlet. This lake is dotted by twelve islands covered with vegetation, mostly the wild arbutus tree which grows luxuriantly everywhere in this region. The strait connecting the Upper and Middle Lakes which are also known by the names of Muckross and Tore Lakes, is about two miles long, and at its lower end we reach a spot as romantically beautiful as can be found in Ireland. Here the 20 LETTERS OF TRAVEL. trees dip their branches into the unrippled water that borrows its coloring from the surrounding foHage. and the scene impresses itself upon one's mind as a perfect picture of placid loveliness. The spot is called "The Meeting of the Waters," for here at the outlet of the Upper Lake you may turn westward into a bay which opens into the Lower Lake, or eastward directly into Muckross Lake. Here a picturesque-looking stone bridge of two arches spans the stream, making an entrance into the Middle Lake quite romantic enough to harmonize with the ofeneral scene. This lake is about the length of the upper one, and not more than a mile in width. It, too, has its islands, but the tourist's attention is more occupied with the echoes which the guide will not fail to awaken. The Muckross peninsula makes the division between the Middle and Lower Lakes. The Lower Lake also bears the name of Lou^^h Leane, which means the Lake of Learnincj, said to be derived from the fact of its shores and islands havin^f formerlv been the site of several monasteries, the ruins of which still remain. This is a very probable inference, since there is unques- tionable testimony that learning flourished in Ireland in the early ages, when the rest of Europe was in a benighted condition. This lake is five miles long and two and a half miles in width. LETTERS OF TRAVEL. 2 1 Its outlet is the River Laune, through which the waters of these charminor lakes are carried to mix with the great waves of the sea, there, like a modest maiden entering the vortex of society, to lose a charm which neither the grandeur nor the noise of their future career can ever replace. Lough Leane makes an impression upon the beholder quite distinct from that of the other two; first, from its wider expanse, and secondly, from its shores, which, though on one side bearing in the background mountains that bespeak sister- hood with the other lakes, encircle it the rest of the distance with a low, soft landscape. The surface of the lake is broken by nearly thirty islands, among which the visitor will be most curious to see that of Innisfallen. On this island we find no attraction wanting which this lovely region can afford, and as the gods and goddesses of Greece once loaded Pan- dora with gifts to make her more complete, so must the genii of Ireland have sought to endow this spot with everything to make its beauty perfect. The remains of its old abbey, said to have been founded 1,200 years ago, lie scattered in ruins. This lake, in particular, is the home of legendary lore. The rocks, many of which rising from the water present fantastic shapes wrought by the dis- inteofratino- touch of the waves, have received 2 2 LETTERS OF TRAVEL. names relating to these traditions, as the O'Dono- ghue's Horse, the O'Donoghue's Castle, etc. The O'Donoghue was the great chief of this valley in ancient times, and to this day crosses the lake on the morning of the first of every May, the waters dividing and giving a dry path to him- self and the white horse he always rides, as any one may see with his own eyes if he will get up early enough. The almost hourly fall of a gentle rain, which resembles mist more than a shower, is known as the O'Donoghue's Blessings, and is, I suspect, the secret of the brilliant green color which renders this vicinity an Emerald Isle indeed. And now, having told so much which must command the admiration of every beholder, I come to that which was first, last and oftenest seen by me, and which, by the thoughts it awakened, has made the most lasting impression. This was the ruins of Muckross Abbey, whose stony finger beckoned, and ever beckoned me toward it and seemed to hold me under a spell. No ruined abbey or castle in all Great Britain has presented us a more harmonious picture than this. In many other cases — and usually where we had been led to expect most — either the surroundings have marred the effect or the ruins have been insufifi- cient to support the imagination; but here was a ruin which, like the Laocoon to the hand of Art, might serve as a model to the finger of Decay. LETTERS OF TRAVEL. 