LIBRARY OF CONGRESS DDDOSnEbm li»L ■»-« 41A-I Class Book 1 ^.^ OConnell, John Philpot Curran, and Charles Stewart Parnell. As we listened to the story of the faithful servant of Robert Emmet and of more than one patriot-martyr resting beneath the greensward, a shower of plaintive bird notes from a dense copse close by fell upon the air, and Mary voiced our common thought in the words of the poet: How sweet sing the birds over mountain and vale I,ike soft-sounding chords that lament for the Gael! Another delightful drive was out to a district known as Donnybrook, thence to the Carmelite Convent outside Dublin, and beyond that to Rath- farnham, the Mother House of the Loretto Nuns The beautiful country road was shut in by hi<-h stone walls over which one got tempting views of great old trees, and hints of stately mansions. The picturesque charm of Ireland wove its spell over us as we drove along under the shadows oi trees that seemed ready to whisper secrets 147 SCHOOLGIRLS ABROAD of the ages long gone. The poetry of the still beauty moved us, and snatches of song seemed the speech most fitting. We always counted on Mary for the right line of poetty, and along the road to Rathfarnham we heard again verses that had a new meaning for us. There was an Irish lilt in her voice as she quoted Mangan's words : Her woods are tall and straight, grove rising over grove; Trees flourish in her glens below and on her heights above; Ah, in heart and soul I shall ever, ever love The fair hills of Eire, O! If not a stone's-throw, at least a short ride from Dublin brought us to one of those historic monuments of Erin's past, a Round Tower; and here we recalled MacCarthy's stirring lines: The pillar towers of Ireland, how wondrously they stand By the lakes and rushing rivers, through the valleys of our land! In mystic file, through the isle, they lift their heads sublime, — These grey, old pillar temples, these conquerors of time! How many different rites have these grey old temples known! To the mind, what dreams are written in these chronicles of stone! What terror and what error, what gleams of love and truth, Have flashed from these walls since the world was in its youth! Our visits to the shops made us regret we hadn't landed first in Ireland instead of Italy; for by 148 SCHOOLGIRLS ABROAD this time both our purses and our custom-house bills forbade much in the line of purchases. How- ever, linens, laces and Belleek ware tempted us sorely, and we found that the quickest and most comfortable way to get rid of the temptation was to yield to it. Arthur Guinness, Son & Co. is a prominent sign in Dublin, and visitors find much to learn in the great brewery which this firm represents. It seems the whole process of brewing stout is open to the public at certain hours. We did not avail ourselves of the opportunity thus offered, — an opportunity pressed on us by our cab-driver; but his good humor was restored by our enjoyment of the old story which he related as an incident of the week before. It was of the tourist, who, tak- ing with a friend a draught of the Guinness' product, remarked to the waiter: "Sure, this is eating and drinking; isn't it, Pat?" To which he re- plied: "It is, sir; and a night's lodging besides, if you take enough of it." We were loath to leave Dublin, but our schedule was not to be changed, so we took train for Killar- ney; and if we weren't already in love with Ireland when we started, we certainly were before we had been two hours on our southwest course through beautiful Erin. On the bluest of blue skies above us flocks of fleecy clouds were herded by soft winds; on the greenest of green meadows below it, gentle- eyed cows were browsing; here and there were " peat-beds, once the forest primeval " ; beside the 149 SCHOOLGIRLS ABROAD even cuts were stacks of peat, and the black bogs were edged with delicate white blossoms. Over all was a mystic glamour, an atmosphere giving an opal effect ; and we thought with Aunt Margaret that Corot would have revelled in the scenery of Ireland. About sunset we stopped at Mallow, where Mary and Catherine decided to "take a turn" on the platform; they barely missed being left behind, in their eagerness to make the acquaintance of a little old woman who was selling laces just out- side the station gate. Mary declared that she was the very one who, once upon a time, said to a generous purchaser : " May you ride in a fine carriage, and may the mud of your wheels splash the face of your enemies, — sure you haven't any!" If the country was lovely in the sunlight, it was lovelier in the dusk: and as we looked out on the Low-lying pastures, like a wan lagoon In a dim land of ghosts, we almost expected the "little folk" to appear; and just as we felt sure they were stirring in the shadows, we found the train slackening, and the guard called out: "Killarney." 