It is of red brick, two stories in height, and of great length. Its arches and brickwork are of the finest, but the whole stands a melancholy monument to the downfall of human greatness, to the cowardice of a King.
From whom did Charles I. inherit such a streak? Certainly not from his Danish mother, or from his royal grandmother. The worst enemies of the Stuart Queen never could accuse her of the desertion of her friends. She was faithful unto death and should deserve the crown of life for that reason if for none other. But Lord Darnley was never faithful to anything throughout his entire life, and from that source surely came this taint in the Stuart kings of England—the degeneracy of James I., and the cowardice of his son Charles.
Leaving melancholy Jigginstown behind, we moved on to the Curragh, but this time to the camp, which, by the way, is one of the largest in the empire.
En route, we chased through a drove of cattle, one of which, after racing with us for some distance, decided finally to take our right-of-way, and our guard sliding under her hind leg, lifted it high off the ground, causing her to plunge wildly and the air to be filled with distant oaths and curses from her owner. She was not hurt at all, and as the car slid forward and away, clouds of dust hid our number and defeated all chances of a claim for damages.
Luncheon with the officers in the mess-tent being over, we started again citywards, as my days in the land were growing few indeed, to my regret, and there were some shrines which must be visited or my journey would be incomplete.
En route to the tomb of a great statesman we paused to pay our homage at that of a great divine, Dean Swift, who sleeps in the Cathedral of St. Patrick under a simple tablet. There, upon an important occasion, when the cathedral was crowded, he delivered himself of those famous words, "The Lord loves them that give to the poor, and if you believe in the security, dump down the dust,"—the shortest sermon ever delivered in St. Patrick's, and the most effective, for "the dust" came in clouds.
St. Patrick's blessing must be passing from Ireland at last, as the papers describe the capture of a brown snake three feet long in a garden at Ranelagh.
As we approach the stately cathedral I ask our boy: