Obrázky stránek
PDF
ePub

mists, how utterly impracticable this is; and at Killarney, this year, the potato-cultivation was increasing instead of diminishing. A practical philanthropist, Mr. Nicholls, has made the matter very intelligible to those who will think. He is asked:

"Taking those parts of Ireland where the population is in excess, do you think it will be possible to introduce such improved agriculture as will support the people upon corn, their numbers having been created by living upon potatoes, without diminishing their numbers?

"I think not; I could not hope to effect such improvement in cultivation as would enable the same number of persons to obtain subsistence from corn crops as is obtained from potato culture."

driven to wish the utter ruin of that which they cannot. redress, than of grave counsellors, which ought to think nothing so hard but that through wisdom it may be mastered and subdued." More religiously, and therefore more wisely, do the Society of Friends in Ireland say "It is not for us to attempt to penetrate the secret designs of the Most High; but we may without presumption regard the mysterious dispensation with which we have been visited, in the blight of the potato, as a means permitted by an all-wise Providence to exhibit more strikingly the unsound state of our social condition.” When the history of the Famine shall be written by some one who will look upon Ireland without the prejudices of party or sect,-without an insane hatred of

Hear, again, Colonel Clarke, the Inspector of Unions the England of 1849, or a stupid and base depreciation in the West:

"Without contemplating the fearful alternative of a decrease of population by death, or the extreme suffering of the population, which may show itself in the diminution of births, and the power of rearing children, are there not along those shores with which you are familiar, districts in which it is difficult to anticipate that a population bred upon the potato food, can, within their own district, find the means of support upon cereal food?

"They cannot.

"It is impossible?

of the Irish as a race, then will it be shown how steady has been the growth of that greatest of evils, the abuse of the right of property in land,—which rendered the condition of the Irish peasantry, long before this time, inferior to that of any other peasantry in Europe. The childish habit of too many to ascribe this inferiority to the character of the race, and of some to religion, must give place, above all things, to more just and charitable views. Hear what an eloquent foreigner, Count Strzelecki, who has been resident in Ireland for some years, says on this point:

"I saw Irishmen in the United States, in Canada,

"Totally impossible, unless a greater quantity of land and in Australia, living as well as the Anglo-Saxons, be brought under cultivation."

The question of transforming the Irish cottier population into labourers at wages, by a sudden movement, is very quickly disposed of by a few figures:-The gross number of holdings, as shown by agricultural returns, in 1847, was 935,939; of these 135,341 were under one acre; 50,355, of from one to two acres; 121,595, of from two to five acres. Here, then, are about 500,000 acres maintaining, wretchedly enough, about 300,000 families. In England, one labourer is employed to about fifteen acres of arable land. If the process of converting small holdings into large could be suddenly effected by any supernatural power, there would be supported about 35,000 labourers at wages, instead of 300,000 cottier tenants, upon these 500,000 acres. What is to become of the superfluous 265,000 cottier tenants and their families, amounting to a million of people, at the least? This is a grave question, which we fear is not speedily to be solved.

But there is one view of the condition of Ireland which admits a ray of hope. The Irish are beginning to understand their real position; and Englishmen, slowly and doggedly, are looking into causes below the surface for that misery and degradation which for ages has been indirectly coming home to ourselves. It was an opinion in Spenser's time, that Ireland remained wretched and disturbed, "for some secret scourge which shall by her come unto England;" and some, in their ignorant impatience (as too many of us have done), "wished that all that land were a sea-pool." Truly does Spenser say of such impious desires, "this kind of speech is the manner rather of desperate men, far

acquiring their grumbling habits, and thus improving continually their condition. I saw many of those people who never tasted animal food in Ireland, coming to Australia, and becoming fastidious about the quality of the meat and tea which was served to them; so that the low condition in which they are to be observed in Ireland is not to be attributed to the inherent character of the race. I do not believe that it is owing to religion, because they are professing the same religion in the country where they go to settle. This difference may, perhaps, be more successfully traced to the consequences of the transplantation from a narrow and confined moral and physical sphere of action, to a larger space, with more freedom and more cheerful prospects of life, and of which they have none at home." (Lords' Committee Report.)