150 XVI. ^ONC before most of our fellow-travellers at the hotel dreamed of rising, we started out; and, as we followed the lovely lane that led to the town, the sunshiny morning seemed made for us. Killarney — lakes and town — nestles in a valley of rare beauty. The Mac- Gillicuddy Reeks, the Tomies, and the Purple Mountains encircle it; and it is fascinating to watch the sunlight touch to color the crags and fissures. Truly In purple they gleam like our High Kings of yore. In this setting of glory, the little town impresses one as part of a picture. The whitewashed cottages, thatched roofs, and tiny gardens edged with cobble- stones, that cluster in the lanes and away from the streets of the town, are most attractive; and the faces we saw at windows and doorways were of the real Irish winsome type. There is no mistaking a Catholic church on a weekday; one has only to go with the crowd. This we did; though it was perhaps a small crowd that led up a hill and stairway to the Franciscan church, where faith and piety were evident, though Mary spoke of it as "audible." After Mass we walked along the main street, looking in at some of the shops, and adding to our stock of souvenirs. We had sent our cards, with a letter of intro- duction, to one of the reverend Fathers at the 151 SCHOOLGIRLS ABROAD monastery ; and on our return to the hotel we found him waiting to show us what is meant by an Irish welcome and Irish hospitality. Father Francis took us to the cathedral, designed by Pugin; then to the convent school, conducted by the Presenta- tion Nuns, where we spent a most enjoyable hour. It was there we first saw real Irish dancing. The children were grace itself; and there was a sweet, modest charm about the light-footed little Irish beauties that quite won our hearts. There, too, we heard songs in Gaelic, composed by the Sisters, — songs that were like Killarney itself, now aglow with sunshine, then grey with the mist of tears. We were next conducted to the demesne of Lord and Lady Kenmare. We were in a sort of "Alice- in-Wonderland " state of mind when we saw the beauty of the place. The residence is of red sand- stone, and has the appearance of an English manor house. It is on an eminence overlooking the fairest valley in the world. The luxuriant hills frame the scene, which is beyond words. The Lower Lake, Lough Leane, with its green borders and emerald islands, stretches just below the castle, while the immediate grounds are laid out after the manner of an Italian garden. The estate is large, and the winding roadways take one through varied scenes. We had the good fortune to meet Lady Ken- mare — a lady of charm and distinction, — who showed us the private chapel and her own study. The Stations of the Cross we noticed especially. They are carved of many kinds of wood, each in 152 SCHOOLGIRLS ABROAD its natural color, and the effect is wonderfully artistic. Lord Kenmare we caught only a glimpse of. He was just starting out on a hunting trip,, and he looked so fine in his topboots, riding coat, etc., that we almost forgot our manners and stared in admiration; while it seemed quite natural when Mary asked him if the hunting was good at Grau- stark! Father Francis began to tell us how much Lord and Lady Kenmare were doing for the people in and about Killarney; but Lady Kenmare deftly changed the subject by telling us, with touching mother love and pride, that her little son had served Mass for the first time that morning, his older brother acting as coach. It was interest- ing to know, too, that Father Robert Hugh Benson had said the Mass. We were sorry to have missed seeing him; but just before our arrival he had gone out on a fishing trip. Altogether, our visit was delightful and will not soon be forgotten. A whole day was devoted to the Lakes. We drove for miles and miles through a veritable Forest of Arden. Trees, vines, mosses, myrtle, holly and arbutus everywhere; the hills, under the spell of sun and clouds, never the same for five minutes; grey ruins, rude stone bridges, singing rills, tiny waterfalls; a sense of antiquity over everything, yet the freshness of youth in the soft verdure. All one could think was, God must love Ireland! Our first stop was at Muckross Abbey, once the home of Franciscan friars. The guide-book thus 153 SCHOOLGIRLS ABROAD summarized the history of the Abbey: "Founded, 