Extracts from "Irish Varieties" by Gaskin, 1869.

Kingstown

(Formerly Dunleary.)

Historical and Political Associations, etc.

This highly favoured seaport, fashionable watering-place, and rendezvous for yachts, is considered the wealthiest and most populous township in Ireland. It is beautifully situated on an eminence over the sea, commanding a magnificent prospect of the lovely Bay of Dublin

[With respect to the view of the Bay of Dublin from Kingstown, and its beauties, they have been long the theme of the admirers of nature in her boundless domain, the subject often of the painter’s pencil and of the poet’s muse.

“Beyond the wave, in giant clusters piled,

Blue mountains swell magnificently wild;

Or, in continuous chain, ascending high,

Seem azure tap’stry pendent from the sky.

In one wide curve, reflecting back the day,

A living mirror, shines the spacious Bay:

Studded with barks- anon the view retires,

Where Dublin rears her dim discovered spires,

Or marks where Howth, far frowning ‘mid the waves,

Yawns thro’ a thousand billow-beaten caves -

Where the loud surge its thund’ring volume throws,

And tortur’d echo never fln(ls repose;

Above the beacon-tow’r, which, through the night,

Crowns the steep cone-rock with its orb of light;

Thence one vast void, as far as the ‘eye can sweep,

Till the horizon mingles with the deep.”]

and Hill of Howth. Its name, in bygone days, ere the Royal Irish Mail was carried by coach to Howth, and from thence shipped to Wales, was Dunkleary. Its ancient and euphonic appellation was changed to’ that of Kingstown, when the last of “The Four Georges” quitted its rock-bound shore in 1821, waving “affectionate adieus,” with an *an revoir *to the Irish shores, which was never realized (after having made professions of peace and conciliation to his enthusiastic, and warm-hearted subjects). Alas! in this case, “Hope told a flattering tale.”

The Bard of Erin, in his “Memoirs,” edited by Earl Russell, in noting “the king’s visit to Ireland,” in his Diary, September 9, 1821, says: “Breakfasted with Lord John, and afterwards went to look for Lord Lansdowne, who arrived last night. Found him *au troisieme *in the Hotel du Mont Blanc; starts again for the Pyrenees to-morrow. A good deal of talk about the royal visit to Ireland, the good sense with which the king has acted, and the servile style in which poor Paddy received him; Mr. O’Connell pre-eminent in blarney and inconsistency. Many good results, however, likely to arise from the whole affair, if the king but continues in the same state of temperature towards Ireland in which he is at present.”

September 10, 1821: “Find that Lord Powerscourt with whom the king dined the day he embarked from Ireland (Dunleary), was courageous enough to have a song of mine, ‘The Prince’s Day,” sung before him, immediately after ‘God save the King,’ and that his majesty was much delighted with it.”

[* Air - *Saint Patrick’s Day.

*Tho’ dark are our sorrows, to-day we’ll forget them,

And smile through our tears, like a sunbeam in showers:

There never were hearts, if our rulers would let them,

More formed to be grateful and blest than ours.

But just when the chain

Has ceas’d to pain,

And hope has enwreath’d it round with flowers,

There comes a new link

Our spirits to sink -

Oh! the joy that we taste, like the light of the poles,

Is a flash amid darkness, too brilliant to stay;

But, though ‘t were the last little spark in our souls,

We must light it up now, on our Prince’s Day.

Contempt on the minion who calls you disloyal!

Tho’ fierce to your foe, to your friends you are true;

And the tribute most high to a head that is royal,

Is love from a heart that loves liberty too.

While cowards, who blight

Your fame, your right,

Would shrink from the fame of the battle array,

The standard of Green

In front would be seen -

Oh! my life on your faith! were you summoned this minute,

You’d cast every bitter remembrance away,

And show what the arm of old Erin has in it,

When roused by the foe, on her Prince’s Day.

He loves the Green Isle, and his love is recorded

In hearts which have suffer’d too much to forget:

And hope shall be crown’d, and attachment rewarded,

And Erin’s gay jubilee shine out yet.

