Scenes on the Shores of the Atlantic. By the author of 'Souvenirs of a Summer in Germany,' etc

Preface

. Preface — Oh ! how difficult to write a preface ! " Then Avhy not let it alone !" says a wise friend at my side ; " many books have none, and of those that are written, feAv are read." Very true. Yet still I cannot bear to send forth my frail bark on the dreaded sea of public opinion, Avithout a feAV pleading words, as oil on the waves, to bespeak for it indulgence. There is something in a book without a preface that seems to argue self-confidence ; as though it needed none, and could stand alone on its own merits. Such is indeed far from being the case with these volumes, nor can I venture to alloAV them " Avith all their

PREFACE.

. imperfections on their head," to go forth un introduced, un-commended to mercy. I cannot refrain from here acknoAvledging with gratitude the great kindness already ex perienced at tbe hands of both readers and revieAvers, — kindness Avhich the shrinking author, tremblingly alive to praise or blame, can alone appreciate as it deserves. M. F. D. Vermont, Limerick. July 1st. THE SHORES of the ATLANTIC.

Letter I

Quin Abbey. — A Rustic Funeral. — Lead Mines. — Irish Gallantry. — A Faithful Messenger. — Ennisty mon. — The Waiter in a dilemma. Miltown Malbay, September 10th. — So the goodly, marble-covered blank book I had provided, wherein to record the sayings and doings of our sojourn on the shores of the Atlantic, is to be thrown aside, its " virgin page" undesecrated : and my rambling jour- V0L. II. B TUE SHORES nal is to wing its way across the Channel m the shape of letters to you, dear old friend. Well ! be it so,— you know I can refuse you nothing. You tell me there is something bracing and invigorating in the tidings that come from our wild, poetical land, and that it has the same effect on your spirits as a breath of mountain air. Noav you will expect the freshness of the ocean breeze and briny spray to be super added : but will you not soon tire of such a ;1 picker up of unconsidered trifles" as my self 1 — and can you bear Avith the little passing incidents, the moralizings and philo sophisings, digressions and discussions that would find their Avay into the aforesaid blank journal-book ?

Yes, I think you will ; for old age is always indulgent, and with you I feel no restraint. We confide so willingly in those whom long years of ex perience in the world's rough school have taught to sympathise with others, and make allowances for their faults, — who have undergone sufferings and temptations, and known the vicissitudes of joy and sorrow, adversity and prosperity, — who have shed many tears and felt many anxieties, — on whom the sun has shone and the tempest beaten. The young are naturally less charitable. Little versed in the frailty of their oavu or other hearts, they expect much and make few alloAvances. Unsoftened by sorrows, unchecked by disappointments, inexperienced in the snares and difficulties that beset the path on which they have just set out, it is no wonder that they should exercise little of the forbearance and kindness of the veteran traveller, who has borne the burden and heat of the day.

It may be a fanciful idea, but I have often thought, that, as the horizon is sometimes overspread Avith the bright ness of the coming day before it has dawned, so the glorious world which the aged pilgrim is approaching, sheds a portion of its halo around him by anticipation ; and the calm serenity, the hush of worldly cares and human passions, is a kind of foretaste of the B • THE SHORES heavenly rest into which he is about to enter. But I see you are getting impatient. Pray then open your map and look for the little sea-bathing village of Kilkee, which you Avill or ought to find on the iron-bound coast of Clare, just eight miles from the thriving toAvn of Kilrush, at the Shannon's mouth. Thither we are on our way, and there Ave propose spending the next six weeks for the benefit of sea-air, sea-water, health, and amusement.

