Obrázky stránek
PDF
ePub

demesnes situated on the Dargle that are permitted to be seen, and are a good deal visited-Charlville, the seat of the Earl of Rathdown, and Bushy Park.

GLEN OF THE DOWNS; DEVIL'S GLEN. Again renewing our journey southwards from the Dargle, we soon reach the village of Kilmacanoge—a collection of poor and slovenly cabins, with a very large and showy new Union-house. Thence we pass the base of the isolated conical mountain called the Sugar Loaf. This mountain, which is 1651 feet above the sea, has received the epithet of Great, to distinguish it from the Little Sugar Loaf, 1120 feet high, which rises on the borders of Kilruddery, some miles to the north of its greater namesake. Though neither of the mountains is much like a sugar-loaf (as sugar-loaves are made now-a-days), they are, as seen from some points, singularly like each other. The Great Sugar Loaf is a conspicuous object over a wide range of country, from standing, as we said, quite isolated; and hence, also, it commands a wide and splendid prospect from the summit.

A little further and we enter another of the more famous of the many beautiful glens which distinguish this county. The Glen of the Downs is an opening between two mountains of a very grand and romantic character. The ravine is a mile and a half long,-a little streamlet brawls along the midst; the mountain sides rise abruptly, sometimes to a height of five or six hundred feet, the space between them varying from one hundred to a hundred and fifty feet. The long mountain ridge on the right is called the Down Mountain, whence the glen has received the name. Beautiful as this glen is, it must once have been very much finer. A very good but formal coach-road has been carried along the bottom; and the hill-sides have been in parts disfigured by stiff regular plantations. In places, however, the natural woods, or some that have assumed the character of natural woods, prevail, and, climbing about the rugged crags and slopes, produce a rich effect. The finest views of the Glen of the Downs from the road are in a northward direction, when the opening is filled by the peak of the Sugar Loaf Mountain.

But the glen should also be seen from above. At the southern end of the left bank is Belle Vue, the seat of P. Latouche, Esq., of whose demesne that side of the glen and the heights above form a part. Admission is readily granted to the grounds. From them there is a splendid view along the glen and over the country beyond. When the sun is sinking below the hills, and all the lower parts of the ravine are in the deepest shade, while the slanting rays are gilding the summits, and over a rich expanse, broken and bounded by the peaks of numerous mountains, the lengthening shadows are slowly stretching, and a thin hazy vapour is creeping up the hollows, the whole scene puts on an air of grandeur and of beauty whose charm is irresistible.

The village that is seen a little way out of the road on the left after quitting the glen, is Delgany. It is

worth stepping aside to see. The situation is very beautiful, and the views of the village are very picturesque and pleasing, as well as those from it. Moreover, it wears an aspect of comfort that is quite refreshing, after becoming inured to the almost total want of it that is so frequently in these Wicklow villages. Delgany is, we believe, a good deal resorted to as a summer abode-which of course to some extent explains its neatness of appearance; but it is more satisfactorily explained when you are told that there have been some generations of good and considerate resident landlords.

The next village on the road, Newtown-MountKennedy, is the centre of some much-admired scenery. The places which are usually visited, are the demesnes of Altadore and Glendaragh on the west, and Mount Kennedy and Woodstock on the east. There is no doubt much that will amply repay the leisurely visitor; but we must not linger among them. Newtown village is a long and populous, but by no means attractive, place, and there is a sad array of mendicants waiting about ready to fasten on the stranger, or to surround the doors of the coaches which stop there.

Ashford Inn, or the Inn at Newrath Bridge, might very well be taken as the centre from which to make two or three excursions, and also to enjoy a little fishing. The chief attraction here is the Devil's Glen,— the great rival of the Dargle and the Glen of the Downs. Like the former, it is a long narrow pass, or rather a deep cleft, formed, as it would seem, by the parting asunder of the living rock. But the Devil's Glen is larger than the Dargle, and more stern and sombre in character. This, indeed, is what characterizes it, and the preference will be given either to it or to the Dargle according as the more strictly beautiful or the sterner aspects of Nature are most in unison with the taste and the feelings. The Glen of the Downs is of quite another character, and cannot be properly compared with either. Along the narrow bottom of the glen the river Vartry forces its way around and over the massy fragments of rock that fill the channel, and rushes sparkling and foaming along as if impatient of the hindrances to its progress. The sides of the glen rise up rugged and precipitous. On the one hand is a luxuriant hanging wood; the other is bare, but the more pleasing from the contrast of its gray crags to the verdure opposite. At the end of the glen is a noble waterfall-the Vartry pouring over the black rock in one sheet, and falling at once a hundred feet into the dark pool below. The Vartry has at all times a much larger volume of water than the Dargle, and the fall is always a very striking one-none the less so from the absence of foliage; when the river is in flood it is said to be exceedingly grand. The glen of the Dargle is wanting in this feature: and Powerscourt Waterfall, though so much loftier, is certainly not comparable with this in grandeur. The views from the banks above the Devil's Glen are very fine,-but the Dargle is finer.

