Limerick looks like a medieval city, and it is one of the oldest in Ireland. There is an old tower that was built seven centuries ago, and portions of walls forty feet high and thirty-six feet thick which date back to the time of King John in the twelfth century. The castle is one of the finest Norman fortresses yet remaining in the kingdom and overlooks the River Shannon in a most formidable manner. The ancient gate is carefully retained and there is a bridge across the river approaching it that might have been built by the Romans. The Shannon is a good deal of a river, and has been walled in with cut stone and wide quays that are equipped with modern machinery for loading and unloading vessels, although there isn’t much commerce. Occasionally a steamer loaded with coal arrives, but there is no regular traffic, and we saw a big four-masted bark discharging a cargo of wheat that was brought all the way around Cape Horn from California and will be ground up in the mills of Limerick, because it is cheaper to bring it that distance than to raise wheat on the farms in that vicinity. It seems incredible, because there is so much land given up to pastures that might be plowed and sowed with grain. We rode about Limerick County in an automobile for several days and didn’t see a wheat field,—not one,—although there are several flour mills in the immediate neighborhood. In two grocery stores where I inquired they told me that they handled American flour or flour from American wheat almost exclusively, and that they were selling a good deal of bacon from the Chicago packing-houses, which also seems strange, because Limerick bacon is supposed to be the best in the world, and three big establishments, employing several hundred men, do nothing but cure bacon and hams. Each slaughters about ten thousand hogs a week, which doesn’t seem a very large business in comparison with that of the packing-houses of Chicago, Omaha, and Kansas City, but there it is something to brag about. Limerick bacon brings the highest price in the London market and sells at three or four cents a pound more than that which is imported from Chicago. In order to realize the difference the people of the city are willing to ship their bacon to England and eat the Chicago product.

Limerick is also the center of a large butter trade and has the biggest condensed milk factory in the kingdom, using the milk of ten thousand cows daily, which is gathered morning and evening by enormous motors that go thundering around the roads like Juggernauts. They look like steam-rollers, and are built the same way with four wheels that have tires more than a foot wide, and they serve a double purpose by rolling the roads daily while they are hauling in the milk. Each of these ponderous vehicles carries a large tank that will hold a hundred gallons of milk and hauls a trailer that carries two tanks of similar size, thus making about three hundred gallons to the load, but it makes noise enough for ten thousand gallons. The big tanks are painted white and the machines are polished like the knockers on the front doors of the Limerick houses. There are three of these machines, which start out at daylight in the morning, and each goes in a different direction, picking up the milk that is left in cans by the farmers at convenient cross-road stations. When the tanks are all filled the Juggernaut comes rumbling into town, making more noise than the railroad train, discharges its load at the condensed milk factory, and then starts out in another direction.

Limerick has a population of about forty thousand, which has been reduced from fifty thousand during the last ten or twelve years by emigration to America; and, as we find it the case everywhere, all the young men who can get money enough to pay their steamship fares are emigrating. Many young women go also, and “the best blood of the country is lost to us,” one of the priests remarked. The city has not increased in numbers for centuries. It has merely held its own, and some historians contend that it had more population five hundred years ago than it has now. It was founded before the beginning of history.

In 1168 lived and reigned Donald O’Brien, the last king of Limerick. He was fifth in descent from Brian Boru, and was among the first to swear allegiance to the Norman invader, King Henry of England, when the latter arrived, permitting an English governor to be placed in possession of the city. But after King Henry returned to England, Donald O’Brien lost no time in renouncing allegiance and declaring his independence. And from that time he fought the English with great energy until his death in 1194, after a reign of twenty-six years of almost continuous conflict. However, King Donald found time and money during the intervals of his wars to erect a splendid old church that still stands and is called St. Mary’s, the Protestant Cathedral of the Church of Ireland. He erected several other churches and monasteries in Limerick County which bear witness to the religious zeal of Donald O’Brien. The ruins at Cashel, which are the most extensive in all Ireland, are reminders of his piety, energy, and generosity in the Christian propaganda. He is supposed to have been buried in St. Mary’s Cathedral, and the most ancient and noteworthy monument in that venerable temple is a brown-stone slab covered with a Celtic cross and inscription that is supposed to be the lid of his coffin. This monument originally stood on the grounds outside the church and was moved inside in 1860.

