Wanderings in Ireland

by Michael Myers Shoemaker

The stories of war and bloodshed have passed away and Cashel has fallen more and more into ruin and decay with the flight of years. An old guide, whose name does not seem to be given, made it the labour of his life and love to restore as best he could what was remaining. Here he lived on the charity of the poor, which never failed him, doing his best, and it was much, to gather together the crumbling stones and replace them in their old positions. Finally he died and was buried here and his work, almost undone by neglect and time, was finally taken up by one of equal taste and greater power, Archdeacon Cotton, who devoted time, energy, and private means to preserve this most interesting spot in Ireland from destruction. His work here started in Ireland the same movement towards the preservation of these ancient places with which Sir Walter Scott was so identified in Scotland.

To both, the lover of antiquities owes an eternal debt of gratitude.

Of Cashel it is related that Archbishop Brice in 1744, not being able to drive his carriage to the top of the rock, procured an act of Parliament to remove the cathedral down into the town, whereupon the roof was actually taken off for the value of the lead and the venerable pile abandoned to ruin.

As we pass the iron gateway which now guards the ruins and the dead who sleep around and in them (for the whole is now a great necropolis) the eye is first attracted by a rude cross rising from an equally rude base; on one side is carved the crucifixion, and on the other a figure of St. Patrick. Here it is said the kings of Munster were crowned and here also tribute was paid by those of lesser state, and it is claimed that a hollow on one side was caused by the throwing down of the tribute gold through many years.

Passing onward one enters the quaint Cormac's Chapel, one of the most interesting remains in Ireland. Its original stone roof is still in place and possesses two very singular square towers on either side, one of which carries its pyramidal roof, but the other is open to the sky. The chapel is not large, being but fifty-three feet long and having only a nave and choir. It is Norman in its character; the very rich decorations of its arches and niches are all of that style.

The cathedral is, of course, a ruin, but stately and beautiful. Its interior is crowded with flat tombstones and even to-day interments take place here, and be assured to have the right of burial in Cashel Church is a hallmark of nobility which no money can purchase; only blood ties with those long since laid to rest will gain you a right to sleep there, and the same holds with Muckross.

There is not much left of the castle. Outward amongst the many graves which cover the rock, the eye is at once attracted by the stately round tower, rising a hundred feet above the rock. To my thinking there is nothing more majestic than these simple towers with their conical caps, and one weaves around them all manner of romances and stories, which probably are very far from the truth.

There seems little doubt that they are simply the campaniles of this northern land and it appears certain that they did not make their appearance until after the advent of Christianity. They were probably used also for watch towers and are to be found all down the coast at points where the Danes were apt to land.

In those days the Danes were the marauders of Europe, and Ireland did not escape their attention.