My heart you're troublin'.
Your beauty haunts me
Like a fever dream."
Then we dashed away to Bray and Bray's Head, along the Esplanade, through the Scalp, a wild bit of country in the county of Wicklow, and the Dargle, which is a romantic glen. We never go slowly—the horses are either galloped, or stopped altogether. Then on we flew through Enniskerry, a lovely little village, where everybody stopped or ran to the door to watch us go by, with a wave of the hand, and always a "God bless ye!"
I could not believe such magnificence was possible in Ireland as was found at Powers Court had I not seen it with my own eyes. It is the finest private mansion I have seen in all my travels. The Vale of Avoca, which called from Moore these lines,
"There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet
As the vale on whose bosom these bright waters meet,"
did not appeal to me so much as did Killarney.
The city of Kilkenny, called the "Marble City," impressed itself on me. The streets are paved with marble of their own quarrying, and what is better, the inhabitants have fire without smoke, from a peculiar coal found in that district. They also claim to have water without mud, and earth without bog, and however true these boasts may be, it is a wonderfully clean city. The coach was sent back from this place by the servants, and we returned by train.
It all seems very tame in this telling of mine, but the trip, every moment of it, was delightful. Sometimes we would all get out and walk; sometimes the ladies would exchange with the men and ride horseback; or when it would rain for a few moments the men would crowd into the coach. Then there would be good fun, and I could get an idea of their thoughts. They are great story-tellers, these Irish, and have such warm hearts. And the songs they sang, when shall I ever hear such again? And yet there was not a young person, that is, one under thirty, in the party.