[The pedestrian Tour through Connaught, which follows, afforded great satisfaction to the Author, and he does not conceive himself to have overrated that most truly interesting part of Ireland. The Reader will find the price of labour lower there than in any other of its four provinces. He will easily infer, that very great numbers in it must enjoy but a small portion of the comforts of life, and many scarcely the necessaries! In fact, the state of the labouring class, in most parts of the south and west of Ireland, is so wretched at present, from the high price of food, inadequate value of labour, and many other depressing circumstances, that their existence is felt as a burthen rather than a blessing. Their situation calls aloud on the wisdom and humanity of land-lords as well as government and parliament.]

CorK February 1817.

My Dear L.

It is impossible for an Irishman, reflecting on the history of his country, to approach her shores without mixed sensations of sorrow and joy. One may have valued friends to re-visit, and new and beautiful scenes to observe; but the recollections of past days are dark and unsatisfactory. Such thoughts occurred as we arrived nearer the coast of Munster. The approach, by the harbour of the Cove of Cork, is strikingly beautiful.

Our passage from Devonshire had been speedy and pleasant, and the morning sun gilded the gently agitated waves as we discovered the entrance, which is narrow. As we passed through, the bay spread before our eyes in one great sheet of water, resembling a fine lake, surrounded [260] on all sides by ornamented and diversified grounds, chequered by islands, and varied by promontories. Numerous vessels coming out glided past us, as their sails brightened in the light of early day, and the cheerful and friendly hail was often repeated to the worthy captain of our packet.

We shortly saw many fishing-boats, and the hardy sons of Erin plying the oar, or adjusting the sail with that easy air peculiar to them, even in situations of danger. As we advanced with gentle course, the noble mansion and woods of Roctellan (the seat of the Marquis of Thomond, of the once royal house of O’Brien), came in view; it reposes majestically on the water-edge. Every moment new beauties were disclosed — Pine country-seats are scattered profusely to right and left, and far-penetrating inlets of ihis enchanting bay are continually lost in groves, meadows, and improvements!

Having left some islands and other fortified places behind, we passed the town of Cove, pleasantly situated on a declivity sweeping to the sea, and making a respectable and handsome appearance. The Tonnant man-of-war and many vessels lay at anchor there. From thence the bay narrows to a beautiful river, and conducts vessels to Cork, through scenes of increasing beauty. Passage is a neat and improving town, on the left. Pleasant villas every where meet [261] the eye; but, even thus passing swiftly through so much natural and improved beauty, the radical misery of the country pains the eye, as the most wretched cottages sprinkle the unimproved fields, and proclaim the mass of the people in these parts to be ill at ease. In the distance Cork makes a very grand appearance; its buildings, spires, and shipping, very happily crown a scene full of variegated charms. Woods and vallies [sic] thicken around, till, approaching the city, you perceive along its avenues the carts, carriages, and passengers, which mark the opulence and industry of a great commercial mart.

We had crossed over in the Wellington-packet, which afforded extremely good accommodation, (as all these packets do), and left our captain with the sincere regret his kind and exemplary conduct excited.

Cork is very large, and contains about one hundred thousand inhabitants. The people are mild and hospitable, and there is a great deal of elegance, literary talent, and learning, in Cork. Parts of the city are extremely handsome, and their insular nature, surrounded as they are by the divided Lee, makes them at once very cheerful and salubrious. Most of the environs of Cork are eminently beautiful; no city in the world enjoys more charming walks or rides in its neighbourhood. Add to this, the universal urbanity and politeness which is met from the highest [264] charitable) in Cork — to point out many highly endowed characters - and to dwell on the remarkable benevolence and charity shewn there these last two deplorable years, I must write volumes, a history of Cork, not a tour through Connaught Besides, a modem and elegant production of the Rev. Mr. Townsend, on the county of Cork, renders it superfluous. His work is pleasing, and very instructive, doing great credit to his feelings and understanding. We have made several minor excursions, but that respected character’s excellent book makes particular descriptions of several parts of the county and neighbourhood of this city needless.

Dr. Smith’s history of the county of Cork, though not so pleasing a work as Mr. Townsend’s, is also well worthy the traveller’s perusal, and is marked by great research and erudition. However, I shall mention some historic particulars relating to this city which may interest you, and shall recur at first to those early times which engaged our attention on our Wexford tour.

On Henry the Second’s arrival at Waterford, we have seen that Cork was the first principality in Ireland which submitted to him. All the southern parts paid him. This degree of nominal respect, and their kings, at least, judged it politic to bend to a power they could not resist, which was a thing that their ill-constructed despotisms rendered them incapable of doing with [265] any effect. Nothing could be more fallacious, nevertheless, than this submission. No part of Ireland felt more sensibly the defects of Henry’s transitory policy than Munster. The rights of the people were here long left the sport of arbitrary feudal power, and when a bad system for correcting it was applied under the successive kings who succeeded Henry the Second (but peculiarly in the reigns of Henry the Eighth, and of the renowned Elizabeth), a deluge of blood covered the fair plains through which we are going to pass; a dreadful conflict of interesting, of passions, and of arms arose. In this city, Robert Fitzstephens, whose first steps on the sands of the beach at Bag and Bun we traced with a sort of pious enthusiasm, breathed his last. No tomb covers has honored remains! His exploit merited one, and a more fortunate end.

Fitzstephens had been removed from Wexford to Dublin, and from thence to Cork, as the suspicions of Henry the Second and his ministers operated; and successively, but ungenerously, placed in the most exposed and unimproved situations, far from his original possessions! In or near Cork he spent his latter days; and, by social intercourse, endeavoured to conciliate the native inhabitants. He placed unbounded confidence in them, and seemed to have secured their esteem and affections. The death of a favourite [266] son had cast a gloom over him, but another blow overwhelmed him altogether.