23 The surroundinofs — the frame-work in which the abbey is set — brings the beholder into a mood to appreciate the chief figure when he suddenly comes upon it. Soft green fields stretching all around as far as one can see, and to the borders of the lake, glimpses of which, here and there, break the land- scape; add to the picture long, shaded avenues of majestic giant trees, ending sometimes in thick copses which crown the rising ground, sometimes opening into fields where other leafy monarchs stand in isolated orandeur, but evervwhere with their lofty tops and wide-spreading branches striving to cover this corner of the earth with a heaven of their own, and to shut out every inhar- monious effect ; and, having been obliged to meander far enough to be brought wholly under the influence of this landscape, suddenly the gray walls of Muckross Abbey, half overgrown with ivy, break upon the vision. The roof has entirely disappeared, but the walls are nearly complete, and the beautiful arches of door and window unbroken. The cloisters surrounding the open court within are entirely perfect, and we could seem to feel the hand of Ages leading us as we made round and round again the circuit of these stone aisles, looking out through their arches into the open space shut in overhead by the branches of a yew tree six hundred years old growing in its center, and ming- linor the shadow of its branches with that of the 24 LETTERS OF TRAVEL. old gray walls surrounding the unmarked graves of the monks, who centuries ago had walked as we were walking under these same arched cloisters, had looked into this same secluded spot, and had listened, perchance, to the mystic voice of this same yew tree, whose sapling branches witnessed nothing more cheerful than the enfolding in the mantle of earth those who had long before enwrapped themselves in the burial cloak of monastic seclusion. Having wandered through the remaining parts of the convent, we enter the chapel through a doorway softly draped in ivy. and stand among the tombs of the old Kings of Munster and Princes of Desmond, whose royal remains here found royal sepulture beneath stones whose lettering has been effaced by the passing years, and from which the "gentle rain and soft-falling dew" have wiped off the proud tracery of their heraldic crest. Proud kings of olden time, little did you dream in your day of pomp, glory and power, that a not far-distant hour was to snatch your envied scepter and give it to other hands ; and that the future was to witness your dust lying here unwept and almost unknown, honored only by strangers from far-distant shores ! Though forgotten by posterity, Nature fails not in her homage to you, since the ivy, old of uncounted years, never ceases to hang garlands of unfading green upon the walks that LETTERS OF TRAVEL. 25 inclose and overshadow your tombs; and, still more, though unwept by your subjects, the aged and noble yew tree that has struck its roots deep into the earth near you, never forgets to drop its tributes of grief, funereal offerings, upon your grave. MucKROSs, Ireland, July, 1874. 26 LETTERS OF TRAVEL. II. ANTIQUITY OF IRELAND— BOGS— ST. BRIDGET'S MONAS- TERY—ANCIENT DUBLIN— STRONGBOW AND EVA- PAST AND PRESENT— UNIVERSITY AND PARLIAMENT HOUSE. T is difficult for an American, accustomed to a history of so recent a birth as ours, to cease — among these old civilizations of Europe — from asking the question, " When did it begin?" and to propound to himself that more proper to be suggested, "How much longer will it last!" True to this mental index of nationality I traveled through my first European country — Ireland — and, as ruin after ruin arose on the nearer or more distant horizon, I ever asked the question, *' When did it begin — when did it begin?" He who delights in the ingenuity of fable, may embark on the ancient chronicles of this country, and, riding upon the waters of the flood, arrive at the antediluvian history of Ireland, which, according thereto, was first settled by one of Noah's nieces. But historians who have cast the line of investigation into the deep well of the Past, with no desire to read what the waters of the flood must have washed away, still find much to indicate LETTERS OF TRAVEL. 27 that the history of I reland reaches far back into antiquity. Moses tells us that the isles of the Gentiles were inhabited, and interpreters generally agree that by this is meant the islands of Europe ; and it is supposed by some archaeologists that, before the introduction of idolatry by the Milesians from Spain, a patriarchal form of worship prevailed in Ireland, similiar to that founded on the statutes of the sons of Noah; while philologists in their turn have believed to discover that the ancient Irish language bears so great an affinity to the ancient Hebrew, as plainly to be but a dialect of the latter language, and they make this a foundation for a very ancient history to be built upon, since "if a language be ancient the people must be as old." They have asserted, moreover, that the ancient Irish language has no affinity with any known language in the world except the Hebrew and Phenician, and have supposed it to have been universally spoken throughout Europe, and to be the most original and unmixed language