There is another very pleasing glen in this neigh

[ocr errors]

bourhood, a few miles north of Ashford-Glen Dunran. It is two miles long, narrow, and finely wooded. It must not be compared with the more famous one we have been visiting, but it is a lovely spot.

[ocr errors]

Close by Ashford is the classic demesne of Rosanna, the property of D. Tighe, Esq. Here it was that the charming Irish poetess, Mrs. Tighe, wrote the beautiful poem of Psyche.' The grounds are especially famous for their magnificent trees. These impart to it a stateliness such as few of the Irish parks possess, and not many English ones surpass. It is said in Curry's Handbook for Ireland,' that "this well-wooded demesne contains among its venerable trees some of the finest old oaks and Spanish chestnuts in the country." Many of them would dignify one of the finest parks in Kent. Along the road which passes the demesne they form an almost matchless avenue. One noble patriarch stands out quite apart in the road,-to the no small danger, as it would appear, of coaches travelling that way, but certainly adding much to the picturesque beauty of this bit of road.

Before quitting this locality, let us add that the river Vartry, after it leaves the Devil's Glen, and being joined by two or three small affluents, expands into a good-sized stream, passes by Ashford and Newrath, and soon approaches the sea. But here a sandbank has formed and prevented its egress: the river, in consequence, has expanded to the right and left, making a narrow lagoon, two miles in length, which is known as Broad Lough, at the southern end of which, by the town of Wicklow, a mile and a half below its original outlet, it flows into the sea. The sandbank is called, the Marragh.

WICKLOW: ARKLOW.

Wicklow, though the county and assize-town, is a miserable-looking place. It has a rather considerable corn-trade, and a few small trading vessels; but else it appears to have little commerce of any kind, and to be altogether a neglected locality. The town and the people seem alike disheartened: even the fishery is not looked after. There is not much to be seen in the town. Of the old castle there are a few unimportant vestiges remaining on a steep rock, which projects into the sea by the entrance of Broad Lough. It bears the name of the Black Castle. There are also some remains of the Abbey which was founded here in the reign of Henry III. These, with a doorway of the old church, are all that remain to attest the former consequence of the town, or to recall the recollections of its history.

Nor is there much of beauty in the town, or its immediate vicinity, to attract the stranger; and it is, therefore, seldom visited. It is, indeed, almost only. noteworthy as an example-unhappily not a rare thing to meet with-of an old decayed Irish town. But so looked at, it may be regarded with some interest; and there is something in the appearance of the people and their houses, and cabins also, noteworthy.

The

heights about Wicklow afford some fine sea views; and the bold bluff promontory of Wicklow Head, with the lighthouses, is a feature that a painter of coast scenery would stay to sketch. All along here, and round to Wicklow, the coast is a drifting sandbank; as dreary and unhappy-looking as a coast-line well can be.

And the country inland between these towns is hardly better. Much of it is a boggy waste, undrained, and profitless, except where peat is dug. And the people are as poor as the land. Miserable clay cabins, with only a hole in the badly-thatched roof for a chimney-damp, rotten-looking places—are the ordinary dwellings; and nothing about them gives a sign of there being any greater prosperity than the cabins themselves would suggest. Even the pig is looked for in vain. There are some better places here and there, but the district generally appears thoroughly poverty-stricken.

Arklow is now a much more important town than Wicklow. It is the most populous town in the county. At the census of 1841 there were 6,237 inhabitants in the parish of Arklow, of whom 3,254 resided in the town. It is situated on the estuary of the Avoca, at the southern extremity of the county. Between the town and the sea there is a wide strip of coast, a drifting sandy waste, only relieved by the "dunes," or hillocks of loose shifting sand. The haven is in good part filled with sand, and of little use except for boats and very light vessels. Along the creek is a gathering of poor clay cabins, called the Fishery. The town itself, or at least the business part of it, stretches up a slight ascent nearly parallel to the river, but not close to it. The river is crossed by a long rude bridge of eighteen arches, and on the Wicklow side of it there are a few poor-houses.