On the other side of the chapel in which this precious relic is preserved is a monument erected to the memory of the soldiers of the Eighty-fifth Regiment of the King’s Light Infantry who have died in battle. And above it hang the flags which that regiment has carried during the last two hundred years, including the Crimean war, the South African, the war in Spain, the war against Napoleon, and the war for independence in the United States. Upon one of these flags is inscribed the name “Bladensburg,” the battle, or rather skirmish, that was fought a few miles from Washington in 1813, and it was this regiment which entered the city and burned the capitol, then unfinished, the White House, and the navy yard. Gen. Frederick Maunsell, who commanded the regiment at that time, is buried near by.

The old church was restored very carefully between 1879 and 1892 under the direction of the dean, Very Rev. Thomas Bunbury, D.D. The work has been admirably done at an expense of about $50,000, which was contributed by members of the parish and natives of Limerick, who are interested in preserving its antiquities. The present dean is Very Rev. Lucius Henry O’Brien, a son of that famous Irish patriot, William Smith O’Brien, who was sentenced to be hanged, drawn, and quartered for treason in the revolution of 1848, but fortunately escaped that barbarous penalty.

An interesting volume has been written concerning St. Mary’s Cathedral and its history and the curious tombs that are found under its roof. Some of the epitaphs are unique. Here is one:

Another curious inscription upon a gravestone two feet square reads:

And here is still another in memory of Geoffrey Arthur, treasurer of the cathedral, who died in 1519:

One of the bishops of the eighteenth century, named Adams, is buried in the church, and his monument consists of two slabs, one above and the other below a space which was evidently intended to contain a bust. On either side the emblems of the passion—the reed, the spear, the scourge, and the crown of thorns—are engraved, and after the name and biographical information are the lines:

One of the tombs contains this laconic epitaph:

The bells of St. Mary’s Cathedral at Limerick are famous for their sweet tones, and a very pretty story is told about them. It is said that they were cast in Italy at the expense of a rich Italian and presented to a monastery in Italy. In a few years the monks became very poor and sold their bells to the Bishop of Limerick for money to relieve their immediate distresses. The Italian nobleman who had given them also met with misfortune and became a wanderer over the earth. Coming up the Shannon River from a long ocean voyage one day, the first sound that greeted him was the chimes from St. Mary’s tower. He instantly recognized the bells, the pride and the joy of his heart, and tried in vain until his death to recover them.

Although this story is touching, it is not true. The history of the chimes is perfectly well known. They were cast in that city about 1660 by William Perdue, a resident of Limerick, who is buried in the cathedral with an appropriate epitaph:

The royal capital of the O’Briens is often known as “The City of the Violated Treaty.” It was stoutly defended against Cromwell’s army in 1651 by Hugh O’Neill, but after a six months’ siege it was captured by General Ireton, the son-in-law of Cromwell, who became governor until his death of the plague the year following. The house in which Ireton lived and died stood next to the cathedral. It was torn down some years ago and the site added to the cathedral grounds.

Limerick was also besieged in 1691 during the war between James II and William of Orange. The latter captured the city with an army of twenty-six thousand men and made a treaty with Gen. Patrick Sarsfield, who surrendered Oct. 3, 1691. The ninth article of the treaty of surrender provided that Roman Catholics could enjoy the same privileges as Protestants and were given immunity for all religious offenses in the past. This article, however, was repeatedly violated by the Protestant authorities, although it was no fault of William of Orange. His representatives made it so hot for the Catholics who had served under James that they fled from Ireland for France and formed the Irish brigade that was so famous in continental wars during the next twenty years. Sarsfield, who was one of the ablest and bravest soldiers Ireland has ever produced, was killed in battle in 1693, and it is estimated that during the next half century four hundred and fifty thousand other Irishmen died fighting for the King of France.

A monument to Patrick Sarsfield has been erected near the Roman Catholic Cathedral with the following inscription:

“To commemorate
the Indomitable Energy
and stainless honor of
General Patrick Sarsfield,
Earl of Lucan,
the heroic defender of Limerick
during the sieges of 1690 and 1691.

The treaty of Limerick was drawn by Sir John Browne, a colonel in the service of King James and the first Marquis of Sligo. It was signed upon a large flat stone which now stands upon a pedestal at the entrance to the ancient bridge that crosses the Shannon River.