remaining-. But though the historical atmosphere of Ireland is as misty as the physical atmosphere of its most western limits, there is a orreat deal of interesting^ ancient tradition which may be accepted as reliable, and which one at all familiar even with Irish song, to say nothing of its superstitions, can hardly help stumbling upon. For instance, having sung 28 LETTERS OF TRAVEL. all our lives about the harp that hangs on Tara's walls, it occurs to us on seeing so many ancient castles, that " Tara's walls" may not have been a mere figure of speech or song ; and lo ! it becomes a definitely located capital existing six hundred years before the birth of Christ, em- bellished by royal residences for all the kings, queens, and princes of the different provinces of Ireland. Modern travel is, however, but little compatible with dwellinof lon^ on anv theme, either of the past or present, and we hurry across the island behind one of the queerest-looking steam engines imaginable, a squatty kind of carriage that looks as if sitting down to rest, and we are surprised that it does not stand up when ready to start, but slips along in its apparently half-sitting posture. But already we begin to enjoy that admirable regulation in this country in regard to railroads, which makes it obligatory to so construct the engines that they shall, to a great degree, consume their own smoke, and, after having from one side of our continent to the other, wiped cinders and smoke from one's face till it was almost raw, it is indeed a luxury to travel almost entirely freed from this annoyance. Thus enabled comfortably to keep the eyes open, we curiously scan the landscape, whose first well-marked and easily recognized features are LETTERS OF TRAVEL. 29 the boo's, and we see in them the natural barricades of the country in earher ages, which, doubtless, not only impeded the march of the invader, but stayed the progress of civdlization as well. Across Ireland from Killarney to Dublin is a soniewhat pleasant ride of about eight hours, a distance of about one hundred and eighty-six miles by rail, during which the stranger is kept constantlv on the alert less he miss a single one of the many ancient castles, which are scattered around in as much profusion as if the landscape were a playground for an artist's fancy. Perhaps as interesting a town as any passed is Kildare, and that rather for its vanished past than tor its present. This town is supposed to be the site of an ancient monastery founded by St. Bridget, who is said to have received the vail from St. Patrick's own hands ; and there is a tradition that from her time in the fifth century till the year 1220 a sacred fire kindled by herself was kept continually burning by her successors, and, being extinguished in that year by the Archbishop of Dublin, was soon afterward rekindled and con- tinued to burn till the Reformation. Although I had always heard of Dublin as a beautiful city, and, for that reason, might have expected too much, I was not disappointed. There is something genial and cheery about it, like the soul of an Irishman, and its wide and cleanly 30 LETTERS OF TRAVEL. Streets have a most inviting aspect, while there is a good number of fine, commodious and well-kept hotels where the traveler may find real refi'eshment at no exorbitant charge. Dublin is old enough to be interesting for its antiquity. Ptolemy speaks of its existence, under the name of Eblana, as early as the year 140; but although it was enclosed by the Danes in the ninth century, their ramparts did not exceed one mile. A century later it was but a DOor collection of huts, and at the beginnino;- of the eighteenth century it was one of the most miserable cities in Europe. To the traveler of to-day its charm is not that of ancient association. From the earliest historv of Ireland, Dublin seems to have been an apple of discord, the key to supreme power in the Island, the Achilles tendon at which invaders were sure to aim their arrows. The last king of Ireland availed himself of the aid of Strongbow, Earl of Pembroke, against his enemies, bestowing upon him as a recompense the hand of his daughter. Henry II. of England forced Strongbow to relinquish to him the regal power thus conquered. There is now on exhibition here a very large and most interesting painting of the Marriage of Strongbow. The scene is laid on the side of a hill surmounted by battlemented walls. In the center of the picture stands the priest with uplifted eyes and hands LETTERS OF TRAVEL. 