In earth’s recurring Paradise.—A. Tennyson.
Halfway up Belfast Lough, on the high ground to the left you may see a remarkable landmark. This is Helen’s Tower, built by the present Earl of Dufferin as a tribute of filial affection to his mother, the late Countess of Gifford, and formally named after her on attaining his majority.
Looking across from the grey old walls of Carrickfergus, it may be seen crowning the highest hill on the Claudeboye estate. Clear cut against the sky, there it stands, lashed by the winds or touched by the sun, ever firm and enduring—a fitting memorial of one of the best and noblest of women.
Lady Gifford was a Sheridan, one to whom wit and beauty came as natural gifts, yet one who dipped deeply into the font of human knowledge, and by pure sympathy with all that was good and beautiful in life, exerted a lasting influence on all those whose privilege it was to know her.
A short drive from Bangor, or, still better, a pleasant two-mile stretch across the turf from Claudeboye House, will bring you to the foot of the hill. Here, glimmering amid ferns, sedges, birches, and firs, very calm and peaceful on a golden autumn day, with Helen’s Tower reflected on its face, is a quiet lake. Then a smart climb through a fir wood, and the tower—a veritable Scotch tower, with “corbie stairs” and jutting turrets all complete—is before you.
At the basement lives the old keeper with his wife; and here, after inscribing your name in the visitors’ book, you follow him up the stone steps.
The sleeping chamber first. A cosy little room, remarkable for the fine specimen of French embroidery which decorates the bedstead, with the quaint inscription on the tester—
“I . nightly . pitch . my . moving . tent
A . day’s . march . nearer . home.”
From here you are taken to the top.