1340. Suppressed, 1542. Renovated, 1602. Re- stored, 1626. Destroyed, 1652." The ruins are really majestic. On the ground-floor one traces the following divisions and their probable uses: chapel, choir, Lady Chapel, vestry, reception room, cloister-court, and storeroom. The floor above was given over to refectory, kitchen, dor- mitory, lavatory, — all built around the cloister- court. The stone arches, mouldings and columns are well preserved, and are beautiful indeed. The choir contains the oldest tombs of the Abbey. The MacFinans and O'Sullivans, O'Donoghues and MacCarthys, buried there, surely have a royal resting-place. In the centre of the cloister-court is a venerable yew tree, said to be nearly six hundred years old. The spreading branches overshadow the whole monastery. It is held by the people of the locality that injury will befall any one who breaks off even a twig of the tree. Of course we did not believe in any such superstition, but we were not anxious to take any liberties with the yew tree of Muckross Abbey. As we approached the ruins that morning, we heard sounds that did not seem in keeping with the surroundings; and, on leaving the avenue and turning toward the entrance to the chapel, we came upon a scene which explained the strange noise. There, seated on the ancient tombs beside the Abbey, was a party of American tourists, singing "From Greenland's Icy Mountains." We 154 SCHOOLGIRLS ABROAD did not notice in words the incongruity of it all; if friars in their graves did not resent it, why should we? We paid a second visit to Muckross Abbey, but that comes later in the story. A further drive brought us to where we were to take the boats for " Dinis Cottage." It was in this last stretch of road that our driver regaled us with quaint legends and stories. Pointing to a tiny thread of water trickling down a gully, he told us that in the season the thread became a dashing cascade. Once upon a time, he continued, a man who had heard of the beautiful cascade travelled many miles to see it. He had tramped for hours where he had been told he would find it, and finally, worn out, he sat down to rest. A cart passed along the road below him, and he called out, inquiring of the driver the loca- tion of the cascade. The driver stopped for a moment, looked up, then started on, as he replied: "Sure, sir, you're sitting on it." That evening at the hotel we learned that every driver tells that same story to every party he takes past the cascade. At the marge of the Upper Lake, we found boats waiting for the party, and soon we were on the waters that seemed of liquid emeralds. On the islands and the green shores there was a dense growth of hazel, arbutus, mountain ash, and holly. The dark, glossy leaves of the holly shone out against the paler greens; and a new depth of pathos rang through the exile's thought voiced in the lines: 155 SCHOOLGIRLS ABROAD Wisha, Christmas time at Kerry, and me not there to see The scarlet berries burnin' on the shinin' holly tree! With enchantment on every side, as well as above and beneath us, we were rowed on down the Long Range, past the Eagle's Nest, a tall cliff with a remarkable disposition to have the last word. It must have been here that Tennyson heard the echoes "Dying, dying, dying." Passing on under the old Weir Bridge, an unforgettable spot, we came to "The Meeting of the Waters" and to "Dinis Cottage," where we stopped for refresh- ments. We sat on the green border of the Middle Lake and had a picnic lunch, after which we wan- dered about, everywhere finding new charms. It was near " Dinis Cottage" that Mary and Catherine discovered fuchsia plants of such lux- uriance as to cover the whole side and roof of cottages. Soon we took to the boats again, and continued our way through fairy scenes, passing between Brickeen and Dinis Islands into Lough Leane, the largest of the three Lakes. Legend has it that a rich and prosperous city once rose where the waters of Lough Leane now are. The guide- book puts it thus: "This city contained a fountain, of which it was predicted that, should its mouth be left un- covered even for a single night, its waters would rise and deluge the land. Inspired with more than usual recklessness, the then prince caused the cover of the well to be removed. During the night the spring flowed over, and what had 156 SCHOOLGIRLS ABROAD been a teeming city and smiling land became a beautiful Lake. Yet death came not upon the inhabitants or their prince. The city and palace still exist in all their ancient glory beneath the waters of the Lake, and glimpses of them have often been