att yᵉ charge of john
Hookes Esqʳᵉ
and since by Thoˢ
Bradley and Wᵐ Archer Esqʳᵉˢ
I find this Richard Hookes was a relation of the Archers, which accounts for their care in reviving this curious account of the number of his family. In the street, a little above the Hotel, is a large and handsome house, called the Plas nwyd, or new palace; the arms of the family to whom it belongs are carved on the chimney-pieces, and on the ceilings. On going down to the quay I found it was high tide; several small vessels were there. The walls of Conway, and the castle, and the suspension bridge, look well from this point. Next to the gateway is a large house, the property of the Erskines: the library is in the tower of the gateway; it is now deserted, and falling to decay, but must have been a pleasant residence.
Quitted Conway on my road to Ireland. Aber Conway, as I passed it, appeared to me very beautiful; the bridge with its single arch, the mountains in front, the church to the left, the stream and the trees, would form a lovely subject for a sketch.
The high road is fine—excellent, it is cut through, and winds round a high rock close to the sea-shore, towards which a good stone wall forms a rampart, and prevents any one feeling nervous. The views in North Wales pleased me very much; the mountains are low, but the heaviness of the atmosphere causes clouds to hang upon their summits, to which their height appears scarcely to entitle them. Penrith Castle is handsome, and the stone quarries appear large and valuable. I passed over and admired the Menai Bridge, and crossed Anglesea in darkness. They tell me the pretty and small black cattle, so common in Wales, come from Anglesea,—the breed of the island. There are no wild goats in Wales, and I only saw two or three tame ones.
6th.—Arrived in Dublin, and proceeded to Knapton. The country around Dublin is hilly, pretty, and has some trees; further inland it is flat, very flat and uninteresting. The towns swarm with beggars, who look very cold, and of an unhealthy white, as if much illness were added to their poverty: the Irish cabins appear abodes of wretchedness, some of them being without a chimney, the smoke making its exit through the door; the pigs and the naked-legged children rolling together; and the roof looking as if its original thatching of straw was turned into mud, so covered is it with green moss, and the black hue of dampness. The potatoes are piled in ridges in the fields, covered over with a few inches of earth neatly beaten down,—the only specimen of neatness that I saw was in these potato ridges; they are left unguarded in the field, and the Irish say, the last thing they would think of stealing would be the potatoes. The hay-ricks are on the same small scale as the Welsh, but not put together nor thatched with Welsh neatness; but the stacks of turf looked very Irish, and they were tolerably neat. The police, who are dressed in a dark-coloured uniform, are armed, which they are not in England. The sight of a turf-fire has an odd appearance at first; the smell is oppressive, and it does not appear to send out the heat of a coal-fire. The park of Abbeyleix, with its fine trees, is a pleasing object, surrounded as it is by a flat country of bog and swamp, and the walks within it are delightful. I wish I had had some of the young rhododendron trees from Landowr to plant there; I might have brought some home in glass cases, impervious to the sea air; a great many cases of that sort, containing rare plants, came to England on the poop of the “Madagascar;” several of the plants were in bloom on board, and they were all healthy on their arrival. The hall at Abbeyleix is decorated with the skull and horns of an enormous elk, found in one of the bogs,—a great curiosity; there is also a woodcock, with a young one and an egg, which were found in the grounds, and are considered a rarity.
We passed a woman who appeared to be very poor from the scantiness of her clothing; she wore her cloak over her head instead of over her shoulders,—a fashion purely Irish; but she did not ask for charity. My companion gave her some money; she threw herself on her knees to thank him, and on our asking her history, she said, “My husband is a Roman, sure it’s myself’s the bad Protestant:” she added that she had eight children, four of whom were dead, and the Lord be thanked; and she wished the Lord would take the others, for they were starving. I gave her a little money, which I made her promise to spend in potatoes and buttermilk, because she said she would lay it out in tea for the children. This new love of tea, to the abolition of potatoes and buttermilk, adds much to the starving state of the Irish poor; if you give them money, it is said, their priests take one-third of it; besides which, O’Connell levies a tribute on the poor creatures.
28th.—This morning, a fine frost being on the ground, which from its peculiar whiteness and brilliancy the Irish denominate a black frost, the party at Abbeyleix and Knapton sallied forth to shoot the woods: the keepers beat the woods for woodcocks much in our Indian fashion of beating the jangal. During the day I walked to the enclosed garden in Lord de Vesci’s grounds, to see the tomb of Malichus O’More, the son of Roderick O’More; the strong ice that was upon it rendered the inscription difficult to decipher: it stood formerly within a few yards of its present situation; Lord de Vesci built a hot-house on the spot, and at the same time he removed the coffin, which is of stone, and contains bones of gigantic size.
1840, Jan. 10th.—To-day the penny postage commenced: a great crowd collected at the post-office, putting in letters,—which were in vast number, as people had refrained from writing, awaiting the opening of the penny post. The band was playing in front of the office.
13th.—Quitted Liverpool in the train: you commence your journey through an immense tunnel, and when a train is going through notice is given at the other end by a whistle. The engines puff and blow in such an angry fashion, one can scarcely fancy they are not animated; and when they want water, by a very simple contrivance, they whistle of themselves to get it. Their names delight me: the “Oberon” or the “Camilla” puff by you—puff, puff, like enraged animals. The
“⸺Swift Camilla scours the plain,