
KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 


13 

A VISIT TO MUCROSS ABBEY, KILLARNEY: 
ROAMING OVER THAT beautiful mountain 
district, situated in the south-west of Ireland, 
famed throughout the world for its glorious 
and ever varying scenes, I was frequently an 
observer of those charming views, and saw a 
little of the manners and customs of that 
ancient and superstitious peasantry—border- 
ing the Lakes of Killarney. 
Every person who has visited the three 
lakes, will remember the promontory of 
Mucross in the Upper Lake, with its Abbey 
ruins mantled by that offspring of nature 
which at this early season throws out its 
million decorations from countless branches 
and stems—all capped by rich green leaves of 
many hues, casting a cheerful pall over those 
memorable ruins, over the ashes of friars 
resting in the tomb. 
The demesne of Mucross and its promon- 
tory are pleasingly described by Mrs. S. C. 
Hall in a very elaborate book called “ A Week 
at Killarney.”’ Tourists, who come hither, 
admire the avenue with its tall elms, where 
more than thirty herons hover at a stone’s 
throw; also the first peep through the nave 
archway, looking up the chancel, is a favorite 
one. This forms a sweet picture in shade 
and color, when the bright sun shines. The 
sky and trees appear to be receding from 
you, through a mullioned window, which is 
perfect in appearance—almost as though the 
builder had placed it there yesterday. A 
small and singularly-formed tower divides the 
nave from the chancel. My guide informed 
me, that architects delighted in the four 
plain supporters of the tower. These are 
merely stone posts, forming a door-shaped 
opening into the east and west portions of 
the church. 
The order of friars who settled here, seem 
well to have understood a provident arrange- 
ment for temporal comforts in their habita- 
tions. They had their library, refectory, and 
' kitchen on the same floor, with doors from 
one into the other. The good men of those 
days after matin services, could pleasantly 
beguile their time in a spacious library; but 
what vestiges remain to us of the dark 
wood book-cases, arranged in rows along the 
room; or of the scriptorium which I infer 
was incorporated with the library? What 
relics of the many thousand hours spent in 
illuminating and compiling missals? There 
seems only one trophy to catch the eye; and 
that isa recess in the north wall, where per- 
chance, books have been placed; the stone 
edges of which are now rounded, and are 
fast crumbling away. 
Let us picture the friars (they belonged to 
the Franciscan order) in calm debate over a 
flagon of Burgundy, taken from their exten- 
sive wine stores, in incomparably large cel- 


lars below (for the monastery is small other- 
wise in proportion). We can fancy them all 
sitting cosily around an arbutus-wood table. 
The material might then be prized as it is 
now, for ladies’ work-boxes, tables, and card- 
cases; for egg-cups, and gentlemen’s tobacco 
boxes. The friars might be talking over the 
studies of the day ; their advancement in doc- 
trinallearning; their fresh visitors at church ; 
the giving of alms to the poor from the 
hospitium—all passing a cordial hour after 
the mid-day meal in the solemn area of their 
refectory. 
We can view this dining-hall in a more 
exuberant scene; when an ever continued 
hospitality within the pious roof never thought 
cheerful, heartfelt, innocent mirth, a sin. 
Graced as the festive board might be by a 
courtly and. lordly guest,—with generous 
sympathy was the worldly man greeted, en- 
tertained, and followed on his way by the 
blessing of the brotherhood. This country 
abounds with legends and tales. The most 
ridiculous perhaps are those told of the 
O'Donoghue; who, in days when fairies 
governed ignorant noddles, lived on a lovely 
island in the Lower Lake, named Ross 
Island. He was noted for his wizard acts, 
and we may conclude that he and his de- 
scendants were men of warm Irish blood— 
glorying in freaks of every kind; delighted 
with making dupes of the ignorant credulous 
tribes about them. Possibly, these good 
men in their way were attracted by the intel- 
ligence of the recluse men, who lived a plea- 
sant boat’s pull from the old grim castle; and 
that on call days, they helped to consume 
savory edibles sent piping-hot from a wide 
kitchen fire-place in the apartment adjoining. 
The O'Donoghue passed a merry hour or two, 
discoursing upon popular topics of that day 
—namely, how Coleman, of the Upper Lake, 
had his eye kicked, and was obliged to bathe 
it in a narrow inlet bordering the lake, be- 
yond which Coleman must not again venture. 
How the last hart was gallantly slain on that 
foeman’s ground (Coleman’s), and victo- 
riously carried off to the Ross Island larder. 
Fancies like these may strike us, and we can 
imagine them to be truths—almost ; when 
man walked over the floors of Mucross; 
when they were not green, and O’Donoghue 
of the glens and Ross reigned supreme. 
The kitchen chimney is a striking object ; 
the whole being perfect, nearly to the top 
stones. ‘The cellar and store-rooms are very 
extensive—skirting, on two sides, the clois- 
ters which form a true gem in the architec- 
ture of the building. Four rows of arches 
present a square around the area, and in the 
centre of the court has grown up a gigantic 
yew, said to be the tallest in Ireland; and to 
have been planted by the friars Its many 
branches throw a sombre and cool shade all 

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