The women of the poorer classes in Tipperary and Limerick wear heavy woolen shawls made at Paisley, Scotland, and costing from five to ten dollars, according to the quality. They wear them over their heads in place of hats, and although it was very hot while we were there, it made no difference; they go around with their heads hidden in their shawls, as the Spanish women wear mantillas; and most of them are barefooted. Tipperary was the first place in Ireland where we saw barefooted women in the streets, and it isn’t an agreeable sight. We saw more in Limerick, and it was still less agreeable. The workingmen do not go barefooted, although many of them have shoes very much the worse for wear, but it seems to be the custom for the wives and mothers and daughters of the working classes to go about without shoes or stockings and with heavy shawls over their heads, which, like charity, cover a multitude of sins and other things. Their dresses are tattered at the bottom and often ragged and always greasy, and their hair, so far as it can be seen under the shawls, is very untidy, which gives them a disreputable and repulsive appearance, so different from the women we saw at Drogheda, Wexford, Waterford, Cork, Blarney, and other places we had been to.

There is no occasion for the women of Limerick to dress as they do, because the town is prosperous and it used to boast of the reputation of having the prettiest girls in Ireland. Some poet who knew them long ago has written thus:

Judging from what we saw on the streets, at church, and in the parks on a Sunday, when all the feminine population of Limerick seemed to be out, we would think that the beauties had gone to America with the fairies.

There is “the Irish town” and “the English town” in Limerick, and between them is a good deal of animosity, which has continued for several hundred years and probably never will be entirely removed. The old castle built by King John in 1205, when the British first occupied Limerick, and considered one of the finest specimens of Norman military architecture in existence, is now used as an ordnance store for the military garrison. There is a romantic story associated with the old town and I cannot resist the temptation of telling it.

Toward the beginning of the ninth century the Danish King of Limerick, Turgesius, by name, who occupied a fortification that stood upon the site of the present castle, fell in love with the daughter of Malachi, the King of Meath—the same who

Turgesius demanded her hand in marriage and Malachi, who was not in very good shape for a fight, dare not deny him. The girl, however, had her wits about her and suggested to her timid father a plan to outwit the odious lover. At her suggestion he entreated Turgesius that his daughter might be received by him privately and at night, and promised to send as her attendants fifteen of the most celebrated beauties of his kingdom. The arrangement was acceptable, and, at the appointed time, the princess and her fifteen ladies-in-waiting arrived at Limerick and were conducted to the apartments of the king, who was eagerly awaiting them. When Turgesius took the princess in his arms the fifteen ladies-in-waiting immediately threw off their disguise and the astonished king of Limerick saw before him fifteen of the stoutest and bravest of the Irish chivalry, each with a flashing sword in his hand. Before he could recover from his astonishment Turgesius was seized and bound, his guards were surprised, and the gates of the fortress were opened to Malachi and the men of Meath, who massacred the entire garrison and thereafter ruled in Limerick.

The migration to America from County Limerick has been very large and every person we have met has one or more relatives in the United States. Every family is represented there and those who have not gone are anxious to go. Each spring and summer quite a number of young people return to their old homes, and the airs they put on and the raiment they wear are very amusing. We saw them at the railway stations, at church, on the streets, and elsewhere, surrounded by admiring and envious friends.

More laborers’ cottages have been erected by the government in County Limerick than in any other part of Ireland, and more are being built all the time. Any laboring man who wants a home of his own need only to make application for the assistance of the commissioner of the poor and express his preference for a site. The commissioners are not required to accept his choice, but usually do so when there is no particular objection, and he is entitled to an acre of ground for a garden. After certain legal preliminaries are fulfilled, they erect for him a two-story, five-room cottage, costing about $750, with an outhouse for fuel, storage, and the accommodation of a cow. They inclose the property in a stout fence and turn it over to the new owner without the expenditure of a farthing on his part. He, however, undertakes to reimburse the county for the investment it has made in his behalf at the rate of 3¼ per cent of the cost price, which usually amounts to about thirty dollars a year. The laboring class of no other country is so well treated.

Before I left Washington a highly esteemed friend, and one of the most charitable and public-spirited citizens of that city, intrusted me with a mission which was fulfilled as soon as possible after arriving in Limerick. It was to leave with the parish priest of his native village of Askeaton a generous sum of money for the benefit of the poor, and you may imagine the pleasure that attended our visit there for that reason. Askeaton is an ancient village of seven or eight hundred inhabitants about twenty miles from Limerick, where the River Deel tumbles over ledges of rocks into the Shannon and forms a series of cascades, which make it the second best water-power in Ireland and perpetuates the name of a Celtic chieftain, concerning whom nothing else is known.