His surviving son had married the daughter of Miles de Cogan, and both had repaired on their way to meet some of the citizens of Waterford, near Lismore, to the house of a person named M’Tire. He was the friend of Fitzstephens, and of Cogan. But he turned his hospitable invitation to the detestable purpose of assassination, murdered his guests, and then boasted to his countrymen of the atrocious deed. Robert FitzStephens heard it, and wept. However, he prepared bravely for a siege in Cork. Raymond le Gros sent him succours from Wexford, and the city was relieved. But exhausted, and too severely tried, nature yielded soon after, and the gallant old hero grew insane! Death was, in some time, a happy termination to such miseries. No pen can too strongly reprobate such treachery. It sows the seeds of lasting alienation and discord, and converts a whole country into a scene of suspicion and cruelty. It must surely grieve any right-thinking mind to reflect, that he who deserved the repose and honors of a Timoleon, was thus treated in the persons of his family and himself, and thus immolated through the coarseness of blind and sordid revenge, in the evening of his days! A different conduct in his sovereign had not placed him in such danger. [267] In the reign of Henry the Seventh, that city shewed much credulity in favour of pretenders to the throne, but the contests of the houses of York and Lancaster had divided the whole empire; and Ireland, in adhering to the Duke of York and his descendants, evinced the virtues of gratitude and constancy in the highest degree. In taking a short excursion with us to Kinsale, which is a neat old town, containing a population of five or six thousand souls, on the sea-side, twelve miles from this, you will be better enabled to enter into the history of those times which followed the reign of Henry the Seventh, and most powerfully influenced the fate and fortunes of Munster.

Since the accession of Henry the Eighth, it had been regulated by a lord-president, and several able and vigilant men had governed it with considerable success. That monarch’s imperious and short-sighted politics at home and abroad, placed his illustrious daughter Elizabeth in a very dangerous position, and left her but a choice of evils. Not venturing to offend a Protestant party in England and Europe, she alienated her Catholic subjects in Ireland from the British throne. The Pope, and King of Spain, under the name of religion, did not fail to inflame a credulous and oppressed nation; and, under the mask of compassion, heightened by piety, to seduce them from their allegiance to [268] the queen. Hence invasions in Munster and Connaught were, repeatedly threatened on one side, and. invited on the other, during her whole reign, and several were put in execution with various success.

The rude violation of all that this people held sacrred by Henry the Eighth’s and Elizabeth’s governments, totally checked the improvement which might have been reckoned on upon the subsiding of civil, war in England by the union of the red and white roses, created new disorders in this part of the empire, and nearly severed Ireland from England for ever. Munster and Connaught became the scenes of intrigue between misguided and unfortunate Ireland, and the courts of Rome and Madrid. In the latter end of Elizabeth’s perturbed reign, the Earls of Tyrone and Tyrconnel had negociated with Spain, for her assistances and in September, 1601, a Spanish force arrived at and seized Kinsale.

Although many Catholic ecclesiastics, under the influence of resentment and of papal intrigue, animated the people to receive the foreigners, Munster shewed small disposition to do so. The Northern earls hastened with their irregular army to join Don J. Q’Aguilar at Kinsale. The deputy, Lord Mountjoy, hurried to attack him with a small and ill-appointed army. We beheld that ancient and respectable town with strong feelings. The harbour of Kinsale is a very beau- [269] tiful and commodious one, and has often seen the foreign fleets of the invader. The Spanish forces landed without opposition in 1601.

The queen wis then feeble, ill, and melancholy, through satiety of the world, and regret for Essex! Her councils were no longer Vigorous; and nothing but the fortitude and spirit of so excellent a lord -deputy as Mountjoy, aided by Sir James Carew, president of Munster, a man not less intelligent and brave, could have attempted the prompt resistance to the Spaniards and the northern earls which the extremity of the case required. They besieged Kinsale; Tyrconnel had pierced into Leinster, and Tyrone followed. Sir James Carew left the deputy to meet the former, but was evaded by the active chieftain, who marched his men across the mountains in the midst of a severe frost, and "" in this way, by a military exploit, worthy bf Roman courage, and in an Unexpected part; pierced into Munster, where Tyrone shortly rhrffle a junction with him.

Some reinforcements from government, and from some well-inclined lords, reached the deputy; but six ships of the line/of Spain also, had landed two thousand men on the Coast, and the united armies of the earls shut the English army between themselves and Kinsale.

Judge, my dear L., how one must feel at viewing all this interesting scene from an eminence [270] above Kinsale; the town — the bay — and the rite of the English camp! You will also recollect, that King James landed here in 1688, on his ill-omened expedition! The Spaniards not only made a brave defence, but many vigorous sallies. At this moment, patience and perseverance were only, wanting to annihilate the English troops. Fresh reinforcements from Spain would have poured in. The inhabitants of Ireland were annihilated from the English crown by a violation of all they held dear. The queen was dying, and her successor neither warlike nor sagacious.

It is said that the Spanish commander impatiently and injudiciously urged Tyrone, against his own judgment, to attack the lord-deputy. The event was fatal to him. His irregular troops were soon repulsed and fled, and O’donnel’s army, taking no part, joined in the general rout. The Spanish . commander capitulated very soon after. Thus Kinsale was recovered, and the great northern chieftains completely baffled, through the want of prudence in the foreigners.