‘The gem maybe broke

By many a stroke,

But nothing can cloud its native ray,

Each fragment will cast

A light to the last,

And thus Erin, my country, tho’ broken thou art,

There’s a lustre within thee that ne’er will decay;

A spirit which beams through each suffering part,

And now smiles at all pain on the Prince’s Day.

“This song we (*Dublin Evening Post, *1821), understood was selected by Lord Powerscourt. The beautiful strain of feeling and of poetry which runs through it, excited the admiration of all present. His Majesty appeared even more delighted than any other person who heard it; he evinced the pleasure which he felt by his countenance, and the constant motion of his hands. He marked the singing of the following words with the most emphatic action:

“He loves the Green Isle, and his love is recorded

In hearts which have suffer’d too much to forget:

And hope shall be crown’d, and attachment rewarded,

And Erin’s gay jubilee shine out yet.

The gem may be broke

By many a stroke,

But nothing can cloud its native ray

Each fragment will cast A light to the last,

And thus Erin, my country, tho’ broken thou art,

There’s lustre within thee that ne’er will decay,

A spirit which beams through each suffering part,

And now smiles at all pain on the Princes Day.”]

“This song is laudatory, for I thought at the time he deserved such; but upon reading it rather anxiously over, I find nothing in it to be ashamed of. What will those cowardly scholars of Dublin College say, who took such pains, at their dinner the other day, to avoid mentioning my name; and who, after a speech of some Sir Noodle, boasting of the poetical talent of Ireland, drank, as the utmost they could venture, “Maturin and the rising poets of Erin,” what will these white-liveried slaves say to the exhibition at Lord Powerscourt’s? The only excuse I can find for the worse than eastern prostration into which my countrymen have grovelled during these few last weeks is, that they have so long been slaves, they know no better; and that it is not their own fault if they know no medium between brawling rebellion and foot-licking idolatory.

“Mr. O’Connell, accompanied by a deputation of ten other gentlemen, presented a laurel crown, on his knee, to his majesty. His name was announced by Lord Sidmouth. The sovereign was pleased to notice him in the most marked and condescending manner. He shook his band, and accepted the appropriate tribute with dignity and affection.” **

Farewell Address of His Majesty before he entered the State Bridge at Dunleary.**

“My friends! when I arrived in this beautiful country, my heart overflowed with joy - it is now depressed with sincere sorrow; I never felt sensations of more delight than since I came to Ireland. I cannot expect to meet any superior, nor many equal, till I have the happiness to see you again. Whenever an opportunity offers, whenever I can serve Ireland, I shall seize on it with eagerness. I am a man of few words - short adieus are best - God bless you all, my friends - God bless you all.”

The king said at the Curragh, “If I live two years, I purpose revisiting Ireland: if not, I shall recommend it to my successors to become *personally acquainted with my *Irish subjects, of whom I am proud - indeed, I am delighted with them.”

The following - the most satirical poem Lord Byron ever wrote next to his “English Bards and Scotch Reviewers,” and which has been suppressed in all the *recent pirated *editions of his works, was aimed at the servility of the king’s reception by the Irish people.

The Irish Avatar.

Avatar, in the Hindoo mythology, signifies the incarnation or metamorphosis of some deity.

By the kind permission of John Murray, Esq., Albermarle Street, London.

Ere the daughter of Brunswick is cold in her grave,

And her ashes still float to their home o’er the tide,

Lo! George the triumphant speeds over the wave,

To the long-cherish’d isle which he loved like his - bride. *

True, the great of her bright and brief era are gone,

The rainbow-like epoch where Freedom could pause

For the few little years, out of centuries won,

Which betray’d not, or crush’d not, or wept not her cause.

True, the chains of the Catholic clank o’er his rags,

The castle still stands, and the senate’s no more,

And the famine which dwelt on her freedomless crags

Is extending its steps to her desolate shore.

