Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub

liamentary forces. It has suffered less than most of the castles we have seen; and though, no doubt, is curtailed considerably in dimension, the main keep, a massive, square, embattled tower close to the bridge, is yet habitable. It is now used as a police barrack. Athy is a corporate town, having received its charter at the instance of Sir Robert Digby, knight, in 1613. It returned two members to the Irish Parliament until the Union, when, according to Lewis,* the sum of £15,000 was awarded as compensation for the abolition of the elective franchise, £13,800 o which was paid to the Duke of Leinster, as proprietor of the borough, and £1200 to Lord Ennismore. The Duke contributes largely to the charitable and educational institutions of this town, and appears to have a deep hold upon the affections of his tenantry.

Not far from the town, on the western bank of the river, are the glorious old walls of Woodstock. The day was full of dreamy influences, as the sky of soft, fleecy, beautiful clouds, which, from their contrast, gave greater intensity to the blue vault gleaming between. The distant hills wore a purplish tint; and nearer were the sunny banks, and the Barrow shining like molten silver. The woodlands looked dim in the hazy atmosphere, for the heat was intense, and it was delicious to enter the cool ruins, and repose in the lonely chambers, where our footfall sounded strangely, as though we had no right to intrude upon the solitude to which the castle was yielded. It, too, had its share of blows. The walls are of great thickness, to which, doubtless, their preservation is mainly owing, and deep-mullioned windows show the cost bestowed on its erection. To whom that honour is due we could not ascertain. Part of the outer court, and an arched gateway, are still standing. The Irish were in possession, in 1642, but were not suffered to retain it. The Marquis of Ormond wrested it from them, and made it the halting-place for his forces. It shared the evershifting alternations of the period; the Parliamentary troops were surprised by Owen Roe O'Neil, in 1647, and he held the castle until compelled, in turn, to yield it to Lord Inchiquin.

Three miles from Athy, on the Dublin road, is a high mount, or earthwork, commanding a view of all the country round. This is called the Moat of Ardsall, or Ardscull, near which the conflict between the English and Scots, already mentioned, took place, A.D. 1315. It was planted by the Duke of Leinster, and is supposed to mark the last resting-place of some famous king or warrior. About two miles eastward is another mound, or rath, celebrated in history, Mullagh mast. This was the ancient Carmen, or inclosure, used as the Naasteigham, where the States of South Leinster assembled. A pillar-stone is near, raised, it is supposed, by the worshippers of Beal.

When Ireland was converted to Christianity, this locality was placed under anathema, having been so long devoted to heathen rites, and overlooking one of the chief scenes of Bealworship, called Beal-tinne-glas (Baltinglass) the pure fire of Beal. The present name, Mullach-mastian, or "moat of decapitation," is derived from this spot having been the theatre of one of the most treacherous butcheries that ever disgraced the page of history. The account in the Statistical Survey of the County Kildare is as follows:

"Carmen takes its present name, Mullaghmast, from the base conduct of some adventurers in the sixteenth century, who, having overrun much of the neighbouring country, were resisted by some of the Irish chieftains who had property on the Queen's County side of the Barrow. The adventurers proposed an amicable conference, to be held at Carmen: it was acceeded to. On the Kalends of January (New Year's Day), in the nineteenth of Elizabeth, the gentlemen of the Queen's County side of the Barrow, then the boundary of the Pale, repaired to Carmen, as to an amicable conference, when they were surrounded by three lines of horse and foot, and not one survived. The successful assassins took possession of the properties of the unfortunate gentlemen, and the barony bears the name of Slieve Maugan, or the mountains of mourning. In such detestation is the act held by the country people, that they believe a descendant of the murderers never saw his son arrive at the age of twenty-one. The properties so acquired have melted away, and got into other hands."

*Top. Dict.-Athy.

Sad thoughts of the mourning of families and friends, which the slaughter of so many noble and confiding beings had caused, occupied us as we bent our course back to Athy.

The sun cast a flood of autumnal light over field and woodland, as he sank behind the western heights. Overhead lay the blue sky, until it blended with pale yellow, as the lingering rays streaked the azure with gold. Twilight overtook us on our road, bringing peaceful thoughts.