obtained (so they believe) by the boat- men who ply upon it; while O'Donoghue himself is permitted at certain periods to revisit the upper world. On every May morning, at sunrise, this chieftain emerges from the enchanted Lake, and, mounted on a beautiful white steed, comes riding over its waters, fairies hovering over him and strewing flowers in his path." All sorts of pretty stories, not a few of them touched with true Irish wit, were told us by the boatmen as their oars carried us smoothly over the waters to Innisfallen, that island of sad memory to lovers of Erin. We visited the ruined Abbey, and wondered not that Tom Moore called Innis- fallen "a fairy isle." In the glory of the sunny afternoon, we turned toward Ross Castle, our last stop along the Lake; and there we looked upon the ruins of the old town and keep that, in 1652, held out so bravely. The mossy stones and ivy-clad ruins teach a lesson of patriotism even to-day. At Ross Castle we found our carriages waiting; and soon we reached our starting-point, ready to confirm all the beautiful things said and sung of Killarney since first it was discovered by tourists. Mary had made up her mind that Muckross as 157 SCHOOLGIRLS ABROAD well as Melrose, to be viewed aright, must be visited by the "pale moonlight"; so a small party was made up, and placed under the kind guardianship of Father Francis, who went to much trouble to arrange the visit. The road to the Abbey leads through different domains, and the various gate- keepers thereto had to be notified in advance. But all was finally arranged to our satisfaction, except the sky, — about the only thing around Killarney, Mary declared, that was not anxious to please Father Francis. Clouds persisted in hiding the stars, but we took our places on jaunting cars and rode out into the darkness. The air was misty and fragrant; the stillness enveloped us; the thud of the horses' feet along the road, the sub- dued voices of all as we drove under the low- hanging trees, were weird enough for even Mary's romantic nature. When we reached the Abbey, we were under a spell, and we kept close together as we moved about under the arches and around the cloister, where the mystic yew tree loomed black and awesome. There in the ruins, with glimpses of pale moonlight, or occasional gleams of starlight, we listened breath- lessly to stories of long ago. Our guide pointed out where, in 1590, a marriage took place at mid- night in the then practically ruined chapel. The fortunes of the great families of the MacCarthys were joined in a marriage, which for political reasons had to be kept from the knowledge of the English authorities; so the bridal party crossed the Take 158 SCHOOLGIRLS ABROAD in the boats manned by "four lusty kernes" and guarded by "a dozen stalwart gallowglasses." As we turned to leave the old monastery, the moon shone out full upon the arches and tombs; the night wind stirred as if echoing the thought in our hearts — a Requiem for the brave dead resting there in the lonely ruins of Muckross Abbey. 159 XVII. fHINK of having only two days in which to see Cork and Blarney! Every moment there was a new impression. It was like taking views for a moving-picture perfor- mance and packing the films away for later develop- ment. Of course, in the mental process, there were under-exposures and over-exposures; some- times we did not focus properly, and more than once we tried to take two pictures on the same film. But the next time we go — what a wonderful trip that "next time" is going to be! As soon as we had arranged for rooms at the Imperial Hotel, in Cork, we inquired the way to Blarney. By train was, of course, the most direct; but to drive there would give glimpses of scenery considered worth while. So we drove, and every moment of the afternoon was a delight. The road wound through a beautiful country. The low hills were carpeted with velvety grass; and here and there we caught flashes of the River Lee, a silver setting for the fields of emerald. The little town of Blarney was to us like a picture from an old book. It was restful, yet it was here that we felt most sensibly the loneliness of Ireland. The very effort made to interest the people in the way of industries seemed to emphasize the fact that the young are eager to seek the favors of fortune elsewhere. 