This most remarkable event happened not very long before Elizabeth’s death, and crowned Lord Mountjoy and her arms in Ireland with glory, at a moment when she was very near experiencing, in her last moments, the bitterness of a defeat from Spain in her own dominions, and the loss of Ireland from her own impolicy. In the earlier part of her reign, Sir Walter Raleigh commanded [271] in Cork, and his first military campaigns were made in Munster. How very painful to notice the putting to death in cold blood the foreigners at Smerwick Port, in Kerry, by Sir Walter and party, under the orders of the severe Lord Grey! That blood yet stains the lustre of that accomplished warrior, statesman, and scholar’s sword.

He resided chiefly at Youghal, and the house and apartments he inhabited remain very much in their antique state. I have beheld them with great veneration. The room in which Sir Walter slept, is still in great preservation; the old wainscoting, fire-place, and windows, are nearly as in his time. Mrs. Musgrave, who resides there, takes pleasure in preserving every thing in its ancient state as much as possible, and was exceedingly polite in permitting me to see the house. It is highly interesting. The ancient walls of Youghal enclose its venerable gardens, where some fine myrtles grow in the open air.

Believe me very sincerely, &c.

[ Note: Letter II is absent from the original edition of Walks Through Ireland (1819) - although the pagination is continuous at the point where it is missing indicating clearly that the error lay with the editor or the printer, an not with the scanner at Internet Archive. A printer’s error occurs at p.274 where ‘My’ is printed as the last word on p.273 and repeated as the first word on p.274 (‘My companions [...]’). This is quite distinct from the contemporary practice of giving the first word of the succeeding page at the foot of the current one to maintain fluence when reading. ]

Cork, July 5, 1817.

My Dear L.

Your remarks on the probable effects of the success of the gloomy tyrant of Spain in Ireland, if an officer of superior talent had commanded in Kinsale, and of the too certain introduction of the Inquisition there, are very just Providence saved the island from the double impending tyranny. The government and people were nearly falling in one common ruin. Had the Spanish tyrant acquired this country then, doubtless an unrelenting conscription of all capable of bearing arms would have been made for invading England, or furthering his despotic and bloody views on the Continent.

I find nothing worthy of note in the siege of Cork by the Duke of Marlborough, to which you allude, but the death of the Duke of Grafton, son of Charies the Second, a very promising young nobleman. But, alas! my dear L., my attention is drawn from sieges to the melancholy and actual state of this city, under the pressure of famine and sickness! A fever, of an infectious and alarming nature has begun to spread through Cork; and accounts reach us, that in other parts of the island it’s consequences have [275] been lamentable. A very excellent hospital is quite full here; and a temporary one, raised by the voluntary and active benevolence of the inhabitants of Cork, will also, I fear, be found too necessary. This has given us occasion for very serious consideration. The greatness and wretchedness of the population of Ireland are, in a manner, re-acting and exciting causes of fever; and history accordingly shews us, that this island has been frequently and heavily afflicted by it in various reigns of the English monarchs since the time of Henry the Second. Before that time, it is also, I believe, mentioned by historical records, as often occurring.

The apprehension of fever is not a desirable accompaniment on a pedestrian tour; but I feel by no means inclined, therefore, to give up our undertaking. We shall see this great community under a point of view, painful; but assuredly interesting to humanity to behold. Convinced as I am that the public health is a primary care of any government, I cannot, with satisfaction to my own mind, suspend our tour through personal considerations, ,but rather hold myself more excited to pursue it — that if, through the prevalence of plague or fever in wild and remote parts (where the pedestrian alone can penetrate), much misery exists unknown and unremedied, some intimations may be given to government, and some good be done to this afflicted people! My [274] companions are equally willing to undergo any risk, and we shall probably depart from this next week.

As a principal object of this tour is to examine the former residence of Edmund Spencer in this country, and to ascertain if any ruins or vestiges of his abode remain, we shall first direct our steps to Donneraile, near which village the poet dwell for many years.

I shall now close this long letter, having endeavoured to prepare you for inspecting the venerable ruins of Kilcolman. In idea, my dear L., you will accompany us there, and join us in paying homage at the shrine of one of England’s oldest and noblest bards!

Believe me, &c. &c.

Rathcormuck and Donneraile, August 29 and 30, 1817.

My Dear L.

After more delay than we had calculated on in visiting the beauties of Cove, Passage, Monkstown, and several other beautiful places in the vicinity of Cork, we set out this morning* on our great ancll long meditated walk.

[275] The day was unfavourable; and we found the gloomiest apprehensions entertained by the farmers on the road. We were not without anxiety in setting forward, under all attending circumstances, on a journey, which may prove one of four or five hundredIrish miles, yet resolved to complete our projected plan.

As. we approached Watergrass-hill, where a small village is placed, commanding a most extensive view, the farming appears pretty good, and the solitary look of the land within some miles of Cork, is exchanged for the pleasantness of rural life. Our way to Rathcormuck was marked by nothing interesting, till we came within a mile of it, when a beautiful and extensive landscape of river, village, mountains, and cultivated country, opened before us. All the gloomy ideas of the early part of our walk vanished. The evening was as charming as the morning had been the reverse. The declining sun gleamed forth over the reviving scenery of nature. We found a comfortable and pleasant inn on the river side, before we entered the village of Rathcormuck. Early in the morning we passed through it. It is a respectable place, adorned by several most tasteful and rural cottages. Adjoining it are the beautiful seats of Lord Riversdale and Mr. Devonshire.

We turned our steps towards Fermoy, and arrived there in an hour. It is one of the prettiest [276] towns in Ireland, and stands on the Blackwater river. This majestic stream, deservedly celebrated, and doubtless often visited by Spencer, flows through and divides the town. A handsome bridge connects the two parts. A noble mansion of Mr. Anderson’s ornaments the scene.

