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From: "Mary Heaphy" <>
Subject: [IRL-TIP] Clonmel Chronicle June 17th 1865.
Date: Sat, 6 Jan 2007 14:56:27 -0000


Clonmel Chronicle June 17th 1865.

>From Clonmel to Lismore.

At an early hour, beneath the already glowing heat of a summer sun, we
started, on Thursday morning last, for this far-famed and beautiful
locality, to be present for its first floral Fete. It is a long way from the
Suir to the Blackwater, whether you journey by the Valley of the Nire, or
whether you cross the grand mountain chain, separating Tipperary from her
sister County, Waterford-a chain whose loftiest summit-Old
Knockmealdown-looks proudly from afar. The way is, indeed, very long, but
not tiresome, so infinite, so varied, and so engrossing, are the countless
attractions with the interlying scenery presents. A five hours quiet driving
through such a Country gives one abundant opportunity for contemplation, and
you have so much to think upon!. The mind, in passing from scene to
scene-perhaps through many a far gone age-becomes as it were overwhelmed
with the flowing streams of thought which keep welling up from the memories
and associations of the past. Notwithstanding all the many attractions, we
cannot wonder, however, that but few from this immediate neighbourhood
visited the Lismore Flower Show on Thursday , although the weather was
surpassingly brilliant and enjoyable, for five hours "posting" is now-a-days
a very serious tax, upon even a tourist's patience. By and Bye when "the
iron link" shall be formed between Clonmel and Lismore-when the hills and
dales will echo with "The cry of escaping steam"- when the lovely valley of
the Blackwater shall be brought within one hours journey of us, then we may
well imagine that numbers of those resident here will avail themselves of
the great privilege of passing a profitable and an agreeable day in one of
the sweetest spots in our sunny South-whose charms many an eloquent and
graceful pen has attempted to portray, but has attempted in vain.
Fortunately for us, we refer to scenes familiar with many a happy
recollection to the greater number of our readers; we can therefore, afford
to journey on, rapidly, as with "the speed of a special train" touching but
lightly, and ah! How imperfectly, upon the most prominent features presented
to view in passing along.

We have the gentle Suir to flow on calmly and unruffled by the various
pleasant villas and mansions that adorn its banks. To-day its silvered
surface is reflecting the deep shadows of the lofty and wide spreading trees
which rear their beautiful forms on high, or yet stretch forth their
luxuriant arms, and stoop to kiss their own bright waters. We leave
Marlfield and Knocklofty which will soon demand from us more than a passing
mention, and we are now approaching within almost the shadows of that noble
mountain chain to which we have already referred. But as we begin our ascend
and track our way through the lonely "Gap", we would just delay, though but
for a moment, opposite the grand pile that rises like one of those grim
guardians of Rhineland from the rock bound shores of a bright and majestic
river. The surrounding landscape at Ardfinnan consists of an noble sweep in
the vale of the Suir, well described as "a band of luxuriant low ground,
striped with a brilliant stream and flanked with picturesque heights". Its
most prominent feature is the modernised Castle which lifts itself up from
its rocky foundation, and owes its origin-history says-to John, Earl of
Morton, who adopted this mode of qualifying himself for the throne he
shortly afterwards was called to fill. Tybroughney, near Carrick and
Lismore, towards which we are bent, also owe their uniform construction, so
far as their military remains are concerned, to the same nobleman, whose
path to regal splendour was marked with many a deed of rapine and plunder,
in which the surrounding Irish families were too often the victimised and
despoiled. How calm and quiet now this little hamlet, which is sending up
from the Castle and from cabin such wreathing cloudlets of smoke as tell of
the early preperation of the morning meal. The flowers that crown the rocky
heights are bright and gay, the air is perfumed with the fragrance of new
mown hay, the grass is no longer stained with the crimson tide of life,
which flowed fast and furious in those olden times, ere John was King, and
later still, when Cromwells soldiers followed up their terrible onslaught
from the opposite hill with a hand-to-hand encounter on the very ramparts of
the castle. Yes, the old place is peaceful now; cultivated tastes have added
many a new charm to the picturesque residence of the Prendergast family.

We would willingly delay longer here, we would carry in fancy our minds back
to the earlier period of Ardfinnan's ecclesiastical fame, which is, we had
forgotten to mention, of a date long anterior to its martial grandeur, but
the rays of sunshine growing more vertical, and fierce in their burning
light, remind us, in language rather too warm , that Time is on a rapid
wing, and we must bid it for the present a hasty farewell.

Every local tourist knows that remarkable piece of engineering skill known
as the "V", or mountain road. To represent its position more truly, the said
letter should be resting horizontally, with its angle towards the east. It
is on the Castlegrace Estate, and soon the young and extensive plantations,
carried out by the late and lamented owner, Richard D. Grubb, Esq, will
clothe with verdure the bare, rugged surface, causing this part of the
highland view to harmonise with the adjacent woods that have had, on
Viscount Lismore's property adjoining, and stretching far away, already
several years growth. It is slow work, ascending the interminable but well
kept road.; Turn where you will, and what a prospect you command from
Knockmealdown to Galteemore. It is, perhaps, an incomparable panorama. The
red deer once bounded through the magnificent glen at your left,; they are
gone-gone like the wild Irish peasant himself, who hunted them through those
mountains fastnesses around you. There is nothing to disturb the repose of
the ingenious electrician-the eccentric Henry Eeles-who lies buried far
above the place where you stand, and neath a tributary cairn placed some
2,600 feet over the vast and chequered plain below. As your journey on and
around the shoulder of the hill, which, but for the brilliance of the view
must certainly have long since tired your patience out, you come in sight of
Bay Lough, whose inky waters are in dismal unison with the lonely, solemn
grandeur of the surrounding scene. Innumerable rivulets trickle downward
into that dark lake, through many a narrow fissure, clothed with the
feathery frouds of native ferns, or yet leap with playful humour from ledge
to ledge of brown and spangled rocks. There are-legends say-sad and mourning
sounds often echoed along the shores of that gloomy and ill-fated Lough. We
pass it by, feeling something of a chill as the shadows of its o'er hanging
precipieces fall across our path.

Now we pass the rude boundary line which divides Tipperary from Waterford,
and, in doing so, separates the broad domains of the Duke of Devonshire and
Lord Lismore. Downwards, and through a wide undulating Country, far away
towards the Blackwater we are now speeding. At length we enter the "Glen" ,
which, some affirm, knows no equal for beauty in Ireland. Two hugh rocks
form its fitting and everlasting portals, yet they offer no barrier to your
entrance. Perched above on this firm, unshifting foudation, a school house
of pleasing and large pretensions is established. The liberality of a noble
family wisely applied by one revered for many an amiable quality has
contributed to raise and endow this beautiful and benevolent structure.

To be continued.

Mary



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