The approach to Kilkenny is marked, as is most appropriate, by an increase in the number of cats, sorry looking specimens, most of them. I must congratulate the town upon her very clean and comfortable Club Hotel.
Kilkenny Castle is not of interest save its stately appearance from the bridge. It has been modernised into a comfortable dwelling-place, prosaic in the extreme.
I find in Ireland that the interesting abodes are of two classes only, the very ancient castle or the square manor-house; the latter, while appearing modern, have some centuries to their credit and are characteristic of the country. I certainly have never seen them elsewhere. Castles such as Kilkenny and Lismore (the Duke of Devonshire's), while holding somewhere in their vastness remnants of the ancient strongholds, have, as I have stated, been brought up to date and out of all interest.
The same holds with the cathedral here. Even the round tower looks new. Rolling onward we pass again through the Vale of Ovoca, but have no time now for more than a glance as the day wanes and rain threatens.
Entering amongst the mountains of Wicklow, our car balks once or twice at the grades, but finally makes up its mind to go ahead and so puffs and pulls and stews with less noise than most motors would be guilty of, until finally, with a last effort, the highest point is reached, and the vale beyond is open to our view, with the demesne of Powerscourt nestling on its farther side. There are few more enchanting prospects in the British Isles. It would seem from here to be a great bowl, so completely enclosed in the mountains as to be accessible only by wings. The billowy foliage is broken at one point by a waterfall some three hundred feet high, which plunges down into the celebrated glen, "the Dargle."
Half-way up the mountain stands the huge mansion of Powerscourt House, as though it were the royal box in this vast opera-house of nature. Dublin has many beautiful points in her neighbourhood, more in fact I think than any other city of Europe, but none so beautiful as this before us.
The temptation to linger is strong, but it is late, and there are miles yet to go. The route drops rapidly downward and then upward until barred by the gates of the home park, which we are allowed to enter once it is certain that we are "going to the house" and are not tourists.
When we reach there every one is abroad in motors, and it is too late for tea, but not too late for a whiskey and soda, which, being assured that we are expected,—hosts have been known to forget their invitations,—is accepted and thoroughly enjoyed.
Powerscourt, the seat of Viscount Powerscourt came into possession of the family during the reign of Elizabeth, and is one of the largest estates in Ireland, having some twenty-six thousand acres within its bounds. Probably its scenery is more varied and beautiful than that of any other estate in the kingdom.