To her desolate shore-where the emigrant stands

For a moment to gaze erc he flies from his hearth;

Tears fall on his chain, though it drops from his hands,

For the dungeon he quits is the place of his birth.

Yes, I loved thee and thine, though thou art not my land,

I have known noble hearts and great souls in thy sons,

And I wept with the world o’er the patriot band who are gone,

but I weep them no longer as once.

For happy are they now reposing afar, -

Thy Grattan, thy Curran, thy Sheridan, all

Who, for years, were the chiefs in the eloquent war,

Arid redeem’d, if they have not retarded, thy fall.

Yes, happy are they in their cold English graves!

Their shades cannot start to thy shouts of to-day, -

Nor the steps of enslavers and chain-kissing slaves

Be stamp’d in the turf o’er their fetterless clay.

Till now I had envied thy sons and their shore,

Though their virtues were hunted, their liberties fled;

There was something so warm and sublime in the core

Of an Irishman’s heart, that I envy - thy dead.

Or, if aught in thy bosom can quench for an hour

My contempt for a nation so servile, though sore,

Which though trod like the worm will not turn upon power,

‘Tis the glory of Grattan,** and genius of Moore!

*Sept. *16th, 1821.

[* “August 8th, 1821, half-past 10 o’clock.

“The struggle is over! Hope, fear, anxiety, are now alike at an end. Caroline, Queen of England, is no more!

“His Majesty arrived in Dublin on his birth-day, 12th August, 1821.”

** See Appendix.-Patriotic letter of the Right Hon. Thomas O’Hagan, Lord Chancellor of Ireland, to the Earl of Charlemont, relative to the proposed statue in College-green, Dublin, to Henry Grattan.]

Moore, in his Diary, Nov. 3, 1821, in alluding to this satire, says:- “Received Lord Byron’s tremendous verses against the King and the Irish, for their late exhibition in Dublin; *richly deserved *by my servile countrymen, but not, on this occasion, by the King, who, as far as he was concerned, acted well.

Nov. 4, 1821. - “The Blessingtons drove me to Holland House, and waited for me. Read Byron’s verses to Lord and Lady Holland, and Allen; much struck by them, but advised me not to have any hand in printing them.”

George IV., with that blandishment of manner of which he was such a professor, feasted on everything Irish, wore everything Irish, lauded everything Irish, and particularly eulogized our great Irish square, St. Stephen’s Green, although ruinous absenteeism, consequent upon the extinction of the Irish Parliament had then denuded “the faire citie” of Dublin of a resident nobility and gentry.

“Oh Wirra Sthru.”

‘Twas how *he *thought each scene so fair

‘Twas how be praised each street and square,

‘Tis a pity people don’t live there!

Oh wirra sthru.”

A thousand associations rendered Ireland dear to George IV., and George IV. dear to Ireland. When he was not only far from power, but opposed to power, she clung to him with prodigal affection. The Address of eighty-nine was one of the first fruits of her infant independence, and his coronation *Gazette *proved that he did not forget it. Nine Irish names elevated to the peerage were proofs that prosperity is not always without a heart, and that even in palaces gratitude may be met with. Independent of any personal affection for the reigning king, his visit to Ireland presented a phenomenon; it presented the first instance in Irish history of an English monarch visiting Ireland as a friend. When other monarchs came over, it was not a visit, but a visitation. Blood heralded their approach; blood marked their progress; blood tracked their return! Even their Viceroys, till the accession of the Brunswick dynasty, but too truly justified the bitter witticism of the late Sir Hercules Langrishe “In what history,” said a modern viceroy (Earl Fitzwilliam) - “in what history, Sir Hercules, shall I find an account of all the Irish Lords Lieutenant.” “Indeed, I do not know, my Lord,” replied Langrishe, “unless it be in a continuation of *rapine *(Rapin).”

[This want of a history of the Irish viceroys is now supplied by Gilbert’s history. The author of this work has also written on the viceroyalty of the late Earl of Carlisle.]