The

Barrow flowed with a soothing murmur, and the placid water, on which the boats moved so gently as not to disturb its rest, lay spread like a mirror, until the evening wind broke the smooth surface into dimpling ripples. As we reached our inn, the aspect of the heavens denoted a repetition of fair weather on the morrow. There was not much to remark about the hotel where we enjoyed our comfortable dinner; and since writing our account of Woodstock, learnt that this was the locus in quo remarkable, in the annals of the Geraldines, for the preservation of the heir by a baboon, or monkey, whence the Fitzgeralds derive their crest. The story is, that some time after this castle had come to the possession of the Fitzgeralds, by the marriage, already mentioned, of Dorothea O'More with Thomas Lord Offaley, a son was born, and placed at nurse in the castle, when it accidentally took fire. The flames spread with rapidity; and in the exertion of the first law of nature, self-preservation, by the household, the heir was for a moment forgotten. The terrified domestics, on remembering their precious charge, rushed to the room where his cradle lay; but the flames had preceded them, and they could get no trace of him. The nurse, who did not abandon her post, had perished in the fire, and each considered the infant had also fallen a victim, when, on regaining the courtyard, they heard a strange noise from a remote tower which the flames had spared. looking up the domestics beheld a favourite baboon, usually kept chained, with the young heir of Offaley carefully held in her arms! To place a ladder against the tower, and secure

On

the child thus miraculously preserved, was the work of an instant; and the infant was restored to his despairing parents. The noble lord, in remembrance of the safety of his child, took as his crest a monkey chained, proper, which continues to be the armorial distinction of the Duke of Leinster's house. The well-known motto of the Geraldine, Crom ill a Boo, means, according to Mr. Rawson, "the district on the crooked water." A different signification is given to similar sounds in Arabic, as appears from a letter by the famous Lady Hester Stanhope to Sir Gore Ouseley, dated from Djouni, in 1837.† She says,

[ocr errors]

"All the ancient Irish and Scotch families still retain proof of Arab descent, in name as well as in personal characteristic. The Duke of Leinster's motto, Croom Aboo, his father's vineyards,' has a grand signification, alluding to the most learned of works, of which only two copies exist. The name of O'Brien is, in Arabic, Obeyan or Abeyan, which famous race may, perhaps, take its name from its master."

Again en route, we started early, following the navigation path, and a cheerful morning accompanied us. The sun shone brightly through our bedroom windows, and we did not linger either over our toilette or early breakfast.

We were not long in leaving Athy, and getting into the purer air of the leafy woodlands. The fields were still wet with dews, which sparkled on the blades of grass like gems of pricediamond or sapphire. Some cows were being milked in a farm-yard, and the sweet song of the dairymaid lingers in our recollection_

"Like joy in memory set."

She sung in praise of

THE PRIDE OF ATHY.

"A boy in my teens, just before I reached twenty, Oft among the young lasses I cast a hawk's eye, Like roses and lilies, and daffydown-dillies, Bloomed Cathleen O'Regan, the pride of Athy.

"She'd say Pat, be easy; oh! why do you tease me?

I dread to come near you, and cannot tell why.'
Be my sowl, neither Jenny, nor Nell of Kilkenny,
Could equal my Cathleen, the pride of Athy.

* Stat. Survey, County Kildare, ii. ↑ Warburton's "Crescent and the Cross," note 3.

"When war was proclaimed, and the battle was raging,

She kissed me, I pressed her, with tears in each eye;

We sighed when we parted, she cried, so engaging, 'Remember poor Cathleen, who weeps in Athy.

"Forget not the hours when you plucked the sweet flowers

If you ever prove false, I shall certainly die.'

No, Cathleen! To you, love, I'll ever keep true, love,

Sweet Cathleen O'Regan, the pride of Athy.'"

We saw several country seats, surrounded by luxuriant plantations; and from many a wheaten-field, whose brown hue was gradually assuming a yellowish tint of ripeness, the plump ears inclined gracefully to yield us a morning salutation. Fragile poppies and purple cornflowers, with innumerable daisies and yellow grounsel, seemed to rejoice in the bloom of their beauty; and distant hills bounded the horizon, until lost in the soft woolly clouds suspended over them. Our route lay through the barony of Kilkea and Moone, in the county of Kildare; and we journeyed along the parishes of Dunbrea, Ardrie, and Tankardstown. Some handsome seats in this district should be specially mentioned: Kilmoroney, the residence of the family of the Very Rev. Dean Trench; Farm Hill, and Leinster Lodge. A rath, supposed to be of Danish construction, is situated close to the river. Attributing these circular mounds to the Danes is a popular error. Long before the advent of the Northmen, they were numerous in Ireland, constructed by the Irish chieftains. It has been well remarked, had they been erected by the Danes, they would have been levelled on their extirpation; instead of which, they were held in the utmost reverence by the country people, who, regarding them as the chosen resorts of fairies (the "good people"), preserved them from being invaded by ploughshare or spade.

We overtook a fine old man, proceeding to Carlow to see a daughter in "settled sarvice;" he had been a helper in the stables attached to M'Evoy's hotel, in Naas, years ago, and knew several frequenters of the Curragh, whose love for field-sports had brought to our acquaintance. As we walked along, and discovered we both knew the same people, any reserve he might have felt towards us wore off. We had taken the precaution, on leaving Athy, of procuring an ample store of sandwiches; the old ostler was hungry, and

enjoyed what, he said, "he seldom got now God help him-the bit o' mate." A halfway public-house afforded some good porter, and he was pleased to say our "good natur" reminded him of the "ould times."