This gentleman, who is of Scotland (a country full of ability, enterprize, and genius), has the merit of forming the town of Fermoy, which in neatness and elegance much surpasses those commonly seen in Ireland. We understood that some misfortune in trade caused him, between twenty and thirty years ago, to come to the south of Irefand. In Cork, he was successful in business, which he there recommenced with the small wreck of his former fortune. He removed to Fermoy, purchased land, and made contracts with government for building barracks, and establishing mail-coaches in Ireland. In time, Mr. Anderson set up a Bank, and prospered so much as to be enabled to purchase the large estates of the Barrymore family, once part of the unfortunate Earl of Desmond’s possessions.

Mr. Anderson’s talents and integrity aised him to, high pinnacle of fortune and confidence in the (Country. In the rebellion of 1798, he is said never to have remitted in the progress of his works and buildings; but when his numerous tradesmen and labourers were inclined to pause — some through fear — others through inclination [277] to yield to the general delusion, he came amongst them, and by very convincing arguments, proved he had money and inclination to continue all his undertakings. He added paternal advice to the men. None moved from their labours, and the lives of many were saved by this excellent man’s wise and public-spirited conduct.

Mr. A. has formed Fermoy by a regular plan of a square, and various intersecting streets; and, combined with his own mansion, the Blackwater, and adjoining woods, it forms a very beautiful spectacle. A handsome church on one side the river, and a new and tasteful chapel on the other, mark the propriety and liberality of the founder of Fermoy.

I grieve to say, that the sudden fall of land has darkened the prospects of Mr. A., and compelled him to close his Bank. The too great emission of the paper of country-banks in Ireland had added to the velocity of the war-tide in Ireland. Mr. A.’s speculations had, however, all tended to the manifest improvement of Munster, and of Ireland generally. He had taught the people what could be dope in their native land by industry, talent, and sobriety united, and long and well applied. The lesson was striking, and written in characters to be read by all.

We had the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Anderson at his house, whose unaffected manners and [278] intelligent conversation more than confirmed the high opinion we had entertained of him. He bears the reverse of his fortune with the dignity of a superior mind, and there is reason to hope his affairs may, in time, be tolerably re-established. The view from his windows up the Blackwater is quite charming. Many such men as Mr. A., blending, as he did, energy with conciliation, would long ago have rendered Ireland happy. Such a mind in the councils of Elizabeth had marked out the true plan of assimilating the two countries, and shewn how far preferable are the bonds of affection, affinity, and mutual convenience, to the crude restraints of a coercion, which thinks to mould the unerring laws of nature to its own little purposes.

The distress of the poor has been very great this summer at Fermoy. At Rathcormuck, also, has been most severe; but the exemplary exertions of the Hon. and Rev. Mr. Tonson, (a character whose residence in the country is a great advantage and blessing to the people) and of other gentlemen, have there averted much of the evil; nor has Mr. A. been wanting to Fermoy. The gentry all around have been active and benevolent in a high degree, and the landholders seemed actuated by truly paternal feelings to the people.

I think, my dear L., that the introduction of the English race has been a more solid and [279] greater benefit to the Irish, than they suffer themselves to be aware of. It seems to me (generally speaking), that an Englishman uses power with more magnanimity and moderation than an Irishman. He admits the rights of men, in like inferior walks of life, with quiet dignity; and taught by his own admirable constitution to consider the laws as his guide, does not seek false and fictitious superiority over others! Hence the people themselves are found frequently to prefer masters and landlords of English extraction, incorporated in the nation, to those of the Irish and indigenous race.

We parted from Mr. Anderson, not without sensible regret. This worthy and excellent man declines in health, and the apprehension of the loss of this benefactor of the public, cannot fail to inspire mournful ideas. How different his from the conqueror’s achievements! Round his mansion gladdened human nature smiles, and future generations shall reap his benefits!

Our walk to Donneraile led us along the Black-, water, and past the delightful places of Castle Hyde, one of the finest in Ireland, and of many gentlemen’s seats scattered along this river. Convamore, the seat of the Hon. Mr. Hare, the amiable and respectable member for this county, seated on it, amidst wooded mountains, attracted our attention. We also passed an old ruin near [280] Bally Hooley, adding much to such picturesque views.

But the idea of Spencer was too predominant to allow us to delay on our way, and you know that looking at fine houses, which wealth produces every where, is no part of my plan. Bidding farewell to the Blackwater, which we now left behind us, we came in sight of the village and romantic castle of Castle Town Roche.

Passing down a gentle hill to enter the former, the ancient residence of the Lord Roches towered, amidst beautiful woods, on a high bank, whilst the Awbeg, or "Mulla,” of Spencer, rolled through a small and verdant valley, close to our left. We beheld this enchanting stream with no feeble emotions. It well merits the eulogiums of the bard, accustomed to call it "Mulla Mine" — The sun brightened its pearly waters, as they gurgled over a pebbly course. A bridge conducts to the village, rising in a pleasing manner from it. The villagers were passing and re-passing; all was serene and cheerful! The magic of the scene was complete, as the distant Mulla crept through a fairy valley to this bridge. Edmund Spencer had a small estate near Castle Towi) Roche, and a lady of a most accomplished and benevolent mind, who occasionally resides near this, tells me she is convinced he had a residence here, as well as at Kilcolman [281] This I think highly probable as the Mulla, the subject of his poetic admiration, appears here to, the greatest advantage, and must have been to him an inducement and temptation of no ordinary kind. Spencer’s estate of Renney, near this, was, till within a period not very remote, in the hands of one of his descendants. It is singular, that the chief part of his property was forfeited by another of his family, I believe a grandson, through attachment to the cause of the unhappy James the Second; and that Kilcolman, bestowed by Sir Walter Raleigh, (who received it from Queen Elizabeth) should fall, again to the crown from the misconduct of a Spencer, which had formerly reverted to it through the errors of a Desmond!