The *London Observer. *1821, alluding to the King’s visit, says:-

The interested vileness which has hitherto poisoned the royal ear of England, with respect to that country, which represented its warmth as barbarism, its fidelity as treason, its poverty as affected, and its mournings over sufferings without end or parallel as causeless discontent, will now lose its vocation. He will see a hardy, generous, afflicted, but forgiving people - poor, but liberal - persecuted, but patient - hospitable of the little that has been left them, and when all is gone, ready to give their blood for him. He will see in their country a reproachful loveliness - fertile, but uncultivated - wild, but magnificent - beauteous, but neglected - presenting a mine of unproductive wealth, a mass of unrespected grandeur, a waste of unprofitable and uneducated genius, but presenting them we trust and believe, to the eye of their regenerator. The island gem lies rude and useless on its ocean bed; it is for his regal hand to raise it to its station, to kindle its radiance, to call forth its beauty, and to place it pure and rich and splendid in the forehead of his diadem.”

**Satirical Ballads.

Judy’s Lamentation on the Departure of His Majesty from Dublin.

**Copy of an old ballad given to W. B. Kelly, Grafton-street by - Myatt, Esq.

And are you gone, and are you gone!

And left Poor Pat again for John,

Oh wira sthru! Oh wira sthru!

Oh! sure we thought that here you’d stay,

And give us many a happy day;

Och hone! you turned our heads astray,

Oh wira sthru! Oh wira sthru!

Oh! its you that praised Sir Bradley’s taste *,

In laying out the city feast,

Oh wira sthru! Oh wira sthru!

And och! you thanked the Lady Mayor,

For bringing all the damsels rare,

That at yourself did *gape *and stare,

Oh wira sthru! Oh wira sthru!

And its you, that with a mighty whack,

*Be-titled *all the City Pack,

Oh wira sthru! Oh wira sthru!

For with your sword you gave the lick

To *Jonas, George, *and Billy Nick,

That into *Knights *transformed them quick,

Oh wira sthru! Oh wira sthru!

Oh! you would not hear that Toast notorious,

Nor let *Aby *give the *Mem’ry glorious,

*Oh wira sthru! Oh wira sthru!

But Darley’s ** heart did for it pant,

When Sidmouth *** say’d “Indeed you shan’t,

For fear of vexilig *Charley Grant ****:

*Oh wira sthru! Oh wira sthru!

Oh! its you to Church brought Lord Fingall,

And its you that gave the grandest Ball,

Oh wira sthru! Oh wira sthru!

But least that those should go astray,

Who were ne’er but *once *at Levee day,

You invited them to stay away,

Oh wira sthru! Oh wira sthru!

Oh! its you that left the Bank in haste,

Nor neither bit nor sup wou’d taste,

Oh wira sthru! Oh wira sthru!

And its you that on Kildare-street plain,

Old D---n’s freedom did restrain,

And then set off, post- haste to *Slane,§

*Oh wira sthru! Oh wira sthru!

Oh! it is you that at your own Kingstown,

From Dan received tile fine Green Crown,

Oh wira sthru! Oh wira sthru!

And its then you say’d, alack, alack,

When seated in your fishing smack,

*Sure I’ll be here when I come back,”

*Oh wira sthru! Oh wira sthru!

• Sir Abraham Bradley King, Lord Mayor of Dublin, in 1821. On presenting the city address, the Lord Mayor knelt, and had the honour of kissing his Majesty’s hand. As he was rising, the king said: “Not yet, my Lord Mayor;” and holding out his band for the Lord Mayor to kiss a second time, said: “Now rise, Sir Abraham Bradley King, Baronet of the United Kingdom.”

** Alderman Darley, a police magistrate of Dublin, after speeching for a while at the magnificent banquet given by the city of Dublin to his Majesty, was the first man to fling the apple of discord amongst the king’s loyal subjects, by giving the “Glorious, pious, and immortal memory.”