We inquired could he find no employment?

"Lord love your honour," he said, "there's no 'casion for stableboys now; these rails have knocked all the posters off the roads; and, barrin' for the hens to roost in, there's no call for the chaises."

"The hotels have suffered also?" said we.

"B'lieve it, sir; no one thinks of stoppin' for a night now, if they can help it; and when they do, 'tisn't much good for the house. They come in, maybe, by a late train, and start again by an early one."

We met some countryfellows driving furiously, and beating their horses, at which we remonstrated. This elicited some remarks from our companion.

"Tis asy to see your honour is fond o' the bastes, and I'll engage is a good

masther over them."

We confess the recollection of the broken neck of one hunter, a leg smashed against a coped stone-wall of another, sundry broken knees-to say nothing of severe punishment in hard runs-rose in judgment against our acquiescence in this eulogy. We said we had some good ones in our day, and we always were fond of dogs and horses. Surely, surely-I knowed it. The mastiff at the public-house came to your honour directly you sat down, and dogs is very sagacious."

[ocr errors]

We had dropped, near our chair, the paper in which the sandwiches were packed; this might have influenced the mastiff's desire to make our acquaintance.

"Horses, though they haven't the credit of it, are very 'cute," continued the old ostler; "and there's a story of these parts about a horse of O'More's

your honour heard tell of the O'Mores, I'll be bound? (we said yes) -that bangs the world for 'cuteness. He saved his masther's life wanst upon a time."

"Let us rest a little," we said, seating ourselves on a stile near the old entrance," and tell us all about it."

Nothing loath, the veteran stretched himself beside us, with his back against an ivy-grown wall, and told his story.

"You see, long and many a day ago, the O'Mores, Princes of Leix, were grate people in this country, before the Duke of Leinster or Oliver Crummell came to the place; and they had so many castles, and houses, with the best of furniture, and full and plenty, that the English resolved to root them out, or they could get no footing at all. Antony O'More was the Cean Rig, or chief King, at the time-a famous warrior, and tip-top horseman, ready to face stone, timber, earth, or wather, and had a horse to carry him, by all accounts. I can't say how the horse was bred, sir, for the Racing Calendar wasn't published then; but no doubt he had the best o' blood in his veins, or he'd have no stall in O'More's stables. I've heard Eclipse, that ran a mile a minnit, couldn't stand him one hate, or Mr. Irwin's Faugh-a-ballagh run a distance beside him. Well, sir, the English planned to take O'More, and sure enough they trapped him in the mountains, as he was out wolfhunting for that was the sport thenand thought they had him snug. the gentlemen that were out with him were kilt and murthered; but O'More shouted, thouman lathe, coppal dun' ('go on, brown horse'), and away he went like the wind. On he went, over hill and dale, by bog and bawn, until he reached the brink of a high mountain near Timahoe; when, thinking all all danger was over, and being very tired, O'More threw himself down, and fell fast asleep.

All

"While the Prince was snoring, the brave horse stood over him like a sentry on guard; and, sure enough, a fine watch he was, for his high head was snuffing the breeze, and ears cocked showed he was wide awake. 'Twas well for the Prince, for, my dear sir, the English were on the track, and every niinnit came nearer and nearer. When the horse was sinsible of this, he pawed his master to rouse him, but the poor chief was so dead beat, he remained fast asleep. Well, the poor baste was bothered at this; so bedad he took the Prince's coatamore, or greatcoat, in his mouth, and lifted the Prince a little, and shook him; but 'twouldn't do. So the fine horse was in a quandary entirely when he heard the inimy advancing, and couldn't wake the Prince. Again he took him up by his mouth, and, rising him purty high, let him drop of a suddent. This woke

him, shure enough; but he was so stiff and wore out, he couldn't get up on the horse, though he heard the English crossing over to take him. On this, sir, what did the horse do but kneel down, like a blessed crater, or one of the horses in Batty's Circus, as, I dare say, your honour seen, and thus helped the Prince to get sated. Feeling him well in the saddle, and knowing he could stick by the knees-for they never wore stirrups instead of striving to get along the fair road, which the English were pelting along, the brown horse leaped from the top of the mountain straight down, in three leaps, reached the foot of the valley, and carried his rider home to Dunamase! The townland is called Augh-Antonah, or Antony's horse,' as good right it has; and for hundreds of years not a blade of grass grew upon any of the three spots where the brave brown horse landed after each leap."

"What place is that?" we asked; pointing to the remains of an ancient dwelling, half-hid among the trees.