The usual mode of going to this watering place is by one of the two steamers that ply between Limerick and Kilrush ; but as we have had some visits to pay in the County Clare, we are travelling by land, and I write this evening from MiltoAvn Malbay, where we intend making a few days halt. After taking leave of our kind host at Dromoland, we started for Ennis ; and on our way stopped at Quin Abbey, and spent some time in exploring the ruin, than which nothing can be more beautiful or picturesque. It Avas impossible to Avalk through the cloisters without being imbued with those solemn feelings, that silent awe, which the view of the crumbling wrecks of time is calculated to inspire. There were the dim shadowy aisles, the broken gothic windows, tapes tried with ivy, through which the light fell on ruined altars and ancient dilapidated tomb-stones, — the heaps of mouldering bones and shattered skulls, — the graves beneath our feet of generations long passed away ; — all these images of the nothingness of man could not fail to impress the mind Avith seriousness.

Mine was quite given up to the sober solemnity of the scene, when I was suddenly startled by a tall figure in blue, -with a white nun-like drapery over the head, gliding round the sharp angle of a cloister, sinking in a kneeling posture on one of the tombstones, and remaining there as fixed and motionless as the marble be neath. It is astonishing, at some moments, and in some moods, how slight a thing has power to startle one ! My imagination was busy with the past ; and if one of its shadowy spectres had risen from the gray sepulchre at that instant, I could not have been much more electrified than I was by the sudden apparition of the silent figure on the tomb stone. The apparition, however, was soon followed by others : peasants in long blue or scarlet mantles, white caps or kerchiefs tied over their heads, came pouring into the abbey : they belonged to a village funeral procession, which we had passed on the road ; and the effect of these figures scattered about the aisles, or kneeling motionless in silent prayer on the tombstones, their long cloaks falling in graceful drapery around them, was exquisitely picturesque.

Tbe custom at funerals among the Irish, of each going to weep and pray over the grave of " their own" is a very touching one. We stood watching the groups as they entered the aisle, every face wearing a solemn expression ; and saw them separate to the right and left, each to her own dear spot, where, after making the sign of the cross on her forehead, she sank down in a statue-like attitude of prayer. Every thing was still, save the occasional pattering of footsteps over the graves, and along the cloisters, Avhen the mournful chaunt of the death-wail sounded in our ears. We turned to that part of the ruins whence it proceeded, and climbed up to a sort of altar or monument, over which was a large gothic window curtained with ivy. Looking through this windoAv, we saw beneath us two figures, one dressed in a scarlet mantle, with a white cloth thrown over her head, who were seated together, bent over a grave.

One of the women had her back to us, the other being turned side ways, so that we could see her vehement action of grief as she swayed her body backwards and forwards, clapping her hands. The voices joined in the wail, which noAv rose wildly in the loud violence of sorroAv, now subsided into a low murmuring chaunt, re-echoing, and at last dying away among the distant cloisters. The attitude of the two females was very graceful. They were seated on the broken fragments of an ancient monument, raised a few paces above the humble grave, over Avhich they were waving their out-spread arms, while they looked down into it with the greatest anguish. How dear an object did that grave perhaps contain ! a husband — a mother — or it might be a son, — for one of the women was old. We Avere struck by the apparent absence of sorrow in the funeral procession.

The countenances round the hearse Avere solemn, but there were no tears — none of the signs of grief usual on such occasions. This was explained afterwards. The departed was a young girl of eighteen, who had died of fever : three days previously her father had been buried in the abbey, and a fortnight before that her sister had died of the same complaint. The Avhole family had had it. The Avretched mother, widoAved and bereaved of her children, had but just risen from her sick bed with five fatherless little ones to provide for, and in expectation of the birth of a sixth in a feAV Aveeks. The poor broken-hearted creature struggled hard to folloAv the remains of her child as they were borne from her door ; but her kind neighbours prevented her making such an effort in her weak state. Thus she was forced to foi'ego the miserable consolation, so prized in Ireland, of seeing the last sad tribute paid to a friend.

