Curraghmore House was built about 1700, around the remains of a very ancient castle. From this side the building somewhat resembles Chatsworth, but on the other one sees the great square tower which dates from the twelfth century. It has been, of course, much changed and is now outwardly made to conform to the rest of the mansion,—but upon entering you at once notice the great thickness of the walls which prove its age. They are adorned with trophies of the chase of much interest.
Mounting a staircase of gradual ascent one enters another square hall around which are the living-rooms, some very rich in ornamentation, especially in the painted ceilings. Many portraits gaze questioningly at me from the walls, some so dark with age that only the eyes are visible, eyes in a pallid face and all else lost in the shadow,—faces whose owners have come and gone like the shadows of a dream, and whose very names are now forgotten;—living, I fancy, their lives out in these old halls, with as little thought for the inevitable forgetfulness of time, as we have to-day, and we have none at all, but pass the time in a happy fashion over tea in the Library.
Some of us wander off to the billiard hall up in the great tower, and descending stop a moment in a room which it is claimed is visited by such a ghostly caller as Scott tells of in his "Tapestried chamber,"—one which will wake you and jibe at you. Here is a portrait of a lady, with a band on her wrist. She and a brother lived long ago and were both atheists. The brother became converted to a belief in God but not this sister, and he promised that when he died if there was a God and a hereafter, he would return, which he did, and seizing his sister by the wrist left a mark which necessitated the wearing of this band. There it is in that portrait over the mantel in the ghost's room.
There are other phantoms which haunt this mansion of Curraghmore, but let this suffice. I should like to have slept in that room, and after we departed I was told that we had all been asked to "stay the night," but the ladies of the party objected as Lady W. was absent.
Many years ago en route from Calcutta to Ceylon we had on board a poor sick man en route to colder climes in the hope of prolonging his life—a vain one as it proved. He was brought out daily and laid on the deck and naturally became an object of interest and sympathy to all of the passengers. One elderly lady was especially kind to him and I held many long conversations with her. She told me that he had been in the employ of the government in the Indian Islands, and, stricken with fever, had been ordered home, leaving a wife and a newly born child behind him. As I left the ship at Colombo I saw her standing by his side fanning him. Poor man—he was buried at sea near Aden and to-day I find her portrait looking down upon me from these walls. She was Lady Waterford, the grandmother of our host, a woman who believed in seeing the world and, as I know, doing good as she passed along. I believe she was considered rather eccentric—interesting people generally are so,—and it is stated that she discarded all the family jewels in favour of one made of foxes' teeth. Although eighteen years had elapsed since that sea trip hers was not a face to be forgotten, and I knew it at once. I believe she has long since passed away.
There is a story told of the castle in Cromwell's day which, while it proves that there is a woman at the bottom of most incidents in this world, shows that here her wits were the salvation of the house. Knowing that her father would die rather than surrender to the king-killer, she seduced the lord of the manor into one of his own dungeons and promptly locked him up. Into Cromwell's hands she then delivered the keys of the castle, assuring him that though forced to be absent on this auspicious occasion her father was nevertheless well disposed to the cause of Parliament and willing to give such proof as the Protector might demand. In consequence Curraghmore remained unimpaired in the possession of its owner, securely locked up the while in his own dungeon.
Taking it all in all it is a most interesting place, yet when all is said, to my thinking, the greatest beauty lies in the superb trees of the park, and its wonderful stretches of grassland.