66

Grangemellon, sir, an ould ancient sate of the Fitzgeralds. I heard tell the one who lived there in the time of King James-a purty king the bosthoon made-was a fine spirited gentleman, and well liked by rich and poor. Shamus couldn't lave him alone, for he took his property, and made him prisoner; but he got out after the battle of the Boyne-wather, and protected all the property of Catholics and Protestants, in the city of Dublin. He was requested by the Lord Mayor and Corporation to present the keys of Dublin Castle to King William, as he sat ahorseback, out fornenst the College, where his image now stands, and 'tis like the King heard of all the good he done, from the answer he med when Fitzgerald brought him the keys."

"And what was that?"

"Why, sir," said the King, "they're in the hands of a rale gentleman. They could not be in betther. I wish you to keep them."

That was very polite of the King," we replied, as we resumed our walk. "You are a great historian. What is your name?"

"Dan Kelly, please your honour." "And a very good name it is, Dan," we said.

We were leaving the vestiges of former greatness, when it occurred to us, that our fellow-traveller might be

as learned in legendary lore, as in national history, and we questioned him accordingly

[ocr errors]

Troth, then, I'm sure your honour is too sinsible to give in to such shanaos. Puttin' trust in charms was near causin' a sore loss on these lands. I remember the day as if it was but yesterday."

"You can tell it to us, Dan, as we walk on."

"You must know, then, sir, that when I was a gossoon, going of errands from the great house up there," he pointed towards the mansion of Grangemellon, "it was one of the sportingest places in the County Kildare, and that's a big word. The finest pack o' foxhounds that ever gave tongue to a tally met twice a week, an' lots of grand company resoorted from all parts.

Tis said they ate the master out of house and home, but gentle and simple, man and boy, ay, an' woman, too, with horses and dogs, doted down upon Jerry Nolan.'

"And who might that fortunate person be?" we inquired.

"The huntsman, sir; a clane-limbed, active, well-fatured man, as ever you clapt your two living eyes on; and, mavrone, 'tis he was the pride of the pack, sated on his favorite horse, Paddy Whack, in his bran-new scarlet frock, with snow-white cords, and iligant topboots, his velvet cap shinin' on his head, and horn slung by his side. The dogs delighted in him, and would follow him through fire or wather. They loved the sound of his voice, and a cross word from his lips would quell the ragingest worry that ever broke out in a kennel. But somebody loved him above the dogs, and he loved her as well, and a fine couple they wor, as ever you'd see in a month of Sundays. She was Nancy Mullins, a strong farmer's daughter on the estate, and a grate favourite with the missis, she was so genteel. Nancy was a slip of a girl, with a figure and step like a blood filly, and one would have thought she never hurt the grass under her feet, she trod so asy. But she walked into the affections of Jerry, an' no mistake, an' the sight of her, when she came to the parlour windys, or to the hall-door, maybe, to see the hounds pass by, going to the meet, would rise

the colour in Jerry's cheek, till 'twas almost the same ás his coat.

"Now, though everybody about the place knew well that Jerry was doting down upon Nancy, or Miss Mullins, as she was always called, for they war of ould anshint stock, though now farming, he was so diffident and bashful, and thought so much of her, and so little of himself, that he never had the courage to say the soft word, only lifted his cap when she spoke to him, same as to the misses, or any other lady in thể land. This was frittin' and grievin' poor Nancy, who did not like to make any advances, for she had as much modesty as a blessed nun. Kitty Molloy, the dairy-maid, knew exactly how the land lay. She tried to put the come hether herself upon Jerry, but 'twas no go, an' to do her justice, she had no spite agin her rival, for she was a good cratur, though her advice was near doin' mischief. One evenin', towards the end of September, as I was bringing a basket ov groceries from Athy, for the riglar supply from Dublin was delayed, I heard two voices a-talkin' in the orchard, near the back entrance, and there were the two colleens, Nancy and Kitty, discoorsin' how to make Jerry spake out.

"As I was a little curos, I stooped a bit, so as not to be seen, and listened to the colloguin.

"Now, Kitty, my darlint, sure you wont tell it to mortual;" said Nancy, in her soft, sweet voice, like an April wind, or a meandherin' strame. She had an insinivative way of spakin' that went right to your heart. But I'm a'most kilt through my love for that boy.'

"If I was you, I wouldn't stand it any longer," replied Kitty Molloy.

"Why, then, what on earth would you have me do?' asked Nancy, in deep earnestness. I'd die sooner than do anything that a faymale--`

"Arrah, don't bother me, you an your faymale,' interrupted Kitty, for she was passionate at times, with respect to you; you and he are the conthrariest pair I ever cum across, since I lifted a can,' sis she.

"Oh! tell me what to do to win his love, an' I'll do it?' answered Miss Mullins, as if subdued by the other's sperrit.

* Idle gossip.

« ПредишнаНапред »