notes of home rambles. iii. our excursion to new grange and monasterboice

Irish Jesuit Province

Notes of Home Rambles. III. Our Excursion to New Grange and MonasterboiceAuthor(s): John FallonSource: The Irish Monthly, Vol. 12, No. 127 (Jan., 1884), pp. 20-31Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20497084 .

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( 20 )

NOTES OF HOME RAMBLES. Ill. OuR EXCURSION TO NEw GRANGE A]D MONASTERBOICE.

THis morning, 26th September, 1883, we sallied out, at an early hour, to accomplish a long-proj ected trip to New Grange and Monasterboice.

Our starting-point was the seaside of Clontarf, near Dollymount, and the long range of mountains that so magnificently fringe the south side of the bay never seemed more near, more clear, or more beautiful. This is not a very good sign, but it is not conclusive of bad weather; but there were other symptoms which ought to have made us doubtful. The sea looked cold and glassy, just surging a little here and there; and over its surface long, straight lines of spray rose and raced, white as snow, light as air, and ending in nothing. Along the sea-wall small

waves of solid green were leaping backwards from the resistance, in groups, like dolphins at play. And, at intervals, as we drove into the station, heavy seas, breaking on the roof of the tramcar, gave indica tions full of meaning.

What was the logical conclusion to deduce from all this ? Of course, to turn back, because a hurricane was brewing ? That would have been the conclusion of a wise man, but it was not ours. To us hope told a flattering tale, and the reasoning came thus: the night had been blustry, a gale had been blowing, and we were just enjoying the residuum of it. After the storm would come a calm, and we were going to have a fine day, &c.; so on we went.

Yes, on we went, past Howth, and its attendant satellite, Ireland's Eye, past Malahide, looking bright and cheerful, with its shore of silver sand; past Balbriggan, famous throughout the civilised universe,

wherever stockings are worn, and on through many a deep cutting. Already the fierce wind had played sad havoc atl through this district. What a sight it was: to see in the stubble-fields, where the corn had been gathered in stacks and stooks-those stacks and stooks all pros trate, as if some avenging angel had trodden upon them. And the

meadows, where the hay had stood tramped over-night, were now a chaos of scattered herbage, the poor husbandman's work all undone.

Presently Drogheda is reached, and, after sundry mishaps to our hats and muffling, we find ourselves safely esconced in the refreshment room, firmly resolved to return by the next train (for now we were satisfied that a hurricane had been brewing), but, at least, as firmily determined to have a good breakfast, and thus was a little time be guiiled most usefully.

Mleantime the rain commenced falling in torrents,* and the tele * Tbose torrents saved the WI,est of Ireland, in the backward districts where the

corn was still standing. The storm swept over them, but with it came the blessed rain: the corn was beaten down flat and saved.



Notes of Home Rambles. 2 1

graph wires began a dismal screeching, which was like the howling of a lot of disembodied spirits in much need of rest.

A happy thought induced me to look over the book-stall, and there I found ";The Wild Rose of Lough Gill," which I had heard well spoken of. I secured the book, and read till the minutes flew, and the storm was forgotten, and meantime it really subsided.

We were not to be baffled after all ! The storm had spent its force, and the calm was really coming. The rain had ceased, the clouds

were breaking, and off we went, joyous, more than sanguine, already in anticipation triumphant. So be it ever, at the outset of every journey, whether of business or pleasure.

Presently we are in face of the Boyne valley. The river is not big, but it flows along with sparkling ripple and graceful bends, and its banks are really of emerald green, and the slopes and high headlands above them are most tastefully planted with hard woods. You may conceive the result at this September season: the landscape absolutely glows with all those tints which painters love, from russet brown to brightest amber. Even a cool critic would admit that the scene is altogether lovely.

Soon we are in front of Donore Hill, rising from the opposite (which I should call the southern) bank, quiet and sylvan-looking now: it was on that bank that James stood solicitous for his own safety, while the tide of war was rolling towards him, and his men were endanger ing their lives and fortunes for his cause.

