The next moment we quitted the road and entered a fine park, bordered by the lake.
“We will get down here,” said Mr. Trench. “I want to show you the ruins of Muckross Abbey.”
Before us, on a small eminence, I saw a large wall pierced by pointed arched windows, which I recognised at once, for all the Irish railway carriages are ornamented with photographs of it. The abbey was founded, it is said, in 1440. Now, only a few towers and a very curious little cloister remain, and in the centre a magnificent yew tree has grown. The ground outside of the chapel is still used as a cemetery for the members of certain families. After all, in my opinion, the ruins are hardly worthy of the reputation they have acquired.
As we were re-entering the carriage a man came running out.
“There’s two shillings a head to pay, please your honours,” cried he.
“Do you take us for tourists by any chance?” said Mr. Trench, whom he had not at first seen.
The man, laughing, bowed low, and then without any further demand on us ran to a carriage full of Americans who had just driven up.
“Now look at the castle,” continued Trench. “It was built by the father of the present owner, Mr. H——, of Muckross. He spent 40,000l. upon it—something like a million of your francs. Everything that you see is derived from the estate. Still it is what is called ‘an encumbered estate.’ It has been seized by creditors, and Mr. H—— is now in America. He was an officer, but was compelled to resign his commission, and to work as clerk in a New York attorney’s office. Do you know how they keep up the paths and replace the slates on the roof?—with the shillings that poor old man makes the tourists pay him for relating the history of the abbey! This is what we are reduced to in Ireland!”
The road gradually ascended, skirting the mountains which overlook the lake. These mountains are covered with woods containing handsome beech, fir, and other trees, and even a few oaks.