1 60 SCHOOLGIRLS ABROAD Blarney Castle is, of course, the objective point of all tourists to this enchanting region. It is a grey stone ruin, with history and mystery written large on its ancient walls. We climbed to the top of the donjon tower, which is one hundred and twenty feet high, and there enjoyed seeing several venturesome tourists go through the gym- nastic performance of kissing the Blarney Stone. The grounds around the Castle are picturesque. There is a wild beauty about the vine-grown rocks and mossy trees; and a certain proud, sad reticence in glen and tangled copse that one notes sometimes in the daughters of Erin. As we drove back to Cork in the late afternoon, the glory of the sunset was over the land; and, as usual, Mary found the right word for the right place; for she quoted Father Prout's lines: And the sun sheds gold On this city old, And lingers sinking down, Where the throstle thrills Behind the hills Which circle Cork's own town. We met friends in this city on "the pleasant waters of the River Lee," who acted as guides to us, thus enabling us to see much more than we had planned for ourselves. St. Mary's Cathedral (poor St. Fin Barre, his cathedral is Protestant!), St. Vincent's Church, on the heights of Sunday's Well; the Father Mathew Memorial Church; the Mar- dyke, a pretty elm-shaded roadway; Queen's 161 SCHOOLGIRLS ABROAD College, and the Convent of the Good Shepherd, were among the places of interest we visited. It goes without saying we heard the Bells of Shandon, eight in number, that hang in the tower of a church known in 1199 as that of St. Mary in the Mountain, later as St. Marie de Shandon, — probably from Shandunadh, signifying "old fort." St. Patrick's Church, St. Patrick's Hill, St. Patrick's Bridge, and St. Patrick's Quay, — these were partial com- pensation for calling Protestant churches after St. Ann and St. Fin Barre. There was an air of American activity in the shops, and in our note-books it is recorded that in Cork we saw the finest fruit that had met our eyes since we set out from home. We were scheduled to sail for New York on Sunday morning, so we left Cork for Queenstown Saturday evening. Up to 1849, the little harbor town, which might be called ''The Last Sigh of the Gael," was known simply as "The Cove"; its present name having been given to it by Queen Victoria, on the occasion of a visit there. It is built up against the hillside; and as we looked out over the waters, and thought of the thousands and thousands who had started bravely from Queenstown to make homes in foreign lands, we were reminded of Kthna Carberry's lament on "The Passing of the Gael": They are going, going, going from the valleys and the hills, They are leaving far behind them heathery moor and mountain rills, 162 SCHOOLGIRLS ABROAD All the wealth of hawthorn hedges where the brown thrush sways and thrills. They are leaving pleasant places— shores with snowy sands outspread; Blue and lonely lakes a-stirring, when the wind stirs overhead; Tender living hearts that love them, and the graves of kindred dead. And when we thought of the thousands who re- mained in Ireland, carrying ever in their hearts the" memory of those gone from them, we under- stood why Irish eyes seem ever filled with longing. Is it not because so many have watched, through tears, ships that were bearing away loved ones, never to return? That last night in Ireland we had what Mary called a " Do-you-remember?" party. We com- pared notes, recalled many pleasant experiences, laughed over our many mistakes, and expressed in the same breath regret at having come to the end of our sight-seeing, and joy at the prospect of soon reaching home; usually prefacing each item with "Do you remember?" Catherine recalled Milan by asking: "Do you remember the electric light arrangement in our room?" If we turned on the light on the table, the light in the chandelier went out, and we had thought that a clever con- trivance. Mary asked: "Do you remember how strange it seemed in Italy to have the drivers turn to the left instead of to the right in passing other vehicles?" Annt Margaret kept the ball rolling by 163 SCHOOLGIRLS ABROAD inquiring if we remembered the caretaker of Queen's College museum who pronounced u fac-simile" as if it rhymed with beguile"; to which Catherine added, "And the London shopkeeper, whom we could hardly understand, and who told us he knew we were Americans because of our 'haccent.'" I carried them all back to Rome by asking if they remembered my experience with a Roman cabman. There was no doubt they still enjoyed the memory of my encounter. One evening, when we dismissed our cab at the hotel, I told the driver to call in the morning at seven and take us to St. Peter's. That night we received an invitation to assist at Mass in the private chapel of his Eminence Cardinal Mar- tinelli. So the next morning when I saw our