And now we are at the obelisk, erected on a curiously-scarped rock. Here William of Orange was wounded, on the battle eve. Here old Scomberg fell in the midst of the stream, fighting bravely against the cavalry of James. Young Scomberg had crossed the river higher up, at the bridge of Slane, to turn the Irish left. William himself forded the stream lower down, near Drogheda, and led to victory in right kingly fashion, with his sabre in his unwounded left hand.

Well might our countrymen exclaim: " Exchange kings, and we will fight you over again." Their children fought it over again at Fontenoy.

Driving past the handsome seat of the Gradwells, called Dowth, after the old mound of same name, we ascertained that there were obstructions ahead, in the shape of fallen trees across the road, so we drove through the demesne. But even thus we met with some impedi:

ments, and several times had to leave the avenue and drive through the grass, to negotiate such obstacles as broken boughs and huge secular giants of trees torn up by the roots. It seemed as if the stormii had been especially merry about here, and had played its wildest freaks in this demesne.

The tumulus of Dowth is an artificial hill of imposing dimensions, so large that you have great difficulty at first in believing that it is



22 Notes of Home Rambles.

the work of man. But on examination it is easy to see that it consists of angular fragments of stone, such as Dame Nature in her wildest

moments never threw together. Those fragments are neither washed nor weather-worn, nor mixed with sand, but such as men would break from rocks, and carry and throw into a heap-a tempting quarry for road-contractors. But contractors will make no more hollows, I trust, in this majestic pile. In spite of their past Vandalism, Dowth still remains a mound of first-class dimensions, carpeted all over with a sward of shamrocks, and most fitting monument for a pagan king.

That it is sepulchral is evidenced by the fact that the entrance has been found and cleared, and explored into the inner chamber. And I have heard that in this inner chamber were discovered sculptured slabs, covered with those mystic spirals, the inner symbolism of which

we may guess at, but can never unravel. This much have I heard, but please not interpret me to convey that I saw the interior. A little old man, from across the wall of an adjoining farmstead, pressed me hard to enter. " It is better than New Grange," said he; " there are more apartments, and the nobility and gentry give it their applause !" But I was not to be tempted by such enticements: the entrance seemed much too narrow for me, and the old man was exaggerating not a little.

I should perhaps omit, but I cannot avoid mentioning that as we were passing out, in humour for discovering archmology everywhere, our eyes were caught by the trace of an old rectangular enclosure, between the moundl and the high-road. Is this ancient, or is it modern? Was it the cabbage-garden of that little old man's father, perhaps of himself ?-or is it a thing of immemorial antiquity, a ban queting-hall of the Firbolgs, built in the days of the mound ? Either or any answer would suit the appearances: local knowledge alone can furnish the true one, and I could not bring myself to ask the little old

man. Now picture us at length arrived at New Grange: a mound still

grander than Dowth. "Forte fuit juxta tumulus, quo cornea summo

Vitrgulta, et densis hastilibus horridan myrtus.0

and prepare your mind for mystery; for, at the very threshold of the irresistibly inviting entrance is another of those slabs, covered with spirals, which were worked, probably, before Phidias or Praxiteles ever handled a chisel, and which mean what you and I, still more

probably, will never understand. And now, "'Entrez, Jlifessieurs, 8s'il ous plait," which means, if you are

fourteen stone, like me, to crawl in head foremost, and work your way on hands and knees, like a sweep, and presently on your side with in creasing effort. The sensation is not agreeable: it is as if the Cyclo pean blocks, which form the sides and top of this weird gallery, were

* iEneid, lib. iii. vers. 22.



VoAWes of Home Rambles. 23

tightening in on you, and closing down on you, and as if the cold ground was heaving up against your panting chest.

I had doffed my overcoat when entering, and had brought it along the narrowing and darkening passage, resting hands and knees on it, to guard against broken glass and imaginary reptiles. But when each fraction of an inch became all too valuable for my precious self, I left the top coat to take care of itself, and it was only as I advanced that I remembered that it contained the tapers and matches for illuminating the interior. But my ever-faithful young companion brought on the precious garment, and presently we were in the inner sanctum of this marvellous old tomb, erect, each with a lighted taper in his hand, a little out of breath, yet shouting loudly through sheer enjoyment at the novelty of the situation.