Arklow has at different times been the scene of some stout contests. The castle, the chief object of the assailants, was built in the reign of John, and was dismantled by Oliver Cromwell. The last time Arklow was made a battle-field was as late as 1795. The "rebel army," under the guidance and command of Father Murphy, had surprised and taken Wexford, and now, above 20,000 strong, determined to march upon Dublin. Flushed with success, they summoned Arklow to surrender; but there was in it a stouthearted garrison of 1,600 men, commanded by General Needham, who had no thoughts of yielding. The rebels succeeded in forcing their way into the lower part of the town, which they set fire to and destroyed. In the upper town the fight was protracted till nightfall, when the insurgents were repulsed with fearful loss. Father Murphy was among the slain. Had they not been checked at Arklow, it is believed the misguided men might have reached the capital.

There is not much that is characteristic or interesting in Arklow. Of the castle there is a mere fragment left: it stands at the end of the town, against the barracks. The church is a large and substantial modern pile. There are no other public buildings that call for remark. The houses generally, in the principal street,

are respectable; there is a good inn; and there must | Government; and accordingly a party of the Kildare be some amount of business. But there is an unhappy listlessness hanging about the place, which is very uncomfortable. Once, Arklow had an important and prosperous fishing-trade; and there is still a large number of fishing-boats belonging to the town. But the fishing has greatly fallen off. The herrings-the fish chiefly taken-are said to have left the coast. The night we stayed there, however, there was a very large take of them; and that there is a ready market for them was proved by the fact that the whole quantity was purchased at once by a person from Liverpool, who was here with a small vessel, on the look out.' Indeed, we strongly suspect that if some English spirit could be infused into the Arklowites - Liverpool or North Country energy, and South Coast skill-the fishing would be again as of yore, or better. Improvement is sadly wanting here. The Arklow boats are clumsy half-decked things; and the nets are hardly half the size of those used by the Brighton or Hastings The boatmen, too, would cut an odd figure beside the bluff many-jacketed Deal or Hastings fishermen. It would do an Arklow man some good to go to one of these places, or to Brighton, for a month

crews.

or two.

The houses in the principal street, we said, are generally respectable; but then the rest are mostly very poor. The Fishery is the worst part. There all the houses are mere clay cabins-many of them with one window, and not a bit of garden, or even yard, and all that were looked into were dark, miserable, almost without furniture, and very filthy: yet we were assured at Arklow that the poor there are "comparatively well off."

The country west of Arklow is not often visited by the tourist; nor is there very much to reward him. Yet perhaps a journey by Croaghan Kinsella to Aughrim, and thence up the glen toward Lugnaquillia, would repay the pedestrian; the roads would hardly do for cars. On the slopes of Croaghan Kinsella is passed the celebrated Wicklow Gold Mine: "our Lagenian Mine," as Moore has it—

"Where sparkles of golden splendour
All over the surface shine;
But if in pursuit we go deeper,

Allured by the gleam that shone,
Ah! false as the dream of the sleeper,

Like Love, the bright ore is gone."

This is nearly true now, but there was a time when it was regarded in a very different light. There had for some years been a vague report current that gold had been found in this neighbourhood; when, "in the year, 1796, a piece of gold, in weight about half an ounce, was found by a man crossing the Ballin valley stream, the report of which discovery operated so powerfully upon the minds of the peasantry, that every employment was forsaken, the benefits of agriculture abandoned, and the fortunes of Aladdin, or Ali Baba, were the great originals they hoped to imitate. Such infatuation," continues our author, "called for the interference of

militia were stationed on the banks of the rivulet, to intercept the works and break the illusion :”—which, by the way, seems rather an Irish method of employing soldiers. They might occupy the "diggings" and intercept the works, but think of a regiment being ordered to "break the illusion!" However, the illusion was broken somehow. The same writer says, that "during the short space of two months spent by these inexperienced miners in examining and washing the sands of the Ballinvalley stream, it is supposed that 2,666 [which is a mighty nice calculation] ounces of pure gold were found, which sold for about £10,000." Having driven off the gold-finders, the Government undertook to open mines; and the works were carried on till 1798, when all the machinery was destroyed by the insurgents. The works were renewed in 1801; but being found not sufficiently productive to repay the expenses, were eventually discontinued. "The quantity of gold found while the stream-works were under the management of Government, appears to have been inferior to that collected by the peasantry, amounting to the value of £3,675 7s. 114d." (Wright: Scenes in Ireland.') Evidently the Government workers, with all their machinery, were very unlucky, or Croaghan's stock of gold was soon exhausted; or perhaps there was some mistake in counting up the 2,666 ounces. It is mentioned in Curry's HandBook of Ireland,' that "a London Company had been engaged in streaming for gold, as it is termed, for these two years past. ... but the results were not such as to induce them to proceed." A few labourers, it is added, continued to be employed by them without any regular superintendence; "a fixed sum being paid for whatever gold they may find." Even this casual searching is now discontinued; but there yet prevails a lingering belief among the peasantry, that there is still gold in Kinsella, and only the 'lucky man' is wanting. Many an anxious look, we doubt not, is turned on the brook when it has been 'roarin' in spate;' but we fear, as one of the peasantry of whom we had been asking some questions oddly said, "it will never touch California."