Hear, further, what one, amongst the soundest thinkers of our day, says of the great social curse of Ireland:

"With individual exceptions (some of them very honourable ones), the owners of Irish estates do nothing for the land but drain it of its produce. What has been epigrammatically said in the discussions on peculiar burthens' is literally true when applied to them; that the greatest burthen on land' is the landlords. Returning nothing to the soil, they consume its whole produce, minus the potatoes strictly necessary to keep the inhabitants from dying of famine; and when they have any notion of improvement, it usually consists in not leaving even this pittance, but turning out the people to beggary if not to starvation. When landed property has placed itself upon this footing it ceases to be defensible, and the

shawls, worn as gracefully as if arranged by the most tasteful of tire-women; but unquestionably these poor girls knew the most pinching poverty. Not to give was impossible-but no bounty could shake them off. Some clung to the stirrups; some laughed and sang; and some told their sorrows with deep pathos. One and all of these poor girls had a dream of some distant land, where want should not beset them. Some had relations in the United States. New Orleans was their El Dorado. There, they fancied, they should marry, and know something of comfort. Four pounds would pay a passage. In the Evidence which we have repeatedly quoted, one witness, speaking on the subject of Emigration, says, "It is a very extraordinary thing, the

time has come for making some new arrangement of the matter. *** The community has too much at stake in the proper cultivation of the land, and in the conditions annexed to the occupancy of it, to leave these things to the discretion of a class of persons called landlords, when they have shown themselves unfit for the trust. The legislature, which if it pleased might convert the whole body of landlords into fundholders or pensioners, might, à fortiori, commute the average receipts of Irish landowners into a fixed rentcharge, and raise the tenants into proprietors; supposing always (without which these acts would be nothing better than robbery) that the full market value of the land was tendered to the landlords, in case they preferred that to accepting the conditions proposed."-quantity of single women that go off by themselves, and John Mill, Principles of Political Economy. who seem to face the whole difficulty in the quietest way." p. 284-286. Precisely in this spirit did these poor girls, who came out of the cabins on the side of Mangerton, speak of this great venture of life which they were anxious to make. Surely it is a terrible thing when the ties which bind women to their native soil the ties of home which make ordinary poverty endurable are thus snapped asunder. It is no common misery which can thus change the female character. The wanderings of men in search of better fortune may fail to move our pity;-but for a solitary woman to cast herself upon the .great wave of fate, unknowing where she may drift, is the heroism of desperation.

Vol. II.

And now, that we have disburthened our minds of these thoughts and memories, let us surrender ourselves to the pleasant recollections of the remainder of our sojourn in this land of natural beauty.

The Mucruss Hotel, which we pass on the road to the Mangerton Mountain, is in some respects more advantageously situated than the Victoria. It commands no view of the Lakes, but it is close to the charming walks of the Mucruss Peninsula. A glance at the map will show all the advantages of this position: these walks extend for miles; and the natural beauties of this peninsula, dividing the two lakes, and commanding the finest views of the scenery of each, have been improved by admirable taste. Mucruss Abbey is a beautiful ruin many parts are in good preservation. In the cloister is a most remarkable object-a magnificent yew-tree springing up from the centre, its spreading branches forming a graceful roof to the arched walls. The trunk of this tree rises up to a greater height, without a limb, than we have before observed in any of these vegetable memorials of long past generations. Its girth is inferior to many of our English yews. The east window, seen through the pointed arch of the chapel, is very perfect. Within are some tombs and monuments, ancient and modern. The Abbey stands amidst the most luxuriant groves— the vivifying power of nature cherishing the perishable works of man-and clothing decay with ever-springing beauty. (Cut, No. 9.) Torc Waterfall is within a walk of Muciuss, (Cut, No. 10); but we reserve that for the last look of Killarney!

