Other objects that attracted attention were the public wells built in especial parts of the town. They are enclosed springs of water, or it may be reservoirs supplied by pipes; the places are from six to ten feet square, and only a few feet deep, a descent to which is made by stone steps into the small, stone-covered rooms. The people using them for the most part carry the water to their houses in earthen jars holding two or three gallons each. The water is carried by girls and women, seldom by boys and men; at least we could see none engaged in the service. As may be imagined, considering the filthy nature of some of the people who thus obtain the water, it is necessary to have a placard declaring the enforcement of law on any one who dips a dirty or questionable article into one of the wells, or interferes with the purity of the water.
Signs render a large service in the place, and some of them make queer statements,—at least so they appear to Americans. For instance, one reads:
Here Margaret Ahearn is Licensed to sell Tobacco.
The street letter-boxes had this inscription:
Cleared at 8 a.m. and 6 p.m., and on Sundays at 5 p.m.
At 2 p. m. this same day with some reluctance we left what was to us a place of interest, and took the nice little black-painted steamer Erin, for a sail from this Lower Harbor of Cork, as it formerly was called, to the city itself.
The journey, covering a distance of eleven miles, may be made by rail or steamer. The wise, pleasure-seeking tourist goes by river. On board the little steamer, having paid a shilling (twenty-four cents) for the passage, valises at our side,—and that is all of our baggage, or as we ought now, being in foreign lands, to term it, luggage,—we take our last admiring look at this queen of harbors, and with inexpressible reluctance bid adieu to its beautiful scenery, submitting to our fate in anticipation of another visit, as the steamer that takes us to America will be here for a day to receive the mails. We steam to the left end of the basin, and, rounding to the right, pass into the lovely River Lee,—an extremely picturesque stream averaging here perhaps a quarter of a mile in width.
The weather is cool, but pleasant for the season. Vegetation in certain respects is three or four weeks in advance of that about Boston. This applies to grass, lilacs and shrubs of the kind, and spring flowers; but garden vegetables, from planted seeds, are not at all in advance. In fact, up to this time, April 22, little planting has been done. The atmosphere of the southern parts of Ireland and of England being very damp, and the entire winter mild, certain kinds of vegetation advance; but cultivated work has no especial advantage over New England, where the first fruits of the gardener's labor are gathered as early as in those islands.
But to return from our digression, we proceed on our short voyage to Cork, and are now on our passage up the River Lee. The scenery on the right bank, on the Queenstown side, is somewhat hilly and of pleasing aspect, though not especially striking or unusual; but that of the opposite shore is elegant and picturesque in the extreme. About a mile from the mouth of the river is the beautiful village of Monkstown, a semi-watering-place, having tourists' hotels and a castle. Monkstown Castle is in ruins, having been built in the year 1636. It is related that Anastatia Goold, a woman of masculine qualities, during the absence of her husband in Spain, conceived the idea of building this as a family mansion, and to pay for it, hit upon the scheme of supplying her workmen with their family stores. She purchased them at wholesale, and retailed them at a profit which paid the entire cost of the castle, with the exception of a single groat (eight cents of our money).