If any person of nervous temperament had been passing by the entrance at this moment, he might have said, in the words of Vigil, if he knew how:

" Gemitus lacryunabilis imo Auditur tumulo, et vox reddita fertur ad aures."

But the "gemitus " was by no means "lacrymabilis" in our case: we were merely awakening the echoes, to enjoy a new form of existence in the midst of a grave.

Let me now try to give you some idea of the interior. The long gallery by which we had crept in, and which I would estimate at twenty-five yards (though to me just now it seemed a mile) introduces you into a central chamber, octagonal, about fifteen feet diameter, and at least twenty feet high. Three chambers open off from it-one to the right, one to the left, and one just opposite to you as you enter.

Those chambers are all apparently of the same size, and much smaller than the central one, viz., about seven feet wide, and the same in height and depth. Beyond them there is nothing, so far as we could observe.

The masonry is altogether cyclopean, of the most primitive cha racter. Huge blocks, much larger than a man, unchiselled and un dressed, such as they were taken from the field or mountain side, or from the sea-shore, set rudely on end or piled one upon another; the interstices as rudely packed with minor stones, egg-shaped or water

worn like themselves; the three minor recesses capped with ponderous slabs, which boldly span from side to side; the central chamber vaulted by the gradual overlapping of the ponderous courses, till they converge and finish with a single flag; all this in a dull monochrome of natural brown colour, glistening with damp: such is the general appearance of the interior, in a few words.

But there are blocks and colossal slabs, built in here and there, which deserve a special mention, because they are sculptured all over




with spirals, and zig-zags, and diamonds, not incised, but chiselled in relief, of strangest workmanship and design. And a further peculia rity is that those sculptured stones are inecrporated with the cyclopean

work quite at random, and utterly regardless of their ornamentation. And if you apply a lighted taper to the open joints, in any place where those sculptured stones rest, you will observe the sculpture spreading inwards as far as the stone or your eye can reach. There is even one sculptured flag in the right-hand side recess which was evidently covered by a plain one, and another where the sculpture is on the inner face.

The inference, to me, is irresistible: the mounds were built for warrior princes, by a warrior race, men who probably believed in "blood and iron," but not at all in esthetics. And those sculptured blocks are debris of something still older, let us say temples of a con quered people, or perhaps of a nationality long extinct.

In that right-hand side recess, to which I have just referred, there is what I must call a large stone basin, about four feet in diameter, resting flat on the ground, exceedingly shallow, and strongly sugges tive of human sacrifice. We turn with loathing from the sig,ht an(d from the thought, and, having conscientiously examined all thi t was visible, we work our joyous way outwards, from perennial night even to fleeting day, from the dead past to the ever-living present.

Around this tumulus, at a few yards out from its circular base, there stand eight or nine rough huge stones, each about the height, and several times the thickness, of a man, and several tons' weight. Those blocks apparently stand at regular distances (or mul tiples of those distances) from one another, and are manifestly the remnant of a stone circle, forming a concentric ring with the monumenit

when perfect. And if we may believe old Molyneux, there stood, evea in the days of Charles II., on the summit of the mound, a lofty, uI1 chiselled monolith, primitive attempt at an obelisk, but I can vouch tlhat it stands there no longer.

I would attribute the marvellous preservation which the interior of this most wonderful mound enjoys to the happy fact that it was most thoroughly well rifled long ages ago. Not a shilling's worth of any thing marketable would be found there now. And it is the wide spread conviction of this fact which lets it stand intact, open to all comers, while in other countries Rounds of similar character are scme times pulled to pieces, just for the sake of the wretched vases. and trinkets, and bits of armour which they contain.