" An' she's poor, too, the crathur, God help her !" said a man who stood by ; " 'twas hard enough for her to buy the coffins for them that are gone, let alone provide for what he's pleased to leave her, and another coming." The view of the abbey from the place Avhere we rejoined the carriage was beautiful, and the scene within its enclosure full of interest, even at that distance. The sober, gray colouring of the old ruins with their rich and graceful draperies of dark ivy, conb trasted finely with the bright and varied hues of the groups gathered under the walls and seated in picturesque attitudes among the moss-covered graves. The blue mantles and snoAv-wbite head-gear of the women, with here and there a bright scarlet or crim son cloak, a broAvn stuff dress, or blue checque apron and red shawl, formed a very national and interesting variety of coloring.

On a rising ground behind, stood a group of men in their gray frieze coats ; and in front, a conspicuous and touching object, was the young girl's coffin lying waiting to be removed into the narroAv receptacle out of which the men Avere digging and throwing up the earth. Our next halt was at Mr. Singleton's lead mines. Here was a busy scene : — men, women, boys, and steam-engines all in active motion. We, ladies, did not linger very long in the neighbourhood of tbe latter, tbe associations connected therewith not being of the most agreeable kind. Creaking tim bers, throbbing temples, brandy and Avater, lamentable cries of " stewardess !" pitching and rolling in a heavy sea ; and sundry other nauseous aud nameless horrors, are all conjured up in a moment, by the sight and smell of a steam-engine.

We were glad to move off to a merry scene at a little distance. Upwards of tAventy Avomen and girls Avere sitting squat ted together in a toav, as close as they could fit on a sort of narrow wooden bench or table. In front of this bench was a stream of water, iu which a number of young men and boys were washing the stones and lead ore in tubs, the contents of which they emptied on the bench before the women. It was the business of the latter to pick up the stones, separating those which contained the ore from the refuse, which they threw away, flinging it over their shoulders in a heap behind the bench. They could only make use of one hand, so closely were they packed together. Never was there a merrier party ; all chatting, laughing, and bandying jests with the young men who were some bringing the stones in wheelbarrows, others filling the tubs, Avhile more were washing and empty ing the ore on tbe bench.

They all looked more like people in the full glee of a holiday festival, than engaged in a laborious occupa tion to gain their daily bread. How unlike tbe toil-Avorn faces in an English factory ! And yet the costume of most of them be spoke the extreme of poverty ; such an ingenious combination of shreds and patches ! Some of the garments looked as if a good fit of laughter Avould have shaken the Avhole concern to pieces. I could not help thinking, as I looked at all these countenances so full of fun and glee, of a passage in a tour through Ireland I had seen the night before at Dromoland. After an eloquent descant, in the usual strain, on the miseries of the Irish peasantry, the sapient writer went on to speak of tbe " eyes bent on the ground ;" tbe " dull, cold apathy of despair," &c, depicted on the faces of the poor.

No wonder for English readers to be misled, when such ut terly false and dolorous pictures are drawu of tbe most light-hearted and laughter-lov ing people on the face of tbe earth ! The dress and coloring of this group were so picturesque, that one of our travellers took out her drawing materials and began making a sketch. This produced great ex citement among the party ; — curious, eager looks, blushing, tittering, whispering, and a a little flutter of gratified vanity among the young ones. One roguish,, merry-faced girl, at the end of the bench, was in absolute agonies of delight. I noticed a very lovely creature in the centre of the row with a perfect Madonna countenance and glossy black hair, over which a white handkerchief was gracefully draped. She was certainly very pretty, and a fine young man who was washing the ore seemed to think so too, tor he invariably plunged his tub in the part of the stream exactly opposite her, and always emptied it at her feet, instead of moving about to supply the wants of every one indifferently as the others did.

I remarked a great deal of pretty coyness on her part, and with all her Madonna face, she was a bit of a co quette ; for once, during the bustle caused by the sketch, the youth took advantage of attention being withdrawn, and ventured to whisper across the bench something too af fectionate, I suppose, when she gathered up a handful of the gravel before her, and threw it at him, with a sort of half frowning, half encouraging playfulness. There is certainly a great deal of natural gallantry and chivalrous feeling about the loAver orders of Irish. One of our party was crossing a rugged bridge throAvn over the stream, Avhich flows from the mine, when I asked a man, who stood at a little distance to help her across. He fleAV with the [greatest alacrity to do so, and afterwards went back in high triumph to his companions, who had eyed him with envious looks.