The castle of Lord Roche was visited in a very unceremonious manner, we are told, on one occasion, by that great man Sir Walter Raleigh, long before Spencer obtained estates in these countries. He had a command in Cork; and, as in those turbulent times suspicion was too much the order of the day, received information of the disloyalty of Lord Roche and family.

He suddenly repaired to this castle with a strong party, and, after some shew of resistance from the alarmed villagers, succeeded in enforcing the opening of the castle-gates. It was now late in the evening. Lord and Lady Roche surprised, but not intimidated, received and entertained [289] Raleigh as well as they could upon so unceremonious a notice. They remonstrated upon the cruelty of thus invading their domestic quiet, and listening to the tales of the malevolent.

In vain Sir Walter Raleigh made both* the noble Lord and his consort prisoners, and hurried them away, in a winter-night, to the city of Cork! There it soon appeared they were innocent of any offence against government.

How very degrading such a service to Raleigh! How melancholy such times, when forfeitures were hunted after with base avidity, and guilt was presumed with careless indifference as to the fate of, perhaps, very meritorious persons! — It was enough often to fix a stigma, to ruin a family!

In a subsequent period of turbulence, in 1649, a Larfy Roche, of this family, defended this castle against the cannon of the parliament army.

To every traveller desirous of seeing Kilcolman, I should recommend first visiting Castle Town Roche, and the enchanting Mulla. Here he will find fairy and classic scenes; history, too, dips her pencil in the colouring of ancient times, and shews him Raleigh pouring down the neighbouring hill; the villagers running affrighted to defend their Lord; the castle surrendering, and the noble owners carried away in the midst of a scowling night! Then imagination will shew [283] him the far different, and more grateful sight of Spencer straying along his "Mulla" murmuring his sweet strains, or whiling his time by ensnaring the finny inhabitants of the sweet stream that bathed his feet! Having taken a slight refreshment at this lovely village, we proceeded to Donneraile.

The road improves the whole way; and the pedestrian journeying from Cork to Kilcolman by this route, is richly rewarded for his toil. Excellent cultivation of fine large and well-inclosed fields, plainly evinces a happy state of things, and the former hand of English agricultural improvement; good hedges and hedgerows, orchards, and commodious farm-houses, with proper out-offices, delight the eye. The road becomes a fine avenue, with abundance of trees every where on its sides; and the now not very distant mountains of Ballyhowra, or, as Spencer frequently termed them, "the mountains of the mole,” spread in a fine amphitheatre in front and to the right, whilst the Galtus bordering Cork and Limerick counties, proudly rise in the distance to the clouds.

As we advanced very near to Donneraile, our admiration was highly excited by the noble spread of Lord Donneraile’s woods and grounds, the view of several handsome seats near the village, and by the pleasant windings of the M uUa through the far-spreading vale. Neither [284] in fertile and well-wooded England, or in any country, can a finer scene of rich rural beauty be exhibited.

Castle Saffron stands proudly in the valley, on the bank of. the "Mulla" near Mr. Creagh’s beautiful place; Kilbrach, the residence of Mr. Stawell, adorns its banks higher up, and Lord Donneraile’s mansion and the village are embowered in the luxuriance of intervening groves. The "mountains of the Mole" seen in a still happier manner than at firsts complete this inimitable landscape, and heighten its beauties by . cliUKsic, and almost sublime recollections! The spirit of Spencer seemed to hover over them, or descending to roam through these noble woods, the fruit of the cares of no ignoble hands.

Sir William St. Ledger, Lord President of Munster, and ancestor of the present noble Lord, resided at Donneraile in the reigns of James and Charles the First. Sir Wareham St. Ledger had received from Queen Elizabeth large estates, part of them a portion of the forfeited posses*sions of the Earl of Desmond, and transmitted them to hisx family. He probably commenced these improvements, and left them to his posterity to complete.

Their common and illustrious Imcestor, Sir Anthony St. Ledger, was Lord Deputy in the successive reigns of Henry the Eighth, Edward Sixth, and of Mary. Ireland never saw a more [285] intelligent or just one. His views were those of a great statesman, and his administration of Irish affairs, under great and various difficulties, far superior to that of the preceding, or succeeding ones. He served the crown of England faithfully, and followed the base passions of no party! Such a character gave safety to Ireland, and strength to England; neither fearing, nor unwisely irritating the former, nor giving bad councils to the latter. Sir Wareham was the companion in arms of Sir Walter Raleigh. Such a family well deserved rewards from the crown, and are far distinguished above many adventurers of that day, who advanced themselves in Ireland by cunning and ignoble means.

We arrived in Donneraile at a respectable, and very comfortable small inn, as the evening was advanceid; but, having taken some refreshment, could not bear to delay visiting Kilcolman till morning. It is distant from Donneraile a mile . and a-half, or two miles.