We went down in an automobile, visiting several other places of interest by the way, passing Donmore, the seat of the Earl of Limerick, an ancient ruin in which a holy hermit lived several centuries ago, Dysart House, the seat of the Earl of Dysart, and a beautiful place called Holly Park, where resided a queer man by the name of Taylor. He inherited a fine farm and considerable wealth, but lived a bachelor until he was sixty years old, when he married his cook. There was nothing wrong with him except a mania for buying coats, and he used to haunt the second-hand stores of Limerick, Dublin, London, and wherever else he happened to go, picking up all the queer patterns and colors that he could find. He spent most of his time brushing and cataloguing them, and when he died last spring more than five thousand coats were found hanging on racks in the upper rooms and the attic of Holly Park. It took three big wagons to carry them away, for his wife, the former cook, got rid of them as soon after the funeral as she could arrange for.

Askeaton used to be a place of some importance, and at one time returned two members of parliament, but it has lost population and trade, and many years ago the franchise was taken away and the sum of $75,000 was paid as indemnity to Lord Massey, who controlled the suffrages. It isn’t far from the sea and there is a good deal of fishing, although agriculture is its chief dependence. There is a carbite factory owned by John B. Hewson, and a big flour mill, which, however, is idle because the people find it cheaper to buy American flour. The farmers here cannot compete with California wheat. They told me that it is more profitable to raise potatoes for market and turnips for cattle.Askeaton has one irregular street and old-fashioned houses of brick and mortar, hugging closely to the walls of an ancient castle which was the stronghold of the earls of Desmond and the scene of much fighting in ancient times. It is one of the largest ruins in Ireland, a monstrous pile covering more than two acres, and the walls of stone, now standing, are more than ninety feet high and ten to fifteen feet thick. The great hall measures ninety by thirty feet and is lighted by four great windows in a fair state of preservation. Over the first arch from the stairway is a small chamber measuring eight by seven feet, called “Desmond’s prison,” in which Gerald, the twelfth Earl of Desmond, imprisoned by Edmond MacTeig, who contested his succession, “for six years pined in captivity, shut up in the castle of Askeaton, till his release, which was obtained by the intercession of his wife, who was related to Edmond.” A battlemented wall surrounds the entire structure, which could be entered only by a narrow pathway cut through the rock so that any attempt to force an entrance would be impossible.

Askeaton Abbey, which was founded under the protection of the castle for the Franciscan monks in 1420, by the seventh Earl of Desmond, is only a few steps distant, and, judging from the huge masses of masonry, it must have been an extensive and solid structure. Some of the walls are twenty feet thick and the lightest are four feet and a half thick. It is kept with great care by the board of public works and the cloister is remarkably perfect, being inclosed by twelve pointed arches of black marble. It was destroyed at the same time as the castle, and many of the monks were murdered by the Irish troops under the Earl of Ormonde and Sir Henry Pelham. In 1641 an attempt was made to restore the abbey to its former magnificence, but it was abandoned shortly afterward.

The parish church, which stands upon a hill on the edge of the village, was built by the Knights Templar, who had an establishment at Askeaton dating from the thirteenth century, but nothing remains of it now but a curious tower in the churchyard.With Sergeant Quirk, the head constable, we inspected the ruins under the very best auspices, and I found Father Edmond Tracy, the parish priest, a most charming companion. He is an ideal type of the Irish priesthood, a man of culture, learning, and charming personality. He accepted the trust I was instructed to place in his care and told me that, although Askeaton was fairly prosperous and the people of the neighborhood parish were well to do, he frequently had appeals for charity that the scanty revenues of the church made difficult for him to respond to.

Upon our way back to Limerick we stopped at Adare, which is considered the model village and belongs to the Earl of Dunraven, who has the enviable reputation of being one of the best landlords in Ireland. The village of Adare has about six hundred people living in model cottages, which he and his father built for them, with vegetable and flower gardens and everything that an Irish peasant could ask for, including both Roman Catholic and Protestant churches. The former was once “The White Abbey,” founded by the Augustinians in 1230 and restored by the Earl of Dunraven in 1811 with great care. A portion of the monastery has been rebuilt for a national school and given to the Roman Catholics. The neighboring Franciscan Abbey, founded in 1315, was restored for use as the Protestant church in 1807. The Earl of Dunraven who lived in those days built a family mausoleum in connection with it, and turned the refectory of the monks into a schoolhouse for Protestant children. Although the earls of Dunraven have been members of the Church of Ireland, they have been generous and frequent benefactors of the Roman Catholic church, and there seem to have been successive generations of wise, thoughtful, and considerate men in that family.

The house of Dunraven enjoys the proud distinction of being one of the few of the ancient Celtic aristocracy to survive the vicissitudes of the centuries. The earl traces his lineage back to the chief of the Dalcassian clan of prehistoric days. He is of the same stock as the O’Briens of Limerick, who have a common ancestor in Cormac Cas, son of Olliol Olum, monarch of all Ireland at the beginning of the third century. And the present earl has a curious and interesting letter written by Thady Quin of Adare in the time of James I., giving the complete pedigree.