I heard him boasting to them, that he had had the honor of taking the young lady's hand. This reminds me of an answer I once heard made to a lady by a young country man, which would not have disgraced a cour tier of the polite age of Louis XIV. Aruralfete,or harvest-home, was given by a gentleman to his labourers; and after the sub stantial repast was over, the large barn was cleared out for dancing, — an amusement Paddy prefers to his dinner at any time. The pipes struck up a lively tune, but no one ventured to stir, until a handsome young countryman, the son of a " strong farmer," one of the principal tenants, advanced to wards the daughter of the gentleman Avho gave the fete, and making his best bow, inquired, Avhile a deep color tinged his ruddy cheek, " whether he might make so bold as to ask if her honor would condescend to lead on the jig with him."

The young lady complied at once, and taking her place at the head of the barn, went through the dance ; and I question Avhether she ever had a more proud or delighted partner. Late in the evening afterwards, she and her father were Avalking about, looking on at the dancers, when they saw, to their great surprise, the handsome young countryman, who was generally the life and soul of every amusement, and the most active promoter of jigs and reels especially, standing in a corner, a quiet spectator of the merry scene. " How is this V said the gentleman ; " you the best dancer in the village, and the most indefatigable, standing still ! Avhat will the girls say to you V " I have danced once, sir," was the reply. Do you think, lady," he said, turning torhis fair partner, and holding up his hand, — " do you think after this band having the honor of touching yours, I could give it to any one else % No, surely.

I shall dance no more to-night." ' And he kept his word, very little, doubtless, to the satisfaction of the rustic maidens, who were thus deprived of the handsomest partner and best dancer at the fete. But to return to our friends in the lead mine. The workmen were exceedingly civil, anxious to shew us every thing, and vying with each other who should bring the prettiest specimens of the shining ore. All this was without any expectation of reward : indeed, some who had been the most atten tive, kept out of the way when we were leaving the mine, evidently on purpose to prevent money being offered them. The stream appeared strongly impregnated with iron, judging from the deep red colour with which it had tinged the rock through which it flowed. I saw one of the labourers take off his hat, and, throwing himself at full length on the ground, apply his lips to the uninviting-looking fluid, and drink copiously.

" You must be very thirsty 1" I said. "Not so thirsty either, lady," was the reply. " This is the finest water in the world — God bless it ! — once a body is accustomed to it. I used to be ahvays sickly in myself, but these four years that I've been working here and drinking the water, I never lost a day of my health. Glory be to God !" We visited another group of women, but not so picturesque as the former. They were seated under a shed, pounding the lead ore into powder with a small heavy hammer. One of them, the poorest looking, was a very interesting creature ; her face a delicate oval in shape and pale as marble, with a " beseech ing modesty" in her blue eyes that was beautiful. When we were within about two miles of Ennistymon, we were surprised to find the carriage stop and to see a little bare-footed boy, dressed in corduroy mount on the box, and take his seat beside the coachman.

My father Avho was behind in the rumble, ex plained to us afterwards the appearance of the unexpected fellow-traveller. The little boy was running along with a large black bottle in one hand, and his shoes in the other, and was keeping up with the carriage when my father first observed him, and was struck with his handsome, open, in telligent countenance. The little fellow's account of himself as he ran along, was very interesting, and affords a touching instance of the fatigue these poor creatures cheerfully undergo, and their readiness to do an office of kindness and gratitude. He had, he said, that morning run all the way to Ennis, a distance of sixteen miles, and was now re turning with a bottle of medicine to his master. " That isa long run for you," said my father, " thirty-two miles in the day : — and how much are you to be paid for doing it."