[ocr errors]

Croaghan Kinsella is nearly 2,000 feet above the sea, lifting his head high above his neighbours for miles around. The summit commands a prospect both wide and magnificent. The little town of Tinahealy has nothing to lead the wayfarer aside. It was destroyed by the rebels in 1798, and has been rebuilt in a neater style than usually prevails in such sequestered places; there is an inn which will afford accommodation, if that route be taken. Aughrim, which lies in the route we pointed out, is quite a mountain village, rude and poor, but very picturesque :-a collection of stone and clay cabins by the river's side, and backed by bare mountains. Glen Aughrim, which commences here, is in its way very fine. There are no soft cultivated slopes, but, instead, a genuine wild mountain glen, a swift stream running along the bottom, the vast mass of Croaghan Moira rising full in front. The road con

[ocr errors]

tinues beside the Aughrim river to Aughavanagh Barrack. For some time the giant of the Wicklow mountains, the lofty Lugnaquillia, has been directly before us, and here its huge form blocks further progress forward. The road on the right will lead to Drumgoff Bridge, where there is another barrack-another of the many erected after the insurrection; the road is a portion of what is called the great military road,' it having been constructed on the same occasion, in order to open a way into this wild mountain district. At Drumgoff Bridge the rambler will find something more pleasant than a barrack-a very comfortable hotel. The ascent of Lugnaquillia (not very often made) is best made from the road between Aughavanagh Barracks and Drumgoff. It is said to be by no means difficult-but we have not made trial thereof. A guide can be had, if desired, at Drumgoff inn. Lugnaquillia is 3,039 feet above the sea; and 2,500 feet above the bottom of the valley. On the summit is a sort of cromlech, known as Pierce's Table. The prospect is said to be unmatched from the mountains of Wicklow-but the visitor will be fortunate who meets with a suitable day for it. Even when all is clear on the summit, it is very seldom that the plains and the extreme distance are free from mist.

Drumgoff Bridge crosses the river Avonbeg, which rises among the mountains some miles higher, and after flowing through Glenmalure, unites with the Avonmore at the celebrated Meeting of the Waters. That part of the glen which is above Drumgoff is inconceivably

grand. But then the grandeur is that arising from the savage majesty of Nature. There is nothing of the plaeid or beautiful here. All is sterile, desolate; forbidding, as it would seem, the presence of man. But man has been here piercing into the very heart of the mountains. The lead-mines are extensive and productive. Indeed the glen itself is said to owe its name to its mineral treasures-Glenmalure signifying the 'glen of much ore.' High up the Avonbeg precipitates itself over a long rocky shelf, and forms the Ess Waterfall. Immediately below Drumgoff the glen is hardly less grand, and it assumes gradually, as it descends, a gentler character. But the proper way to see it through its whole extent is upwards, and it can be conveniently so visited from Wooden Bridge in the Vale of Avoca. From Drumgoff the road to Laragh and Glendalough exhibits to great advantage this portion of the Wicklow Mountain range.

[ocr errors]

THE VALE OF AVOCA.

The route we have just indicated has its attractions for the lover of the wilder and grander scenery; but that we are now to speak of delights every one. It is the Llangollen of Ireland.

On leaving Arklow, the proper course for tourists lies through the demesne of Sheldon Abbey. There is a high road, but the Earl of Wicklow very liberally permits the stranger either to walk or drive through his grounds, and accordingly he will do well to avail him

[graphic][subsumed][merged small][merged small]

self of the privilege, and save seven miles of dull road. Sheldon Abbey is the most celebrated mansion at this end of Wicklow. It is a modern gothic structure of very ornate character. The situation is low, but as much has been made of its capabilities as possible. The grounds are of great extent and of great beauty, though not kept in as good condition as in English parks where the owner is resident. Some of the roads too, on the outskirts of the demesne, are bordered by lines of beeches, which form rich umbrageous avenues, with pleasant peeps between. From the grounds of Sheldon, you may pass into those of Ballyarthur, the Bayly, Esq. These are especially worth visiting. The house is not large, but plain and substantial, like a moderate-sized old English manorhouse. The grounds afford shady walks, with delicious prospects: one immediately behind the house is especially worthy of note. Ballyarthur seems, in short, one of the most enjoyable residences in all Wicklow just the house and grounds one might wish for-if one had Fortunatus' Cap-as a resting-place in these our later days.