This village is neat and well-built, and charmingly placed on the MuUa. The ancient castle of the St. Ledgers stood near the bridge, but has been removed by the Donneraile family, who have built a commodious and handsome mansion-house close to the village. Our walk led us through a noble avenue of very fine trees, which, indeed, shelter and adorn this favoured spot in every direction, and make Lord Donneraile, in [286] more senses than one, the. guardian of the cottages of the poor. Proceeding about half a mile, we turned to the left, and continuing our way by a. pleasant winding road another half mile, we again turned to the right, and found ourselves in a right line to Kilcolman. We hastened our steps; the evening sun still lingered on the woods of Donneraile, the country, and adjacent mountains. In a few moments, Kilcolman-castle, a ruin of considerable magnitude, resting in lonely grandeur on the side of a small lake, rose .before our eyes. The last rays of the sun dressed the pile With that autumnal glow, that mellows into softened beauty the most rugged feature and barren field in nature. We stood transfixed to the spot many minutes. History unfurled her rich page before us; and the mind’s-eye, with rapid glance, hurried over leading events of the glorious Elizabeth’s reign, of which Edmund Spencer was the noblest ornament. "That ruined castle,” said I, "once belonged to the haughty Earl of Desmond, the lord of a great principality; but, "in his last hour, the wretched inmate of a poor cottage! It was the residence for twelve years of Edmund Spencer, England’s bard, who excelled Chaucer, and was the first great improver of her language, as well as the rival of the poets of Italy; but, expelled by the ferocity of civil warfare, it is doubtful where he expired."

[287] We talked silently to the castle; live paid departed genius the sincere and mute homage of our hearts. The moment was a mixed one — painful, gratifying, and solemn!

The castle of Kilcolman. of which I send you a drawing, was once of very considerable extent, which the scattered fragments fully evince.

By grant from Queen Elizabeth, dated June 27th, 1586, Spencer obtained 3,028 acres in the county of Cork. The estimated annual value was £17 78. 6d. This grant obliged him to cultivate the estate, and drew upon him the necessity of residing at Kilcolman.

In the ruins are the kitchen, staircase, and tower, still very perfect. The flooring of a large room above the kitchen, and several windows, are to be seen. The whole remaining shell of the building is of considerable size. One small closet and window, in the tower, we found quite perfect; from the stone seat, yet untouched, I had a good view of the country. There I long sat alone; what exquisite moments! How full of the lonely melancholy that approximates to death, and yet links us tenderly to this mortal scene! In this tower, and this recess, has Spencer often studied and written! and, as I fancied this, the shades of evening gathered, and made the illusion stronger. We had not much time, however, to remain. I descended-, and we walked [289] round the castle. Its situation is now bleak and cheerless.

The Ballyhowra mountains spread rounds and the distant prospect is very extensive, but without trees. Kilcolman is but a melancholy emblem of the fortunes of both its possessors; of the forlorn and ruined Desmond; and of the, perhaps, more unhappy (because more refined) as well as unfortunate Spencer!

Formerly, tradition says, the woods of Kilcolman reached to Buttevant, three miles distant. It is likely, on the poet’s abandoning the place, that great devastation was committed.

The lake is very much choaked up, and the "Mulla,” which rises, I believe, near Liscarrol, in this county, and flows past Buttevant into it, emerges from it in a very humble manner.

It added to the interest of the whole scene to know, that the immortal Edmund Burke had more . than once visited Kilcolman, and spent many hours at it I believe alone, or with one companion only, in privacy he communed with the shade of the divine bard. His own was scarcely a less poetic mind than Spencer’s, and, perhaps, rather toned for such pursuits as hi9, than for the warfare of party.

We returned to Donneraile, full of reverence and sorrow for Spencer! Having hazarded the thought, that his connection with Lord Grey, certainly a very cruel governor for Ireland, made [289] the bard less conciliating to the Irish, and his own situation unpleasing on that account, I pencilled these lines on leaving Kilcolman, and, enclosing them, end this long letter.

Yours truly, &c. &c.

ON KILCOLMAN, THE RESIDENCE OF SPENCER.

Here wan4er’d the poet, when morning’s grey dawn
Stole O’er the dark masses of mountains around.
And the far-speeding hare scarce touch’d the moist lawn.
Around by the fresh breeze’s short rustling sound.

He mus’d on the scene for philosophy made!
And pensively wander’d the wild fields alone;
Then, striking his lyre in the leaf-cover’d shade.
Song — for from his country — in Erin unknown.

He sought not her love, nor that poesy trac’d,
Which, enchantingly rich as his own sweetest lays,
The warrior had raptur’d — the palace had grac’d —
And gain’d from a nation the garland of praise!

He saw but a desert, and heard not the song
The bard of the mountain just murmur’d above;
He trembled at Erin’s wild, wandering throngs
And felt not the pleasures of neighbourly love.

The gold rays of morning in vain dress’d the hill,
In vain flow’d his Mulla — suspicion destroyed
The rural enjoyment, that trembl’d at ill,
And fear’d the fierce hand that it sought to avoid!

For the bard had not taught his own heart to avoid
The lesson of lovely compassion to all!
The poet assum’d the hard warrior’s part.
And smil’d at a generous, lost nation’s fall! [290]

Oh I had he but wept, the kind drops had been
the balm that bad charm’d, as they sadden’d his soul.
With unchequer’d rapture had view’d the wild scene.
And heard, still delighted, his Mulla’s soft roll!

.

LETTER V.

Donneraile, August 31, 1817.

MY DEAR L.

After our walks of yesterday, and the day preceding, we required some rest. We delayed here this day, and found great pleasure in exploring this neighbourhood.

Having heard that a picture of Edmund Spencer was at Saffron Hill, we attempted to $ee it, but failed, as it appeared it bad been removed. The beautiful spot of Saffron Hill, however, repaid our trouble; it is a smalt villa adjoining Lord Donneraile’s woods, and commands the most charming views.

We visited afterwards Castle Saffron, and Mr. Creagh Brazier’s grounds, on the Mulla, who shewed us great civility, and we ended our excursion by a stroll through Donneraile-park. This very noble place contains several hundred acres of fine land, and venerable woods well enclosed, through which the Mulla gently flows. It is full of various beauties, and has a very happy mixture [291] of the antique English, or Flemish style, and the picturesque of nature. The mansion stands at the head of a very beautiful and extensive lawn. We admired very much a long regular piece of water, shaded by noble trees on one side, and losing itself in a distant grove. Along it a walk runs nearly a quarter of a mile, and is finely adapted for avoiding the heats of summer, and calmly contemplating on the beauties of nature, or past and present times. From the centre of it an avenue of venerable elms, arching above in the manner of the Gothic cathedral, leads to a walk winding beautifully to the house. The finest evergreens — the oak, the ash, and chesnut blended their tints, in this autumnal season, in every walk, and gave heightened interest as we strayed along.