If anything can enhance the interest which this mound evokes it is to think that the same mode of burial was in vogue amongst the

manliest races of antiquity, in their palmiest days, in regions most widely remote. This is, at least, the conclusion at which I have arrived, from a little reading and reflection, the summary of which I shall here try to note:



No/es of Home Rambles. 25

1. The ancient Scandinavians were mound-builders. Far away in Sweden, at old Upsala, opposite to where the Baltic breaks into the Bothnian and Finland gulfs, travellers tell us that there is an absolute necropolis of mounds, numerous beyond counting, three of them large like our own, and assigned to their remote deified heroes, Thor, Woden, and Friga. An urn containing human bones has been found in one of the three, I forget which, and brought to Stockholm.

2. The ancient Greeks and Trojans, of the great siege era, were uniformly addicted to this mode of burial. Any reader of the Iliad * or 2Eneid becomes quite familiar with the pyre and tumulus. The twenty-third book of Homer describes Achilles giving directions for the mound of Patroculus; the twenty-fourth closes by telling how the Trojans raised one to their dead champion, Hector. And the curious thing is that those mounds still exist: they must have been quite familiar to every midshipman of the British fleet during the famous anchorage in Bezika Bay. And travellers tell us that as you coast be tween Tenedos and the Hellespont, the mounds of Achilles, Ajax, &c., are conspicuous landmarks.

3. The ancient MIacedonians and Thracians were likewise mound builders. For mounds are still to be met in those countries, attributed to the very earliest dates, and Virgil tells us that the very first thing the Trojans found on the Thracian shore was the tumulus of their

murdered fellow-countryman, Polydorus. It was there and then that they heard that "I gemitus lacrymabili " which so scared them away.

4. The ancient Etruscans and Egyptians were mound-builders. Who has not heard of the mounds of Etruria, with their painted

interior chambers, furnished like drawing-rooms ? Who has not heard of the pyramid tombs of Memphis, which are mounds par excellecee, built of chiselled stone, upon square foundations P

So you see this mode of disposing of the dead has precedents of the highest and most respectable antiquity. But this little difference I would wish to note amongst them: the Egyptians appear to have con structed their own pyramid tombs, and not to have thought of leaving the building of them to posterity. The Greeks and Trojans, on the contrary, appear to have entrusted this pious duty of mound-building to those who would come after them, with perfect confidence that it would not be neglected or forgotten. And amongst both the last-named races

* " That so the long-haired Greeks with solemn rites

May bury him, and to his memory raise

By the broad Hellespont a lofty tomb :

And men in days to come shall say, who urge

Their full-oared bark across the dark blue sea :

Lo, there a warrior's tomb of days gone by !?

A mighty chief whom glorious Hector slew !

Thus shall they say, and thus my fame shall live."

Iliad, lib. vii., v. 97 {Lord Derby's Translation).



26 Notes of fome Rambles.

the habit appears to have prevailed of piling extra material, even on tumuli previously completed, in pious token of honour to the departed. It is in this sense that we can understand the lines of Virgil:

"Instauramus Polydoro funus, et ingens Aggeritur tumulo tellus."

And it is also in this sense that we can appreciate why Achilles directs that the calcined bones of his young hero-friend Patroclus should be

"Enclosed, and in a golden urn remain, Till I myself shall in the tomub be laid!

Antd o'er them build a mound not overlarye Butt of proportions meet. In days to come

Ye Greeks, who after me shall here remain, Complete the work and build it broad and high "'

To which category would I then attribute this old Irish mound of New Grange? Certainly not to the Egyptian, for " chacun pour soi" was never an Irish motto; but far preferably to that of the old Homeric heroes, who piled " mighty heaps of earth " on the mounds of those gone be fore them; and entrusted their own memory, in that respect, to their survivors, and the completion of the work to posterity, " to build it broad and high."

A man's posthumous greatness might thus be gauged by the amount of stones and clay piled over his grave. How great, therefore, must have been the personage entombed here! Yet who was he ?-when did he live ?-what did he achieve ? Empty questions now-empty as his monument, which knows him no longer.