3 I raised over the heads of the bridal pair. Eva, with the sweetest face that ever graced a maiden of seventeen summers, 'modest, innocent and trusting- as one who has never known aught but affectionate protection, has one hand raised to her breast, half holding the long mande of cloth of gold whose train is upheld by some half-dozen maidens; their faces all contrast strongly with each other, and each tells of different emotions excited by the scene, while they all, as well as the warriors still behind them holding aloft many colored standards floating in the breeze, have their eyes riveted on the sweet girlish bride. Clasping her other hand stands Strongbow, his face expressing the bravery of valor, the hopefulness of youth, his helmet adorned with a laurel wreath. Beside the priest and somewhat behind Eva, stands Dermod, her father, with head thrown back and eyes widely opened, seeming to demand of Strongbow with their proud and piercing ex- pression, " Is not this a regal reward ? Have I not royally kept my royal word?" In the fore- ground and at either side, inclosing the whole, are the dead and dying ; some writhing in the last agony, others motionless in death. Wives who have thrown themselves on the bodies of their husbands; babes forgotten for the moment, and among other figures an old harper, apparently just drawing his last breath, while the strings of 32 LETTERS OF TRAVEL. his harp, from which his hand seems to be falhng, are nearly all broken. Almost the first thing noticed by the stranger in Dublin are the beautiful bridges, seven of stone and two of iron, spanning at comparatively short distances the river Liffey, on both sides of which the city is built. The river, beautiful as it looks flowing through the heart of the city, is, however, becoming as perplexing a problem to the munici- pality as the Thames formerly was to London ; being a receptacle for the drainage of the city, its impurities tend to endanger health and generate disease. Sackville street is one of the principal thoroughfares of the city, and makes an indelible picture on the mind. Through its center runs the Liffey, with its bridges like triumphal arches marking the progress of art and civilization. On both sides of the river the street spreads out wide, well paved, and clean, affording a splendid view of the buildings, of which some of the public ones are of almost classical beauty ; and here, as if borrowing a hint 'from nature, does the tide of traffic and commerce daily ebb and flow. In this street, opposite the post-office, itself an ornament to the city, stands the ubiquitous monument of Nelson, one of Dublin's greatest ornaments. It is a Grecian Doric column, upwards of one hundred and forty feet in height, surmounted by a statue of the hero, thirteen feet LETTERS OF TRAVEL. ^7, in height ; a flight of stairs in its interior leads to a platform on the top, surrounded by an iron railing for the safety of such as undergo the labor of the ascent for the pleasure of the exten- sive view from its summit. On the four panels of the pedestal are inscribed the names and dates of Lord Nelson's principal victories, and over that which terminated his career is a sarcophagus. Highly ornamental as it is to the city, an ex- pression of good taste, as well as of the generosity of its citizens, I hardly derived so much pleasure from it as from a comparatively insignificant and homelv one in Montreal, to the same o-reat commander. This last one bore an inscription couched in the simplest language, and I was deeply affected as I read the words, so simple that little urchins in their earliest school years could read and understand, and thus, perhaps, drink in their first lesson in patriotism and bravery. And should not this be the great aim of national monuments, to inspire the youth of the land? And are not such plain words as they can comprehend better calculated to render the great immortal, to make their actions not only live, but live again in the future, than the more elaborate style of the nation's tongue or the scholarly record in a de,ad language? This latter monument presented on two siilcH the stories of victories without the loss of a single British ship ; the third gave the story of his death; 34 LETTERS OF TRAVEL. the fourth expressed the love and admiration of the people who had erected this monument to his memory. Dublin University forms the boundary on one side of College Green, and is a splendid piece of architecture ; inside, its walls are adorned with full-length portraits of eminent men who have been educated here ; and in its library, at each pillar, is placed a bust of some distinguished person ; outside in a little space inclosed with an iron railing and facing the street, are two statues, one of Burke, the other of Goldsmith. The latter stands with pencil in the right hand which hangs at his side, while his eyes rest on an open book held in his left. The face bears an ex- pression exactly corresponding to one's idea of his character — so simple and so kindly. Poor Goldsmith ! Little did he think, when a " poor scholar" of the college, distinguished by the cap of poverty and obliged to do menial duty, that he was ever to stand in glory by the side of his more aristocratic fellow-student, Burke ; little did he think that the collecre from which he once ran away, smarting from the sting of unjust disgrace, was one day to feel itself honored by the presence of his statue placed before its doors, as if to beckon genius in future times to enter and drink from th(t fount that had nurtured an Oliver ("loldsmiih ! LETTERS OF TRAVEL. 