On we go

We mount our ponies. The ascent to the mountain is very gradual-a bare and dreary road. without any striking views for a mile or two, till the way gets steeper and more rugged. Company begin to gather about us. There is the regular Irish guide, who springs up at every turn of a road which leads to sights. We soon get rid of him. But the mountaingirls, with their goat's milk and potheen, are not so easily disposed of. The troop gathered thick and fast at every step of the ascent: no persuasions could induce them to let us proceed in peace. Squalid want was not apparent,—or it was hidden under their bright

For a mile or two in the channel of a torrent, and we at length from Mangerton look over the Lower Lake. Magnificent was the view-glorious was the day. But our trusty Spillane urged us forward, for he saw the mist gathering in the distance. We have hurriedly passed the hollow in which lies the famous .tarn, "The Devil's Punch Bowl," and are nearing the summit. Severe is the cold, even in the sun of a July day. Now rest. We have given Wilson's description of the scene, and how can we attempt to embody our own impressions. For the first time we saw the Atlantic : there it sparkled, over the shoulder of one of the distant cluster of mountains. Why is it, that one glimpse of the great highway of the world raises the spirit far more than the open prospect of the narrow seas?

"There is a magnet-like attraction in

These waters to the imaginative power
That links the viewless with the visible,
And pictures things unseen. To realms beyond
Yon highway of the world my fancy flies."
CAMPBELL.

[ocr errors]

But the near mountains-they lie around us. The light falls on one, the shadow on another, they seem to heave and swell like the vexed ocean. A mist creeps over some summit far below us, and then plunges into the glen ;-up another craggy steep rises the mist from the valley, and hovers about till it mingles with the upper clouds. The Lakes seem to wash the bases of these giant forms that close us in from all the outer world, except where the Kenmare river brightens to the south, and the great sea to the

306

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

west. The monarchs of the solitude seem to look down upon the beauty at their feet, solemn and sad, whether in glimmer or in gloom. We heed not their names, as they are repeated in our ear-Carran-Tual, Purple Mountain, Toomies, Glena, Torc, Drooping Mountain, Cahirna, Ierc, Sugar-Loaf. We regard not their comparative elevations. Carran-Tual is a thousand feet higher than Toomies, and six hundred feet above where we stand. They all seem to dwell close together in glorious companionship, and the equality of brotherhood. And yet Carran-Tual is eight miles away; though it seems as if the eagle could wing his flight from one top to another as easily as the swallow skims from Innisfallen to Ross. But the mist is gathering, and we must descend. We send our ponies down before us;-for we have a path to tread in which our own feet will best serve us. We descend not far. We have crossed the sinking bog on the crest of Mangerton, and look down a steep declivity into the glen in which lies the Devil's Punch Bowl. It is a melancholy place, amidst high rocksthe tarn "which never plummet sounded," dark as

winter; cold as ice, they say, though Charles Fox
swam across it. We sit down under the shelter of a
rude stone wall. We have sandwiches and potheen-
and there are clear springs not far off. One of the
women that followed us up the mountain suddenly
appears at our side. She sits down. With a mournful
cadence she sings one of her native songs. "Her
voice is sweet, is soft, is low." Another, and another.
Her store is exhaustless. She gave us some little
argument to explain her ditties. They were unques-
tionably the pastoral ballads of a mountain peasantry.
One was a dialogue, similar, perhaps, to that which
Mr. Walsh has given in his "Irish Popular Songs :"
"Oh! if thou come to Leitrim, sure nought can us sever,
A phlur na m-ban doun óg!*
Wild honey and the mead-cup shall feast us for ever,
A phlur na m-ban doun óg!

I'll show thee ships and sails, through the vistas grand,
As we seek our green retreat by the broad lake's strand,
And grief would never reach us within that happy land,
A phlur na m-ban doun óg!

*Flower of brown-hair'd maidens.

[graphic][ocr errors][subsumed][merged small]

To Leitrim, to Leitrim, in vain thou wouldst lead me,

Duirt plúr na m-ban doun óg!

When pale hunger comes, can thy melodies feed me? Duirt plúr na m-ban doun óg!

Sooner would I live, and sooner die a maid,

Than wander with thee through the dewy forest glade, That thou art my beloved, this bosom never said,

Duirt plúr na m-ban doun óg!"

the heron fishing. The owl now flaps by us, startled. We rest under Glena; and there, in the deep silence of midnight, we hear the mountain echo to the bugle in a voice which seems unearthly. A night ever to be remembered.

Farewell, at last, to Killarney. The car is ready that is to bear us to Kenmare. Our way lies by the new road-a great work, unsurpassed, perhaps, in these

We again mount our ponies. A ride of two hours islands for its picturesque character. It passes close by brings us back to the Victoria.