I could not but imagine the Lord President of Munster, Sir William St. Leger, gravely ruminating in these shades on the dark aspect of the times in which he lived, and mourning over the distractions of the state. On the breaking out of the rebellion, in 1641, this exalted character commanded in Munster, and, for a considerable time, with the assistance of the gentry and well-disposed part of the people, kept it tranquil. The machievelian policy of the republican and fanatic party, in England, did not permit a complete pacification of Ireland at this period; and the lords-justices, who were their creatures, too [292] faithfully fulfilled their wishes. The misguided and infatuated Irish too well seconded these plans, by partial commotions; furnishing thereby the patriots of the day, in England, with fresh pretences for calumniating the king, and for raising money.

Ireland was made the watchword of party, till Charles was finally overthrown. The true interests of the commonwealth were neglected by all — by the king — the republican, - and the Catholic party. Each sought a particular end; and had a Philip the Second then reigned in Europe, in the plenitude of his tyranny, the empire might have been ruined.

Our history in Ireland, my dear L., is so enveloped in pernicious obscurity, that the lessons it might have yielded to modem times, have been too much lost, and the characters which would have done honor to Roman times, have been almost sunk in oblivion. The intemperate and unfair cry of party on each side in Ireland, has left posterity at a loss which to approve, or which to condemn. The truest friends to monarchy and the constitution in the empire have been merged in the chaos of Charles’s unhappy reign in Ireland; and their names obscured by those mists which then overspread the land.

Such a character was Sir William St, Leger, Lord-president of Munster in 1642. Firm, intrepid, and contemplative — a brave soldier, and [293] wise governor, he viewed danger calmly, and provided against it timorously. When the deplorable explosion of 1641 had somewhat evaporated, he hoped to preserve Munster from the horrors of civil commotion. He was the friend to the crown and the people. Discord and internal WHT in Ireland served the purposes of a party — the enemy to both. The government at Dublin denied him arms and men. Left to his own resources, this great man checked all dispositions to rebel by strictness, which the public safety required. As the military and civil governor of this province, entrusted with its car, by the crown, he fulfilled his high duties even when abandoned by government.

If the madness of party had permitted him, St. Leger had preserved this fine country from misery and devastation! His powerful mind made an effort for humanity which does him lasting honor. To prevent, rather than punish rebellion, was his aim. But the pent-up tempest broke upon his head. The Irish, aroused by artful and violent leaders, and rendered irritable by the oppression and insults of a bad and persecuting system, rushed to arms in many parts of Munster. The president, undismayed, prepared for every thing — gave way where he could not resist, and garrisoned where he knew the best stands could be made. Finally, compeired to shut himself and his forces in Cork — besieged [294] by rebels - and deserted by government, he held out to the empire the noble example of a brave man following the path of duty in the midst of increasing dangers, and without one of those ordinary inducements which sway and animate ordinary minds.

But his feelings grew too painful; ingratitude, which gnaws with serpent’s tooth — ingratitude from his country and king preyed on him! His magnanimity never deserted him, bat his mortal frame sunk under the struggle;— -Sir William St. Leger died of a broken hearty when he perceived all prospect. was lost of saving that state he was sworn to defend.

Perhaps, my dear L., we have very few finer instances in history of high honor and, onperverted principles in any great man. St. Leger might have had any terms he pleased from the parliament of England^--**he might have obtained . a principality from the Catholics of Ireland ^^he bowed to neither. His conceptions of the constitution of the empire were very different from what either entertained; He made no speeches, - but he acted. He sought or required ik power or emolument at the expence of public good. He did not temporise, like Orraond, till he made bad worse, but shewed all men their real duty, and died in performance of his!

You will pardon this historic digression in the shades of Donneraile-park, where this great man [295] has often mused, and where he may have planned many things for the benefit of a deluded people. Indeed, the whole vicinity of Donneraile betokens the plans of a great mind. Nowhere have we seen more distinctly imprinted, the vast advantages of English improvement and friendly aliiance than here. This favourite spot is better cultivated - is more inhabited by resident gentry — and the condition of the people in its whole neighbourhood is happier than in any we have beheld in Ireland, unless it be in the barony of Forth, in Wexford. All those who nourish a groundless and splenetic aversion to England in this island, I would lead to this happy scene! I would shew them good landlords — excellent cultivation of land — good farm-houses — words — orchards — fine, and well-inclosed fields and meadows — respectable cottages — well-conditioned cattle — religion unmolested, and industry well paid and encouraged — and then ask, Are these the benefits you disdain? Are these the friends you hate?

It gives pleasure to mention that at Donneraile house, the dignity and the virtues of the Si. Legers are well-represented by the present noble lord. He is truly the father of his tenantry — a landlord equally benevolent, intelligent, and generous. In the rebellion of 1798, he forgot not the example of the president of Munster, and with happier effect trod in his honorable path. [296] Like him, surrounded by a most misguided and infuriate people, whom the worst practices had inflamed, he stood undismayed, and by wholesome and vigorous prevention, saved the whole country from a torrent of crimes!