" Paid, sir ! — nothing at all : — I would'nt ask for payment. My master is a good man, sir, and very kind to me ; and I'd do ten times more than that to serve him." " Give me your shoes, I'll take them, and you'll run the lighter without their weight in your hand." The little fellow reached them up to the carriage in a moment. " And now the bottle, — I'll carry that too for you." The boy hesitated, and looked wistfully at the heavy medicine bottle. After a great deal of persuasion, hoAvever, and sundry struggles, he at last reluctantly consented to abandon his close hug of his precious charge, and handed it up on the carriage. Notwithstanding his diminished burdens the poor little messenger's strength began to flag : — bis weary limbs refused to keep pace with the carriage. My father, Avho admired his fidelity, and pitied his poor, hot, tired face, made him follow his shoes and his bot tle and mount up on the box.

Ennistymon is a very prettily situated village ; the inn close to a romantic bridge, under the arches of which we passed, walking on ledges of rocks, dry in the summer season, but over which a foaming cataract dashes in winter. " Tis a perfect Niaga-a-ra in miniature, leedies," said the inn-keeper, who acted as our guide : — a consequential and marvellously erudite personage, who might, judging from his extraordinary portion of the impudence Avhich " a dip in the Shannon" is said to confer, have derived his birth and origin from that river, as Venus did of yore from the briny deep. Groups of people were scattered up and down on the terrace-like ledges of rock in various picturesque attitudes ; — a noisy party of children were playing together on a steep little promontory that rose abruptly from the stream, their motley and gay coloured dresses reflected in the clear water ; — bare-legged women were beetling linen on the rocks ; and all these, with the motionless figures of men fishing on the banks, — the fairy islets of green turf or ivy-clad rock, — the graceful trees overhanging the stream, formed an interesting and varied picture.

We went, while the horses were feeding, to see a mansion which is built on the site of one of three old castles of the O'Briens, occupied in former times by three powerful brothers. A buxom, good-humoured house keeper, with a most prepossessing and be nevolent countenance, showed us the house. The sensitive jealousy of this good dame, for the honour of the family in which she had lived many years, was very characteristic. She shoAved us several old pictures of the O'Brien family and one of the celebrated Countess of Desmond, Avho lived to the age of a hundred and sixty-two years : but she displayed, with far more pride, the handsome likeness of her present master, in the uniform of the tenth Hussars, and that of his most lovely mother on an opposite wall. The house seemed full of beauty, in reality as well as representation : — for we remarked a graceful, Madonna-like girl who glided modestly away as we went into the hall, and a very pretty face peeping over the banisters at the strangers ; to say nothing of tbe handsome countenance of the comely dame who did the honours.

After quitting the house we walked through a shady pleasure ground, and along a tangled and pretty path by the bank of the river. This led to a romantic glen, Avhich our inn-keeper guide, who seemed to have a genius for similes, told us " strongly resembled the floAvery lakes of Killarney." It looked very inviting ; but we were tired, and it was growing late moreover, so we were obliged to turn our backs upon the " flowery lakes," and our faces towards the inn, and soon after resumed our journey. The sea ! — Avith what delight I hailed the first glimpse of its vast, blue, ever-restless expanse, — and heard the sublime "music of its roar," — and inhaled its fresh, invigorating breeze ! But now that Ave are going to make some stay on its shores, you will doubtless have rhapsodies enough on the subject ; so I shall only say, that after a plearant drive we reached the long scrambling hotel of MiltoAvn Malbay before nightfal, and there took up our quarters.