35 The Old Parliament House is now occupied by the Bank of Ireland, It is situated in College Green, its principal front consisting of a colonnade surrounding three sides of a spacious court. The columns rest on a broad platform, approached by steps ; a pediment supported by these columns is adorned by three statues — Hibernia, Fidelity and Commerce — placed here since the building came into the possession of the Bank of Ireland. The interior of the building has been so altered as to adapt it to its present use. In one depart- ment we saw a wonderful little automatical machine for wei^hinQr o-old. A handful or two of gold pieces being thrown in, it picks up one at a time, brings it forward, and, hesitating a moment, deflects it into one of two receptacles, according to whether or not it responds to the legal standard weight; if below, an index hand on a small dial indicates, at the instant of its rejection, the exact degree of deficiency. All such coins are sent to the Bank of England for re-coinafje. The former House of Commons is now the Cash Office. The chamber of the House of Lords is preserved in its former state, with the exception of the addition of a marble statue of George III., placed here by the Bank Directors. This stands in front of a railing separating from the rest of the room the semi-circular space formerly occupied by 36 LETTERS OF TRAVEL. the throne. In the niches on either side of the room are busts ; one of George IV., the other of Nelson, with the never-omitted armless sleeve; the lost eye, however, seems to elude the sculptor's skill. On opposite sides of the room are two large pieces of tapestry faded by time ; one representing the battle of the Boyne, the other the siege of Derby. The long table and chairs formerly used by members of this House, are also preserved here. As we stood on this spot, how we wished that our ears might catch one echo of the eloquence with which Irish patriots have sought to save their country in the political convulsions of past years ; of words which will never lose their thrilling power so long as the human heart cherishes a love of country — a love of liberty. Here did Grattan, in the year 1782, on that day whose sun rose on a nation standing: in silent and threatening despair, whose sun went down on the same nation reflecting from its face the light of content and dignified joy, exclaim, " Ireland is now a nation ; in that character I hail her, and bowing to her august presence I say, esto per- petual " And here, less than a score of years later, when, deprived of her Parliament, he saw the threatened death of the nation whose birth he had hailed, did he utter those final words of adieu, in which he pledged unswerving faith to the LETTERS OF TRAVEL. 2)7 country which lay shrouded before him, swooning, but not dead. Again, another picture arises of a most dramatic scene once enacted here, the trial of a member of this House for murder. In the gallery of the hall selected, a crowd of some seven hundred persons represent the world of fashion. One part of the floor is covered with scarlet cloth and appropriated to the Peeresses and their dauijhters ; these seats filled, the Peers, wearing their full robes of state, enter in solemn silence ; now comes the bearer of the armorial shield of the accused ; behind him follows the prisoner in deep mourning, with melancholy air, and eyes fastened to the ground; next, the executioner, bearing a large hatchet painted black with the exception of its brightly polished edge ; the three place themselves at the bar; over the prisoner's left shoulder hangs his armorial shield ; on his right, the executioner holds the axe to his neck with the edge averted, ready, should judgment be unfavorable, immedi- ately to turn its shining edge, at once announcing sentence and fate. The trial begins ; the wit- nesses are called, first generally, and then by name ; no one appears ; according to law, the Chancellor proceeds to put the question ; each Peer rises, passes slowly before the chair in which the Chan- cellor is seated, solemnly places his hand upon his heart, and repeats, " not guilty, upon my honor." 429760 38 LETTERS OF TRAVEL. Finally the Chancellor arises and declares it to be the opinion of the Peers of Ireland that the accused is " not guilty." He then breaks his wand, descends from his chair, and the trial is ended. Dublin, Atigust, 1874. LETTERS OF TRAVEL. 