We terminated our walk in Lord Donneraile’s park, by visiting a sweet cottage, erected from a plan of the Hon. Miss St. Leger, who superintended the building. Nothing can be more charmingly picturesque than this rural little dwelling, and Its whole scenery. It is situated on a small island, round which flows, with melodious gurgling, Spencer’s "Mulla" It is shaded by some noble ash-trees, that bend over the sacred stream, which poetry has consecrated to distant time. The cottage is environed by a garden of sweets and evergreens, and designed in the chastest rural style. The interior consists of a very elegant and commodious apartment, where the harp may pour its trembling notes along the Mulla’s responsive waves! As the curling smoke stole from its chimney this fine autumnal day, the enchanting scene presented almost all that poetry or painting could desire; but the absence of its lovely mistress took away the fairest and brightest feature of the picture.

I must not omit describing a garden, called, at Donneraile-house, "The Forest-garden,” made under the direction of Mrs. Stawell, another accomplished and charming daughter of Lord Donneraile. [297] It is formed in an open space, near the fine piece of water I mentioned, without walk or banks. A small sunk fence, and rural chevaux-de-frieze, painted green, almost permits it to mingle with the surrounding verdure, and assimilate with the forest scenery of the place. A profusion of flowers, in irregular-shaped beds, intersected by walks of matchless turf, conveys a thousand odours to the charmed senses. The slender acacia, and the larger forest-tree, are permitted to diversify this garden, which can neither be styled French nor English, but has a je ne sçai quoi that makes it superior to either. You seem really in a forest, but as if an Armida had thrown a shower of lovely flowers around! A rural seat, under a bending tree in the centre, invites to pleasing study. The whole is singularly charming, and the garden yet retains its beauty, though autumn is fast approaching. The noble and hospitable owner of these domains had the goodness to order his steward to shew us every part of them. But by an invitation to dine at his hospitable mansion, which we received from himself, we closed the day in a way still more gratifying, and commenced our western tour and walk under auspices which can never be forgotten.

Lord Donneraile, though now advanced in years, and rendered infirm by gout, unites all the vivacity of youth to the knowledge and full store of [298] age. In his society time flies, and dull must the man be who retires from it uninstructed and unimproved. To him who, like me, was studying the character and history of Ireland — past and present — who as a pedestrian, was reading facts, manners, and institutions as I went, and anxiously laboured to gain truth as the reward of these toils, a guide so enlightened and informed was an advantage far greater than could have been hoped. We were quite ignorant of the west of Ireland, and Lord Donneraile had marched with his regiment through almost every part of it. He knew the northern and western provinces as well as he knew Munster, and with an admirable degree of memory, could point out every village, town, or river, which they contained. His observations on Ireland, and on mankind, were replete with good sense and penetration. He entered at once, with all that ease and rapidity which distinguishes vigorous and great intellect, into the spirit of our pedestrian inn, and would, I have no doubt, have been one of the most pleasing companions in the world on such a tour, before time had impaired his strength. It is such society — not the venerable ruin, the picturesque scene — the mingling with the people only — which completes the traveller’s objects. By such society as Lord Donneraile’s, his mind becomes corrected and improved — his prejudices cured — and his errors detected.

[299] But when I pamt Lord D. out as an Irish resident, patriot landlord, dispensing, good every where around him, and living tranquilly in the bosom of an accomplished and amiable family, shall I seem unreasonably partial, my dear L., in saying that such a character outweighs a whole crowd of voluble patriots or greedy courtiers?

We had a great deal of very interesting conversation relative to Spencer, whose castle of Kilcolman the Donneraile family well know. A gentleman present told me, that the last descendant of the bard had resided not very long ago in Mallow: she was a female, and perhaps great-grand-daughter to Spencer. Lord Donneraile recollected seeing and conversing with the last male surviving descendant, and found him a very acute, intelligent person.

All enquiries relative to the picture of the poet were, however, vain; though I think Lord Donneraile, whom no subject escapes, could have pointed it out to me if any one could. He does not altogether doubt its existence, but fears its former very eccentric owner may have consigned it, in a careless mood, to obscurity, whence it may not be very easy to draw it. There is some probability of its having been removed to Limerick, where we mean to endeavour to trace it.

We were very sorry to learn at Donneraile house, that fever prevailed in the village and sur-300]rounding country Lord Donneraile, and the neighbouring gentry, have, however, taken wise and early steps to prevent its spreading. His lordship has given a range of stables for an hospital, with an inclosed airy yard, and also bedding for the sick. Thus fulfilling every duty, he sets an example which a government may not disdain to follow in the latter point. In this small hospital thirty fever patients are now convalescent. 1 fear we shall find this but a prelude to more painful knowledge.

. We leave this to-morrow very early for Kilmallock, called by some "the Balbec, or Palmyra of Ireland" We shall again visit (as we shall make it our way), the ruined abode of Spencer. We are now leaving delightful scenes, and society rarely to be found in any country.

I have visited Kilbrack; and though Mr. Stawell was from home, received kind attention there. Mrs. Stawell gave me some information as to Spencer’s picture; she thinks it may be near Limerick. The Irish ladies, in general, are pleasing and elegant companions; they unite French gracefulness with English modesty, and have souls full of sensibility and excellent understanding.

You must henceforth expect to hear of the humbler walks of life, and of the homely entertainment we may meet. To us, the wretched cottage will often present its pale inmates, and [301] their scanty furniture. I fear, too, that unpleasing — even distressing anecdotes — may meet our ears, for one cannot dissemble that the embers of the sullen, flames of pestilence, of want, and despair, are but sleeping in many parts of Ireland! Limerick, you know, has been long and very much disturbed. I shall write to you a faithful account of things — nothing concealing or exaggerating. That matters can remain, with prospect of advantage to the empire, as they are, I cannot believe.

I am, most truly, yours, &c.