OUR IRISH LETTER.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXIII, Issue 13, 30 March 1905, Page 9

OUR IRISH LETTER.

Dublin, January, 1905 The Prince oi Wales is now in Ireland on a visit to Lord Ardilaun (of Gumne&s and Co ) at his Lordsdiip's lovely country seat in Cong, at the head ot Lojagh Oorrib, County Galway. Lough Corrib is one of those Irish lakes which it is so difficult to describe on account of the marvellous changes of atmosphere that constitute a part of their beauty. In other countries there is eaual, often .greater variety of form, of features by which I mean the islands that break the surface, the shores, the mountains that form a background, tne foliage on island and mainland ; but there is a wonderful ever-shifting variety in the atmospheric effects on our lakes that constitutes a loveliness peculiar to this land of sunshine, shadow, flitting clouds, soft blue, purple or eolden haze and clear bold lights, shedding glory indescribable over every object, or cold, dark gloom, oppressive and fear-inspiring in its angry moods, moods that change again as quickly and as lightly as a child s ntiui sorrow. Smoh is Lough Corrib, from the moment your boat leaves Galway town until Cong is reached, as difficult a bit of navigation, the captain of the steamer told me, as there is in Europe. The stretch of water is often miles in width, but the actual navigable course for a steamer is narrow, sinuous, and beset at almost every yard by dangerous rocks and shallows, as shown by the vast number of indicators that mark the course. Of a -calm, sunny afternoon, no sail could be lovelier • undulating wooided shores, now close by, bow away in distance, dim and shadowy ; islands with ancient ruins and stories of days long past stud the waters ; in the distance, the Twelve Pins of Binabola catch and reflect every sun-ray, every flitting cloud shadow, and undergo aerial transformations, so many and so exquisite that they set one dreaming of fairyland. I forget how many happy hours one passes on this charming lake before reaching Cong, where Lord Ardilaun years ago purchased all the richest of tne land, built a mansion near the shore, laid out a beautiful demesne around tne mansion, and then built a great wall around three sides of these rioh acres (the lake bounas the' fourth side), a nd so shut out the people on the cold, barren side, even enclosing the rums of their ancient and magnificent abbey and the tombs beneath which the forefathers of the Catholics lie. Inside Lord Ardilaifn's .great walls are gardens, woods, hill and dale, all -that the magic of nature and the magic of gold can combine to make a charming scene. Outside, the country and the people are very like each other ; poor enough, yet, to my mind, more interesting than most of what is within, though there is always wealth in the castle and very little of it in the village and neighborhood of the Cong outside, save when the Sim lavishes his wealth upon the scene : then the whole world basks in gold, revels in that gold that never corrupts the heart, gold that never makes the peasantry around cold or hard or churlish. Cong, being a little world of lakes and mountains, the rra n rains there pretty often ; but if it does, the sun shines there pretty often too, and in bright weather it is a "delightful place for rambles and for old-world story and hiatory, as well as for nature's charms and freaks. The freaks are, for the most part, underground, for the whole neighborhood is literally honeycombed with subterranean natural caves and passages, to each of which Some legend attaches. For instance, some hun"dred feet dbwn deep in the earth the flow of water from Lough Corrib has worn itself a course/ to Lough Measg, a lake about nine miles away and which is fed by this subterranean river. Not far from the village of Cong is a curious opening in the ground, a natural shaft Isnown as the Pigeon Hole, down which an almost pettrpendiicular flight of about 120 narrow stone steps leads to the underground current, the water of which is so pure in quality that all the people around resort to it for their household supply, and it is quite a sight to watch the women carrydng their pails of water on their heads up this veritable stone ladder. Before descending the shaft each woman gathers a 'bunch of bracken, or field fern ; when she has her pail nearly, but not quite full, the bracken is laid on the top of the water and the carrier then places tne vessel on her head and, erect as an arrow, climbs upwards, appearing to those below as if she were going up a chimney. The bracken is seem rising from side to side of the pail, but neve* a drop of water is spilled or splashed over.

Below, the Spot is most curious and interesting. The only light comes straight down the shaft and strikes solely on that portion of the ranid current immediately beneath the sky : on either hand is utter darkness, the sound of coming and receding waters alone telling that long caves extend beyond. If a guide be at liand, he lights a wisp of straw and goes rapidly away in the direction the water is flowing, that is, towards Lough Measg, and so long as the straw continues its fitful glare we see the roof, walls, and rooky floor of a| rugged cavern. Then the light suddenly goes out and mysterious daiknebS once more reigns through the many miles of passages that no stranger dare venture to explore. We next seat ourselves beside the water and watch intently for the passing up or down of an enchanted trout which has been the guajodian spirit of this river for more generations than we can count. The fish is an enchanted spirit, held thus in bondage for some sin that will only be expiated when the sands of time will have run out. There is no use in catching it, for that was once tried and the little trout was actually brought home to a cottage in Cong and laid upon the gridiron to grill, but lo and behold ! it disappeared in a flash and there it was, swimming about next day, in its old haunt, the marks of the gridiron bars on its sides, as can be plainly seen to this day, when no honest Christian would attempt to meddle with it. Cong and its neighborhood are full of Historic Remains, both of the very earliest periods of which we have any tradition and of the centuries, from the fifth to the ninth, known as Ireland's golden age. With reference to very early monuments, cromlechs, battle cairns, etc., etc., it is an interesting fact that from this neighborhood came some of the proofs that led to the abandonment by modern historians and antiquarians of that attitude of unbelief in our ancient history and traditions maintained by historians and antiquarians of the eighteenth and the first half of the nineteenth centuries. This came about briefly as follows : — The late Sir William Wilde was a native of Mayo and spent a great part of his boyhood in and around Cong. When he became a learned man, studying, with ever-increasing delight, in the storehouse of Irish literature, he read a translation of the account of a battle said to have taken place about 2000 years (roughly speaking, for I have not data at hand) B.C. According to tradition, the scene of this battle was given in a very ancient manuscript as being near Cong, and the situation and general features of the funeral mounds or cairns raised o\er the heroes who were buried on the field'of battle were described. Now, Sir William recollected having seen, when a boy, mounds In the very place indicated and also remembered that local tradition held them to be the graves of ancient heroes. Here was something tangible to search. Wilde went to the spot, had some of the mjounds opened, and found indisputable proofs of the accuracy of details given in tihe Irish MSS. Innumerable other suoh verifications at last convinced the public that what were once called old women's stories had stali'd foiftihation in actual history, that history perhaps the most interesting in the world, connected, as it is, with early Eastern annals. Then, as regards the golden age and mediaeval times, we have, amongst other remains. The Famous Cross of Cong, which is a magnificent relic of the days when princes and bishops were skilled in the goldsmith's art and wrought gol r d and sfilver ornaments of such fine artistic merit that these ornamdnts are the wonder of the gold and .silversmiths of to-day. 'There are also at Cong the ruins of one of those great abbeys that were the" glory of Catholic Ireland seven hundred and more years ago. I wander how much of all this will Lord Ardilaun show and explain to the Prince of Wales. I faHcy the mtmlber of braces of wild birds bagged will have a far greater interest for the guests than all the old lore aroujnjd ancient Cong and its quaint Market Cross.