39 III. ROUND TOWERS— PORTRUSH— GIANT'S CAUSEWAY. lE turn our backs on Dublin and our faces towards "Dalrladi's Coast," pass- ing on our way within sight of Lough Neah, Ireland's largest lake. It is twenty miles long and half as wide, and its waters are said to possess the power of petrifying wood, and also of healing, in a few days, ulcers and sores upon the body. Among the poetic sights dwelling in my imao;ination had been far-reachinq- fields of flax, bending with graceful stalk to the breeze, and lifting delicate petals to the sky to drink in a kin- dred azure; but of all the unpoetical smells dwelling in my memory, is that of such fields filling the air as we traveled through them mile after mile, with a stench wholly indescribable; as usual, however, with intolerable odors, the inhabitants console themselves with the idea that the tainted air is salubrious. It was the season for pulling the ripened flax, and this was mostly done by women and children. Aeain we see some of the Round Towers of Ireland, a feature peculiar to this country. Thai 40 LETTERS OF TRAVEL. of Antrim, which we now pass, is eighty feet high ; about eighteen feet from the top it tapers hke a sugar-loaf; the circumference at its base is fifty-two feet, and apparently about thirty-six feet where it begins to taper. Some dozen feet from the ground is a door facing the north, with no steps leading to it, nor any appearance of there ever having been any. There are loopholes above. The walls are three feet thick, and the door and loopholes are arched with hewn stone. Sometimes these towers are found divided into two or three stories by horizontal partitions, perforated by an aperture scarcely large enough to admit of the passage of a man's body, but there are no apparent means of ascending from one opening to the other. The history of these towers is wholly unknown. Some suppose them to have been erected as belfrys; others, but with no reason therefor, look upon them as monuments of ascetic superstition like that of Simon Stylite's; others imagine them depositories of sacred fire. Their Eastern origin has been suggested by the discovery of two round towers in Bhangulpore, resembling those of Ireland, and of which — a striking coincidence — the Hindoos possess no tradition, although the Rajahs look upon them as holy. Notwithstanding that popular belief leans to the religious origin, sacred use, and extreme antiquity of these towers. LETTERS OF TRAVEL. 41 it seems more reasonable to attribute to them no earlier date than the ninth century, at which time the Irish began to erect structures of lime and stone. Perhaps they were built by the Danes as watch-towers for observino- the movements of the natives, who afterwards expelled the Danes, and who may then have used them for some purpose of their own. Portrush is our stopping-place for the night, but let me advise all travelers, in spite of impor- tunity and the late hour of arrival, to push on directly some seven miles from here, where there is a commodious, sunny hotel, which is, moreover, within five minutes' walk of the great scene of attraction. Portrush is one of the dreariest places on earth; there the zenith has visibly descended, the circle of the horizon contracted, and one feels as if he had reached the little end of creation. Built on a peninsula, jutting out a mile into the ocean towards the Skerries, it is cold and bleak, the hotels are destitute of warmth and cheerful- ness, and one shudders at the bathing-houses, and wonders that in such a cold, wet place they do not erect drying-houses in their stead. There is a good beach here and a range of limestone cliffs; also sand-hills evidently of recent origin. Some fifty years ago a violent storm swept away some of the sand, and brought to view the remains of an ancient town — the ruins of houses, 3 42 LETTERS OF TRAVEL. in which were found domestic utensils, spear- heads, etc. We have now reached the most northerly point of Ireland, and that must be a phlegmatic tempera- ment indeed whose pulses do not quicken at approaching the Giants' Causeway, another wonderful outburst of Nature's power, another exclamation point in Nature's book, another of those scenes which but excite the inexhaustible thirst of man, "growing with what it feeds upon," to find, somewhere in the universe, the measure of his own soul; prompted by the vast to long for the greater; humbled, yet exalted by the lofty to what is higher ; softened by the beautiful, to be more readily impressed by what is still lovelier; searching in the fountains of deep waters for some source that shall find its level with the deep, mysterious impulse of his own being that throbs in sympathy with the lowest forms of life; scan- ninof the atoms of inanimate matter, and roaminof to the farthest bounds of the starry heavens, while yet he finds not the limits of his own thought. So we approach to where " Dark o'er the foam-white waves, The Giant's pier the war of tein[)ests braves, A far-projecting, firm, basaltic way Of chistering cokimns wedged in dense array ; With sl