Sir Willianm Wilde has suggested that the whole of this district, from Knowth to Netterville, or, in other words, from Slane to Old bridge, was formerly the necropolis of " Brutgh-na.Boinn." Look at a map, and you will observe how the Boyne describes a curve just like an archer's bow, the old country-road forming the string. It is as nearly as possible the wide stretch of beautiful land thus enclosed, which would be remarkable as having been the old national burial ground of eastern Erin! And, as if to confirm this, we note, down near the river side, another mound, and to the left, as we get on towards Slane, another, and then another.

The fine broad road between Slane and Monasterboice has constant ups and downs, owing to the undulating character of the land about; and that undulating of the land gives us compact bits of landscape, varying at every mile. Most people know that the fields about here are laid out in squares, not too large, neatly fenced with hedge-rows of hawthorn, and blessed with the richest soil. In the compact pas tures there is that emerald sward which poets sing of and cattle de vour. Such of the fields as are in tillage (and they are numerous), quite amazed ime with their wealth of turnip crops, every bulb shining like a cannon-ball, and as large as your head. But, then, the glorious

* Lord Derby's translation. Iliad, book xxiii., lines 243-9.



Notes of Home Rambles. 27

soil explains it all: loose, friable, intermixed with tiny fragments of slate, and of rich golden, brown colour, like the hair of a goddess.

Shortly after leaving Slane we observed the most wonderfully meandering rivulet that ever I saw, in a deep green valley to the left of the road. In spite of all its twists and turns it flows with sufficient rapidity to serve as a mill-race, and in its rapid contortions it seemed to go up hill as well as down hill, owing to acquired velocity. Can this be the fact, or were the up-hills mere optical delusions of the flashing current ?

At length our eyes are gladdened with the long-wished-for sight of the old round tower of Monasterboice, standing solitary and majestic amidst rural surroundings; and after a short interval we pull up at the gate of a neatly-built enclosing wall, which surrounds the old churchyard.

Crossing the stile, we find ourselves in the presence of probably the grandest old sculptured stone cross in the world (and what modern cross can compare with the old ones ?). It stands in the south-east corner of the burial-ground, and meets us just as we enter. I call it the grandest, not because it is the tallest (there is a much taller one in this very cemetery) ; but it is the most perfectly executed and the

most perfectly preserved, most probably. in Ireland and therefore, in the universe; for where else would you seek for its rivals ?*

It consists of three parts: first the plinth or pedestal, into which the shaft is morticed; secondly, the shaft, with the arms and the circle, all in a single piece, and forming in itself nearly the entire

monument. Thirdly, the cap-stone, which surmounts all. Wben I tell you that the cross stands about fifteen feet high, and

is of most ponderous width and thickness, even for its height, you may form some judgment as to the number of tons which the solid central part, and even the plinth, must weigh.

People often naturally wonder how the ancients, without "our knowledge of mechanics," raised and steadied such weights. Let it be admitted, once for all, that it was quite an ordinary thing for the ancients to raise and steady weights tenfold what we would dare to face in our comparatively gingerbread masonry, and let "t our know ledge of mechanics " not exclude the belief that the old people had

ways of their own, more simple, more daring, and more enduring. I can scarcely attempt to describe the sculptures on this really mar

vellous cross. On the two principalfaces we can trace several of the usual Scripture subjects, from the earliest to the last crowning scene of the crucifixion; and I am informed the symbolism of some of those sculp tured groups is most interesting. Up the sides you see ornamentations strongly reminding you of the old illuminated early-Irish manuscripts,

* In Iona there is one still extant, of the same type; in Islay there is another; both admittedly inferior in size, workmanship, and every other respect, to their parent model here.



as8 Notes of Home Rambles.

such as endless knots, for instance, and serpents encircling monks' heads and eating their own tails. The style of art is marvellous, con sidering the date of its execution, for I cannot fix it later than the dawn of the tenth century. Compare it with the rare samples of similar date, which you may meet on the Continent! My recollection of those abroad is that they contained a large proportion of bloated little dwarfs and attenuated little giants. Here you have figures fairly, almost classically, proportioned, chiselled in bold relievo, and most

marvellously preserved. The secret of that preservation from the corroding and dissolving

influence of our Irish climate no doubt lies in the nature of the stone itself. So far as I could make out, it is a hard, gritty, crystalline sand-stone, which must have offered considerable difficulties to work, but with every natural probability of enduring to the end of the world.