Adare Manor, as the estate of the Dunravens is known, is one of the most extensive and beautiful in Ireland. There is a stately mansion of the Tudor school of architecture, begun in 1832, upon the site of a former residence of the family and built entirely of material found upon the estate, by artisans of Adare. The material is gray limestone, relieved by blocks of red, and the striking feature is a tower which rises one hundred and three feet from the level of the ground. The stone work of the parapet which surmounts the front faÇade is inscribed in old English letters with the text, “Except the Lord build the house, their labor is in vain that build it.” The late earl seemed to be fond of inscriptions, for over the main entrance is carved in stone this admonition: “Fear God, honor the Queen, eschew Evil and do Good,” while upon a panel set into the front wall is the coat of arms of the Dunravens and the inscription:

“This goodly home” is surrounded by one of the finest parks in the world—about three thousand acres of glorious native forests, meadows, and pasture lands, all inclosed within a high wall. There are lakes and ponds and a roaring brook whose waters alternately dash over cascades and lie spread out in calm pools where trout and salmon can be seen motionless upon the bottom under the shadows cast by the overhanging trees. Roadways several miles in length reach every part of the demesne and permit views of the most picturesque portions of the scenery. They cross and recross the river over ancient bridges and through undulating pastures where the famous Dunraven herds are feeding, and follow long avenues between colonnades of very old trees.

There are several interesting ruins within the demesne, including those of the ancient castle of Adare, which was built some time before 1331, because a record of that date gives a description of its appearance. It was afterward strengthened and enlarged, and for several centuries was one of the most formidable strongholds in all Ireland. It was from this castle in 1520 that the Earl of Kildare, viceroy of Ireland, left for London to answer charges brought against him by Cardinal Wolsey, by whom he was imprisoned in the Tower.

There are ruins of several monasteries which also date back to the fourteenth century and are kept in perfect order. The most beautiful was once a monastery of the Franciscan order, and is within a step of the mansion, in the midst of the golf links.

The present Earl of Dunraven, Windham Thomas Wyndham-Quin, was born in 1844, educated at Eton and Christ Church College, Oxford, and in 1870 married Florence, daughter of Lord Charles Lennox Kerr, a member of parliament from County Wexford. Dunraven is one of the most active and versatile men in the kingdom, and is almost as well known in the United States, being soldier, sailor, horseman, sportsman, yachtsman, explorer, politician, newspaper correspondent, author, antiquarian, economist, and historian. After receiving his degree at Oxford Dunraven served for several years in the Life Guards, and in 1871 resigned upon succeeding to the title and estates. While he was in the army he gained the reputation of being the best steeple-chase rider in the kingdom. Upon leaving the army he became a correspondent of the London Daily Telegraph and represented that paper in an expedition to Abyssinia and during the Franco-Prussian war. He then went into politics and was under secretary for the colonies during two of Lord Salisbury’s administrations. He then went into parliament and made a reputation as chairman of committees on the sweating system and the housing of the working classes. He devoted much time and attention to horse breeding and has a stock farm adjoining his estate at Adare with “Desmond,” the most famous stallion in the kingdom, at the head of his stud. He has been offered $150,000 for the horse.

In 1874 Dunraven went to the United States with his wife and spent nearly a year in the Rocky Mountains hunting big game and exploring and climbing peaks and shooting buffaloes with General Sheridan and Buffalo Bill. He wrote a book giving an account of his experience. He then took up the Irish question, went into it very deeply, and has retained his interest until now. He has written several books on the land question and the other economic problems of Ireland. He has been a prolific contributor to the magazines, and was the inventor of what is known as the “devolution policy” as a substitute for home rule in Ireland, which Sir Antony MacDonnell worked up into the so-called “Irish councils bill,” which proposed to give home rule in every respect except the courts, police, and legislation. His lordship went through Ireland making speeches in favor of the project, but the leaders of the Irish parliamentary party declined to accept it and it fell to the ground.

The Earl of Dunraven is best known in the United States, however, as a yachtsman. For several years he was the leader of that sport in England, and in 1893, 1894, and 1895 sailed for the America’s cup with three successive yachts named Valkyrie. The third contest was a fiasco, as may be remembered. Lord Dunraven published a pamphlet setting forth his side of the controversy, which created a great sensation. His lordship has made a thorough study of the archÆology of this section of Ireland, and has written several interesting volumes on the subject.