seat of

From Ballyarthur we pass into the famous Vale. Wherever the English language is read, the beauties of the Vale of Avoca are known; and so long as music married to sweet verse finds admirers, its loveliness will be verdant:

"There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet

As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet." The Vale of Avoca is indeed extremely beautiful. It is a cheerful open valley, several miles long, nowhere closing into a glen, nor expanding so as to leave the opposites sides unconnected, but gently widening as it descends; it is everywhere a delightful companionable dale. The Avoca flows along the midst with a still quick current, but never disturbing the placid character of the scenery. The hills on either hand are lofty, varied in surface and in outline, and presenting new and always pleasing combinations at every turn. The valley is now thickly covered with rich dark masses of foliage, and presently sprinkled over with single trees, or detached groups, of light feathery form. Sometimes the trees climb the mountain sides; at others the slopes are only covered with bright verdure, and again they are bare, rugged, and precipitous. And yet with all this beauty the stranger is apt at first to question whether it be equal to its fame. The bard of Erin has stamped on it the title to such superlative loveliness, that the vision which has been formed of it can hardly be realized. It is forgotten that he has associated with its natural charms a moral claim on his admiration:

"Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green;
"T was not her soft magic of streamlet or hill,-
Oh! no-it was something more exquisite still.

'T was that friends, the belov'd of my bosom, were near,
Who made ev'ry dear scene of enchantment more dear;
And who felt how the best charms of Nature improve
When we see them reflected from looks that we love."

With such associations and feelings to heighten her beauties, we too might admit the pre-eminence of Avoca.

The spot we have now arrived at is the Second Meeting of the Waters,'-sometimes said to be that Moore has celebrated; but this is evidently an error, as the poet has himself in a note to the passage explained his allusion to be to the confluence of "the rivers Avon and Avoca;" whereas this is the meeting of the Aughrim and the Avoca. This is a charming scene. Not alone have we here the meeting of the rivers, but of the glens also, many and lovely. And then the views both up and down the vale are full of beauty. While here, too, the visitor should, if possible, ascend the heights of Knocknamokill, for the sake of the wider prospect not only down the vale but over Arklow to the sea. (Cut, No. 6.)

This Second Meeting of the Waters is otherwise called Wooden Bridge; close to the bridge is the chief restingplace of tourists. Wooden Bridge Hotel is said to be, "with the exception of Quin's, at Bray, the most generally frequented by tourists of all the Wicklow houses of entertainment." (Curry's' Hand-Book of Ireland.') Higher up there is another tourist's house, the Avoca Inn.

Ascending the vale some way, and having passed Newbridge-a very pretty spot-quite a new feature opens in the landscape. The mountain sides are for some distance literally riddled with the works of the copper mines. These are the Ballymurtagh and Cronbane mines, the most extensive and valuable coppermines in Wicklow the Cronbane mine has yielded nearly 2600 tons of copper ore in one year. The quantity raised is not now so great, but there are yet above a thousand men employed in the two mines. It cannot of course be said that the works add to the beauty or even picturesqueness of the scenery, but the strange scarification of the mountain sides, the apparently almost inaccessible spots in which some of the working gear is placed, and the enormous slow-moving water-wheels, certainly give a very peculiar and striking character to it. An iron tramroad is carried from these mines to Arklow haven.

The First Meeting of the Waters, (Cut No. 7,) that which Moore has sung of, is even more beautiful than the other, and the general prospect of the vale more impressive. The Avonbeg has rolled down from Glendamore a rapid mountain stream; the Avonmore* is gentle and placid as a lowland river. All aroundalong the valley, in the water, and on the heights-is luxuriant foliage. The hills are bold and lofty, their

* We asked a countryman the meaning of these names: 'Sure, then," said he, "Avon is a river, and beg (which he pronounced lig) is little: and more"-is more little? "Ah! no-more is great; and so it is just the great river and the little river." Moore was mistaken in speaking of the meeting of "the rivers Avon and Avoca." On the maps they are written as we have said, and we were assured they are so called there: they take the name of Avoca after their confluence, and retain it, as we have seen, to the estuary at Arklow.

« PředchozíPokračovat »