I have said that there is another cross still loftier. It stands almost under the shadow of the round tower; I should estimate its height at least at twenty-three or twenty-four feet. It is quite the tallest cross of the kind that I have ever seen, and it is elaborately sculptured; but for beauty of design, and of execution, and of preser vation, give me the south-east cross, which I have faintly attempted to describe.

There is a third old cross, in an out-of-the-way corner, which might easily escape attention. It is much less high than either of the other two, and very much less well-preserved. In fact it bears evidence of having lain neglected, and in fragments, for long years, perhaps for centuries. It stands erect now, but you can see that some aesthetic and skilful hand has fondly bound its " disjecta membra " together with copper bars.

For further particulars as to those sculptured crosses, and especi ally as to the one which first meets you as you enter, and which is by far the most beautiful, I cannot do better than refer you to Henry

O'Neil's elaborate book. It is difficult to buy it now: big men and big libraries monopolise it; but I hope you will manage to see it, and study the interesting symbolism and the endless details, which I never could half describe. I hope the study of it may give you pleasure, as it gave me; and, above all, that it may send you here, and then perhaps you will thank me.

Between those sculptured crosses and the stately old round tower stand two roofless and ruined chapels, built with flat stones and cement, all blackened with time, and desolate-looking. These are the remnant of the once wide-spreading Monasterboice.

The monastery takes its name from its founder, St. Bo6tus (in Irish St. Buite). This saint was a disciple of St. Patrick. He spent several years in Italy, and some time among the Picts of Scotland, whose king, Nectan, he converted. He died in the year 521. In the seventh



Notes of Home Rambles. 29

century the monastery was among the most flourishing religious insti tutions of Ireland. It was famed for its learning, and the study of poetry was particularly cultivated in it. It continued to flourish till the twelfth century, and was finally abandoned about the beginning of the thirteenth.

These interesting facts I have got on authority which none would question, and the further one, that Monasterboice was also called "4the monastery of treasures," perhaps from its relics (and their reli quaries). This leads me to add, as a mere, but not unlikely, surmise, that it was probably pillaged, now and then, by the Danes, those lively gentlemen who earned for themselves a foremost place among the corsairs of Europe, and the founders of its dynasties.

I suppose it was among the preordained dispensations of Provi dence that this grand old institution should gradually die out, when the new orders of Cistercians and Franciscans and Dominicans were stream ing into the land, and rearing Gothic piles all around. Those Gothic piles are now, most of them, tenantless, picturesque, ivy-coated ruins, because they also have seen their day, and experienced their own vicis situde. So far all are level, in one common ruin, one equal regret.

But if the power that called those once mighty houses into being, were to recal them to a fresh career of new life, and if the selection of prio rity were left to me, I should give my first and last and casting vute to those white-robed monks of St. Patrick, who rambled through these now lonely grounds, with psalters of matchless manuscript, written

with their own hands; and entoned their hymns in purest Gregorian, swelling on a thousand voices, in harmony fit for the angels.

And why do I picture those ancient monks of Monasterboice as white-robed ? Because their founder was a disciple of St. Patrick, and he and his companions surely were white-robed when they dawned like a vision before the youthful daughters of Leoghaire.*

Let me now tell you about the old round tower, and end by it. It is amongst the loftiest I have seen; I would estimate its height at about ninety feet, and its diameter near the ground at about fifteen. It was formerly higher, for it is broken off near the top, as if struck

by lightning; and this breakage, being not horizontal, but oblique, shows well the thickness of the masonry, which is not more than about two feet.