*** Lord Sidmouth, Secretary of State for the Home Department.

**** The Right Hon. Chas. Grant Chief Secretary for Ireland, 1821.

§ Slane Castle, the magnificent seat of the Marquis of Conyngham, near Drogheda.

The Victoria Pier at Kingstown.

Pleasing recollections, historic remembrances, saddened memories, and hopeful anticipations invest this pier.

Twenty thousand men embarked, in 1854, at this place for an arid peninsula in the remotest extremity of the Black Sea, where they and their French allies wrote a new page in the history of Europe, on the battle-fields of the Alma, Balaklava, and Inkerman, and by the storming and fall of the fortress of Sebastopol.

The Grande Armee Irlandais (then stationed in this country) sailed from this pier for the Crimea, full of strength, full of life and hope for the future, full of heroism, proud of their past victories, so richly emblazoned on their colours, yet leaving many a mournful and saddened heart behind. *

“Eastward, Ho!” *was the watchword and reply on this pier for upward of two years.

The stormers of the breach pass on, the daring sons of Eire,

Light-hearted in the bayonet-strike as in the country fair;

The mountaineer who woke the lark on Tipperary’s hills,

And he who kiss’d his sweetheart last by Shannon’s silver rills.

The “Rangers” of our western land who own that battle-shout,

That brings the “Fag-an-bealag” blow, and seals the carnage rout;

Those septs of our old Celtic laud, who stand with death abreast,

And prove how glorious is the fame of Islesmen of the West.

---

Oh, England! in your proudest time you never saw such sight,

As when you flung her gauntlet down to battle for the right:

What are the Seindian to us, the wild Caffrarian kloof,

That glory may be bought too dear that brings a world’s reproof?

The brightest deed of glory is to help the poor and weak,

And shield from the oppressor’s grasp the lowly and the meek;

And that thou’lt do - for never yet you raised your lion-crest,

But victory has blest your sons, the Islesmen of the West.

Dublin University Magazine.

At the Victoria Pier a portion of the victorious army, returning from the Crimea, arrived in 1856, sadly thinned in numbers, badly maimed, yet exulting in their past glories and newly-acquired laurels, they returned in triumph, crowned with victory, and forgetful of their past endurances. The citizens of Dublin gave a grand national banquet to upwards of 3,000 of these soldiers, at which the late well-beloved Earl of Carlisle, then Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, presided.

The following is a portion of his speech, when addressing those heroes of the East - His Excellency said, with feelings of emotion:- ” It is indeed a deep cause of thankfulness to see you thus - you, who have breasted the deep slopes of the Alma

• you, who have dashed along the fatal pass of Balaklava - you, who have held the blood-red heights of Inkerman - you, who have survived the midnight trench, the thundering rampart, and the deadly hospital - it is a matter of deep gratitude to see you thus under a roof of peace, and before a board of plenty. In addressing the Regiment of the Royal Irish upon so interesting and happy an occasion, the first of the kind that has occurred in the ancient capital of Ireland since the close of the late memorable war, I almost feel that I might carry my view even beyond your own well-filled ranks, and include all your countrymen who, by the side of their intrepid brethren in England and Scotland, and of our brave allies, have maintained the honour of their Sovereign and their race, alike by their brilliant valour and their heroic endurance throughout every turn and period of the desperate struggle. The ridges and dales of the fair Crimea, the deadly trench and bloody parapet, all are crowned with their thousand proofs that the heroic courage of Ireland has exhibited no falling off in the very newest of her sons.”

His excellency then presented new colours to the celebrated 18th Royal Irish.

The Late Earl of Carlisle’s Departure from Kingstown.

Lord Carlisle had resigned; his official life had closed; in Kingstown Harbour, alongside the “Carlisle Pier,” the vessel lay moored that was soon to bear from the shores of Ireland the “good and amiable Viceroy.” Alas! how changed was the appearance of the gay and sprightly nobleman who, a few short years before, had landed here with firm step, and stately and graceful bearing, in buoyant spirits and healthful vigour, whom the people welcomed with hope and joy! He was now about to leave, in utter prostration, his physical powers wholly exhausted. This reflection affected and deeply moved an affectionate and warm-hearted people. They were sensible of* *their own great less, yet deeply lamented the sad and afflicting cause; their sorrowing heart’; sympathized with the sufferings of their friend and noble benefactor.