Nothing goes so much against the grain of an Irish waiter, or indeed any of the fraternity, no matter to what country he belongs, as to confess ignorance upon any one point under the sun. " I don't know," is a phrase he can by no means digest. I was greatly amused by a dialogue be tween my father and the Avaiter here last night. " You have a table d' hote in this hotel, — have you not V " Why, ye-es, sir — that is — yes Ave have, sir," added the man boldly, determined to put a good face on the matter, and evidently making a desperate plunge in the dark. " Is there one noAv 1" " Oh, I dare say, sir. I'll inquire. I'm sure anything you want you can have, sir : •always well supplied here, sir." " But the table d' hote, I suppose, is only in summer 1" " Can't exactly say what is the season ; but we ' often have it, very often sir. Of course it can be whenever you please to order, sir. I'll speak to the landlord, or to the cook — perhaps to-day you'd Avish " My father started a little at the power attributed to him of forming a table d' hote by his sole will and pleasure.

" What I wish to knoAV," he said, " is whether there be one now in the hotel, and at what hour, in case any of our party should like to join it." This was too much for the poor waiter. He shuffled and evaded, but in vain : there seemed nothing for it but to admit the humiliating fact, that the word " table d' hote" Avas Greek to him. After many very hard twistings of the far from white napkin in his hand, and sundry hemmings and cougbings, he said Avith much reluct ance. " Why, sir, I really beg pardon. I — -I— of course, I know what you mean ; but I don't exactly, " (with an extraordinary emphasis ou the ' exactly,') " I don't quite exactly, — that is to say* — understand, — I " My father extricated the poor waiter from his embarrassment in a moment by explaining ; but he was evidently much VOL. I. c mortified at having been forced to confess bis ignorance of any thing ; and departed from the room with considerably less im portance than that with which he had flourished into it a few minutes before.

Letter II

Effect of Sea-air, Sea-water, and Sea-views on the Spirits. — A Ramble along the Cliffs. — Ocean Sounds. — The Amphitheatre. — The Pillar. — Intrinsic Bay. Bishop's and Bird Islands. — A Fowl with one leg. — The Sailor's Wife. Kilkee, September 15. — Since our arrival here, the day before yesterday, I have done nothing but wish for you. Not altogether, if you Avill believe me, from selfish motives, but for your own benefit and enjoyment. The air here is so light, .so fresh, so briny, so c inspiriting that it produces an indescribably charming effect on the feelings. One could almost imagine oneself to have emerged into some purer region, leaving behind a com paratively dull and heavy atmosphere, and shaking off the vexations, cares, pomps, vanities, and etiquettes of life. The buoy ancy within is sustained, and as it were, responded to by everything without.

The elastic sod that springs and rises beneath your tread, — the broad cheerful-looking, inviting flag-ways, — the sparkling sands, and then the waves ! — bounding, leaping, tossing as if in very wantonness of delight ; their wild, fantastic gambols like the glee of some frolicksome child that scarcely knows Iioav enough to give Arent or expression to the abounding gladness with which it is filled. There is something quite contagious in the excitement of these life-like waves ; at least so it seems to me. I can hardly imagine any one withstanding their glad dening influence, and the buoyant sensation they communicate to the spirits, who is not absolutely " crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love." The little one-eyed doctor at Schwalbach, Herr Fenner, maintained stoutly in his pamphlet that the Nassau Avaters could cure effectually the pangs of the last mentioned item in the quotation, together with every other known ill that flesh is heir to.

Now, without any disparagement to the Pauline or the Wein Brunnen, — the contents of both being most exhilarating, pleasant, and refreshing, — I would give the preference to the briny waves of wild Kilkee, with all their breezy and buoyant accompaniments, for producing moral benefits as well as physical. There are baths enough, cold and Avarm, shoAver, vapour and douche, to dislodge a legion of rheumatisms, sciaticas, and spine complaints. No nervousness could hold out a week against the united bracing of such salt air and salt water ; and head-aches and colds are blown away without any ceremony. The poor Avho come here for health " break up their crutches to boil the praties," and the rich become robust, rosy, and unfashionable looking. So far for the body ; and as for tbe mind, its anxieties must indeed be deep-seated that cannot be lightened and relieved by the exhilarating scenes presented to it ; grand and sublime, and yet simple, unsophisticated ; fresh from the hand of their mighty Creator, unsoiled and undimmed by the world's polluting breath.