A night is before us, such as we cannot forget. Gansey, the famous piper of Killarney, gives us the pleasure of his company. A venerable man, blind ;a man of real genius-a gentleman. All the old traditionary music of Ireland is familiar to him. He has his modern ballads for those who want an ordinary pleasure but if he have "audience fit though few," he will pour out strain after strain, wild and solemn, gay or pathetic, with a power that seems like inspiration. Never heard we such effects from one instrument, since the days of Paganini's violin. Midnight was passed before we ceased to listen, enraptured, to

[ocr errors][merged small]

Of linked sweetness, long drawn out."

One more day at Killarney-and then, farewell! How shall that day be passed by us? In perfect reIn perfect repose. One of our companions has gone to perform the difficult feat of ascending Carran- Tual. We are to meet him with the boat long before sun-down, at the head of the Upper Lake. We are true to the appointment. There is one with us watching for him with some anxiety; but the scene is so glorious that anxiety can scarcely find a place even in the breast of a loving wife. The mountains are lighted up with all the most gorgeous hues of heaven. The full moon is up-we wander on, far away from the lake, through the Black Valley. (Cut No. 14.) Solemn and more solemn grow the shadows of the mountains. The sun is altogether gone. Then the rocks begin to put on mysterious forms. Not a sound falls upon the hushed air. A footstep! one of our friend's guides is come to beg us yet to wait. It was a needless message. But that poor guide- he has fallen in his rough descent, and is badly wounded. Fear then begins; but at length the wished-one comes, worn out, but safe. He has beheld sights from CarranTual which we would see ourselves, if we were twenty years younger.

And now, one sight that all Killarney visitors should behold, if possible, at the risk of some inconveniencea row of twelve miles, under the light of the summer moon. As we came up the Lake, four hours ago, we marked every form of hill and island. They are now all blended in one faint tint, when

"A sable cloud

Turns forth her silver lining on the night;"

or suddenly touched with the partial light of the full orb, which renders them even more indistinct in the unshadowy splendour. In the evening glow we saw

Torc Waterfall, which we stop to view. It climbs the mountain, and cuts through the rocks, heedless of obstacles. This is the way by which tourists reached Killarney when the readiest passage was from Bristol to Cork. We are not sure that it is preferable to coming by the coach-road from Mallow, and gradually finding out the beauties of the Lakes. Here they are revealed. The first impression of the scenery at the exquisite points of view which this road offers must be ineffaceable. But we are satisfied to have won a growing delight, instead of being struck mute with a first admiration.

Such an admiration-speechless wonder-is the view of Glengariff and the great arm of Bantry Bay, which presents itself from the grand road recently completed from Kenmare. We passed through that town; saw the improvements which a benevolent landlord may effect in his district; saw dwelling after dwelling on the hill-sides, which contrasted happily with the ancient mud cabin and passing through a long tunnel, such as railroads have made us familiar with, rapidly descended the road which leads to Glengariff. And then that prospect!-Mountains - bays — islands and the great Atlantic rolling placidly in to kiss a shelvy shore.

Glengariff-the glen itself-must remain unvisited. No heavier clouds ever descended on Ireland than those which fell at Glengariff when we rose on the morning after we left Killarney. Well, Otway has well described it; and our readers will have no regret in missing our own description:

"I do not know how to begin, or where to take up, or in what way to put forth the dioramic conception I have in my mind's recollection of this delightful glen. Mountains-why you have them of all forms, elevations, and outlines. Hungry Mountain, with its cataract of eight hundred feet falling from its side; Sugar-Loaf, so conical, so bare, so white in its quartzose formation; Slieve Goul, the pathway of the fairies; and Esk Mountain, over which I was destined to climb my toilsome way. Every hill had its peculiar interest, and each, according to the time of the day or the state of the atmosphere, presented a picture so mutable-or bright or gloomy, or near or distant-valleys laughing in sunshine, or shrouded in dark and undefined masses of shade; and so deceptive, so variable were the distances and capabilities of prospect, that in the morning you could see a hare bounding along on the ranges of those hills, that, at noonday, were lost in the gray indistinctness of distant vision. Then the glen itself, unlike other glens and valleys that interpose between

« PředchozíPokračovat »