cab- man waiting for us, I ran down ahead of the others to tell him not to wait; for the Borghese Palace was only a short distance, and we had planned to walk. Few people in Rome are up at seven o'clock, so the street was very quiet; but the stillness was rudely broken by the driver, who clamored at the top of his voice in Italian. I tried to explain in English, French and German, not to mention gestures, and throwing in a few Latin words, declensions and all; but he kept on abusively, till I thought the Roman militia would arrive on the scene. A porter, meanwhile, had been awakened, and he told me part payment for the cab would have to be made. I had only United States money with me; so I left the irate man on the curb, 164 SCHOOLGIRLS ABROAD scolding vigorously, until I could get Aunt Mar- garet to pay him anything he asked, if he would only keep still. The scene was funnier in the retrospect than when it happened. At least I thought so. Mary concluded the reminiscences with "Do you remember the 'Bridge of Sighs' story?" In one of our unforgettable tours of Venice, we had lost ourselves in the spirit of long ago as we passed through the Doge's Palace, and, deeply stirred, were standing on the Bridge of Sighs. A party of ladies met us there; and one, in the cordial way of tourists, addressed Mary with the words: "Isn't this Pons Asinorum wonderful?" Mary looked puzzled, and the speaker passed on with the ex- planation, "Why, it's in the geometry, you know!' It was a good thing we had our laughs before starting, for we hadn't many on the way over Mass at daybreak in the beautiful cathedral on the heights was a memory worth taking with us as one of our last impressions of Ireland. At 7.30 the tender took us out to our liner, The Altruria, waiting at the sea entrance. Carlisle Fort, Camden Fort, Rochester Point, and Westmoreland were soon left behind us; and we looked toward the fair land of smiles and tears as long as a line of purple marked the horizon, wondering if we had really seen Erin or had only dreamed it. By noon the sea was rather rough, but nearly all the passengers gathered in the dining room for luncheon. Of the attendance at the other meals 165 SCHOOLGIRLS ABROAD of the journey, none of us are qualified to speak; for we were not there. From reports we learned that even the racks (they were on the tables from dinner of the day we left Queenstown until the lunch which was served as we entered New York harbor) were not able to restrain the roving ten- dencies of the dishes, which, as soon as the boat started, must have taken to themselves sea-legs. For three days, when we thought at all, we wondered why we had ever left home. There was no desire for social amenities. Aunt Margaret and Catherine, in the adjoining room, were miles away from us; Mary and I were as solitary in our respec- tive cells as any two hermits of the Thebaid. We scorned words, even though the unusual was happening close to us. It was small matter to us that a camphor bottle, a vinaigrette, pieces of soap, and the two glasses from the toilet rack, were careening around on the floor with our respective shoes and slippers. It did not matter to us that the water pitcher at every third lurch threw a jet of water into a suit-case, and that every now and then a small wave swished through the in- securely fastened porthole. Finally, we were persuaded to allow ourselves to be helped on deck, and at once things began to brighten. The worst of the storm was over, but the sea remained rough, and we were a chastened-looking group when we reached New York. Not until we stood upon the floor of the Custom House shed — and it seemed good to be there — did 1 66 SCHOOLGIRLS ABROAD we realize the dreadfulness of the ordeal before us. We waited meekly while packages were opened and strings were untied. Mary seemed especially nervous about a box which she had placed in the bottom of our steamer trunk. In time it came to the surface in the inspector's hand; and, as he removed the cover, a collection of small lions and doves of St. Mark's, wolves suggestive of Romulus and Remus, and reproductions of the lions and bears of Switzerland, rolled out on the floor. An assistant inspector offered to help ''corral the menagerie," as he expressed it; and some one near said some- thing that sounded like "the Noah family." But discomfiture was forgotten, Custom House officers were forgotten, Europe was forgotten; for coming toward us were the dear ones from home, smiling a welcome which assured us that we were no longer schoolgirls abroad. i6 7 JtJ N 2 t»|, One copy del. to Cat. Div. 1UN 2 \9\\ L \