As usual, the entrance is about ten feet above the ground: here it is arched with a neatly-moulded single stone. The small stone-capped

windows are placed at widely separated intervals up the height, and

facing to the different points of the horizon. There seemed to me a strong family resemblance between the masonry of this old tower and that of the old ruined chapels, both in the shape and colour of the stones, and in the cement. Still here, as everywhere else that I could

* See Montalenbert. VOL. Xii., No. 127. 4




observe, the tower stands mysteriously estranged from all sympathy with its surroundings: it is out of any apparent symmetry with the other buildings, "out of harmony with its environment," as the msthetes wouLld say.

As you walk round it, you observe and realise beyond all doubt that it has a strange and most marked double bend, which forms a sort of twist, and results in a very unmistakable incline towards the south-east. Was it the same flash of lightning which broke otf the top and twisted the tower in this way? or is it the slow ravage of time, working through the centuries, which is responsible for the breakage and the double bend ? Different people would answer this question differentlv, according to their tastes and views.

To begin talking about rouind towers is like getting into a hornet's nest, because, although old Petrie " has set the question at rest," by bringing hard facts to prove that a great nuimber of the towers of Ireland mulst be fixed between the fifth century and the thirteenth, still the old controversy is only smouldering; the theory of a far

moreremote antiquiity has poetry and imagination on its side; factors whose silent influence it is difficult to resist even now.

Why should we not agree to admire the strange beauitv, while we may also agree to differ as to the origin, of those mysteriouts structures? for their strange fascination grows on you as you walk

around. Be they pillar-temples of fire-worshippers, or belfries of Christians, they are equally perplexing, and equally puzzling.

If history says they were used as pl3ces of safe keeping for the treasures of the church, why not accept the fact ? It is exceedingly likely, as against ordinary maurauders, with those lofty entrances, ten feet from the ground.

If history says they were used as belfries, why not believe it? though for such a purpose modern acoustics might suggest certain improvements in the openings above.

If history says that in troublous times they were made to serve as watch and signal-towers, like the old cathedral-spires of Europe, why doubt it ? I can well fancy many a night-watch kept at the cold top of this one, in the days of the Danes, and many a fire-signal flashed to the hill-tops around, to be spread away through the land.

And it has been gracefully suggested that the "fanal de cimetie're" of France, and the " Jodten leuchter " of southern Germany, with their

mortuary lamps set high on attenuated monuments, may be the corre latives of our Irish towers, when standing in church-yards, as this one is now, at a timie when they may have sent their flickering lights across the valleys, through the lonely hours of the night, in pious memory of the departed:

"Like the bright lamp that lay on Kildare's holy fane,

And burned through long ages of darkness and storm."



Coplas del Nino de Dios. 7 t

Let it be admitted that for each and every one of such uses this tower, and every one of its class did serve. Still the problem remains:

was it for this that they were built? and the answer comes unbidden to the mind, that the brave old people who reared them had ideas of

which we have simply lost the tradition, and which will never again be dreamed of in our philosophy.

And so much the better: for the mystery which encircles these most puzzling of all monuments, just serves to intensify their quaint and undying charm.

Driving homewards, we got a most glorious glimpse of the Mlourne mountains, quite unexpected after such a rough forenoon; and suc ceeded in catching the "limited mail," which was half full of Americalls coming to see old Ireland.

NoTn.-In the "H ome Ramble " of our last Number, p. 653, the names "Citeaux" and "Clairvaux" ought to change places.

COPLAS DEL NIRO DE DIOS.Y

TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH BY ISABELLA M. SHERRINGTON.

HE'S born in a little stable, O'er which the spiders crawl,

With a manger for a cradle, And for room the oxen's stall.

(hlose by an ox Ee is lying, With a glory o'er his brow;

"Rejoice," good Melchior is crying, " The world is saved from woe."

A God is born, a simple child,

Upon a bed of straw; Around him howl the winds so wild,

The night is cold and raw.

Oh ! would that I could clothe Thee, Thou child so fair and good!

With a vesture warm and comely, And a silk and velvet hood.

*Verses like these are sung by the Andalusian peasants round the Crib, or as it

is called bere, " El Nacimento " [The Birth], from the Noche Buena [Good Night]

or Christmas Eve to the Epiphany.



notes of home rambles. iii. our excursion to new grange and monasterboice

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