There Were Some Specimens Of The Bronze Chain Mail Used By The
Ancient Irish, And The Foot Covering, Which They
Wore a good deal like
Indian moccassins, answering exactly to the description given by Scott
in the notes to the
Lady of the Lake, of the kind of brogans of the dun
deer's hide which shod the fleet-footed Malise, messenger of the fiery
cross. There was also a woollen dress found in a bog, which was exactly
shaped like a modern princess dress. I was sorry I had only one poor
sixty minutes to carry off all my eyes could gather up in that time of
these reliques of ancient Ireland. I would recommend any one who cares
for the ancient history of Ireland to study these records of the past.
What we see affects us more than what we hear.
DUBLIN - HOME AGAIN.
To my friend, Councillor Leitch, one of the many successful men who have
migrated from the Moravian settlement of Grace Hill, I had expressed a
wish to see the face of Jonathan Pim, the landlord of whose goodness I
heard so much in the neighborhood of Clew Bay. Through Mr. Leitch's
kindness I obtained a seat in the gallery of the round room of the
Mansion House where the meeting was held to consider the advisability of
holding an exhibition of Irish manufactures. It was expected that I
should see Mr. Jonathan Pim at this meeting, but he was not there; he
was represented by his son. It was something for my backwoods eyes to be
privileged to see this grand room, built, I hear, for the reception of
His Gracious Majesty King George the Fourth when he made his visit to
Ireland, called the "Irish Avatar." At one side of the round room was a
sort of dais, on which was a chair of state that, I suppose, represented
a throne. Round the gallery were hung shields, containing the coats-of-
arms of the worshipful the Lords Mayor of Dublin. The chair was occupied
by the present Lord Mayor, a very fine-looking gentleman who became his
gold chain of office well.
The day before I had been taken by Mrs. Leitch to an academy of arts and
industry. For some reason of alterations and repairs there was no
admission beyond the vestibule. In this entrance hall were specimen
slabs and pillars of all the Irish marbles, which were there in as great
variety as in Shushan the palace. There was the marble of Connemara in
every shade of green, black marble of Kilkenny, red marble of Cork, blue
credited to Killarney, I think, and many, many others. I think there was
hardly a county in Ireland unrepresented. I do think that among all this
wealth of marbles the Irish people might gratify their most fastidious
taste without sending to Italy. I saw a good many productions of Irish
industry, but they seem always confined to the localities which produce
them. You see things in shop windows ticketed Scotch and English, but,
until this new movement began, nothing marked Irish. Yet Limerick laces
might tempt any fine lady, as well as Antrim linens and Down damasks.
There is also Blarney tweed of great cheapness and excellence, Balina
blankets, and the excellent Claddagh flannel.
If there were enterprise as well, and a desire to patronize home
industries, I think the chimneys of factories now silent and idle might
smoke again. I particularly noticed in every corner of Ireland where I
have been that where I saw the tall chimneys of factories in operation I
did not see barefoot women with barefoot asses selling ass loads of turf
for threepence.
I left Dublin - really, I may say, an almost unseen Dublin - behind me and
turned my face Belfastwards.
Drogheda is the last place of which I have taken any notes. I was a day
or two there. In fact I was more than a few days, but was confined to my
room by a severe neuralgia most of the time. There is a fine railway
bridge here, lofty enough for schooners to sail under. The land on both
sides of the river is like a garden, and is devoted to pleasure grounds
in the usual proportion. I was wishful to see the very spot on the banks
of the Boyne where James and William fought for a kingdom long ago. As I
looked at the fair country checked off into large fields by green
hedges, at the waving trees of enclosed pleasure-grounds, I recalled
King William's words about Ireland, "This land is worth fighting for,"
and I thought he was right.
The Boyne is but a small river, no wider than the Muskrat at Pembroke,
but deep enough to carry schooners a little way up. There is a canal
beside it, and it was full of barges carrying coal and other things.
Near to Drogheda town, in the suburbs, is a bridge over the Boyne. I
crossed it looking for the locality of the battle. Meeting a clerical-
looking gentleman, I enquired if he could point out to me where the
battle of the Boyne was fought. This gentleman, who was a Franciscan
friar, directed me to keep along the road by the river bank, when I
would come to another bridge and the monument beside it. "It stands
there a disgrace to Drogheda and a disgrace to all Ireland," he said. He
showed me the new Franciscan church, a very grand cut stone building.
There is also a Dominican church, and an Augustinian, besides two
others, and there was the foundation stone of still another to the
memory of that Oliver Plunket, Catholic archbishop and primate of
Ireland, put to death in the time of Titus Oates. I was informed that
the proportion of Catholics to Protestants in Drogheda is six to one.
Walking through Drogheda on market day I did not see one barefoot woman
in the crowd; all were pretty well dressed and well shod.
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