An immense concourse were assembled to bid their esteemed Viceroy farewell - a fond, and as it proved, a last farewell. The vast assemblage poured forth humble blessings upon him, and fervent hopes for his recovery, and that he would seen return, to assume again the office of Viceroy, with renewed health and vigour.

How overpowering must have been the emotions - what mingled feelings of sorrow, pride, and pleasure, must have pervaded the mind of Lord Carlisle at this, the closing scene of his bright, official career! His natural display of feeling en this affecting and memorable occasion, was felt to be no indication of physical weakness, but rather the farewell of tender regard. He appeared on the deck, leaning on the arm of Lady Elizabeth Grey, the sister whom he loved so well. His last words at the moment of parting were: “I leave, after my term of office, undimmed by one particle of personal bitterness, either on the present or the crowded memories of the past;” and, the vessel proceeding on her way, he continually waved his adieus towards the receding shore.

Sir Robert Peel, speaking of the loss of Lord Carlisle, and his departure, well and vividly describes the interesting scene

“I do venture to say, that never did a man leave the shores of Ireland towards whom a deeper regret at the affliction which had befallen him was felt, than towards Lord Carlisle. I do not know if I may observe on one particular fact connected with his departure; but 1 would venture to say, that there was no person who witnessed the departure of Lord Carlisle from the shores of Ireland who was not affected at the spectacle that was presented. Crowds of people were assembled in Kingstown, in silent regret, to wish him good-bye; and I have been told, when my gallant friend, the Commander-in-Chief, advanced to bid him a last good-bye, and when he took his hand and grasped it for a few minutes, and said, ‘God bless you, Sir!’ I do believe - that there was not a dry eye in the crowded assembly that was there to wish Lord Carlisle farewell. He stood till the last moment on the deck of the vessel and, as it was leaving the shore, be cast a long, lingering look behind him at that country where he had spent almost the whole of his public life, and where his public services had been given. Many a person in that assembly must have recollected those touching lines of Moore, where he says:-

“‘As slow our ship her foamy track

Against the wind was cleaving,

Her trembling pennant still looked back

To that dear isle ‘twas leaving:

So loth we part from all we love,

From all the links that bind us;

So turn our hearts, where’er we rove,

On those we’ve left behind us.’”

So parted the noble lord, amidst the regrets of the citizens of Dublin, of the people of Ireland, and their yearning for his return. He was certainly the most popular Viceroy that ever administered the affairs of Ireland, and his successor will find it difficult to rival him in those social and administrative qualities which marked the public conduct and private demeanour of Lord Carlisle.

Kingstown Harbour.

The quarries of Dalkey supplied the granite [See Appendix for the particulars of the great granite chain which extends from Kingstown into the County of Waterford, read at the meeting of the British Association, August 1833.] for the construction of the piers of this harbour, the first stone of which was laid in 1817, by Lord Whitworth, then Viceroy of Ireland. The East Pier stretches out into the Bay of Dublin 2,300 feet:- it affords a most charming promenade, particularly to convalescents who may require the invigorating sea breeze. A monument is erected on this Pier in memory of the heroic and intrepid Captain Boyd, who with a number of seamen of the “Ajax” lost their own lives while nobly trying to save the lives of others in a fearful storm, February 9th, 1861. He afterwards had a public funeral, and was buried in St Patrick’s Cathedral, 1st of March, 1861.

The author who was present at Kingstown during this memorable storm, addressed several letters to the public journals on the sad and painful event. As these letters contained a description of the terrible scene and the effects of the storm - which made a deep impression on his mind - and also some observations which he was impelled to make on the absence of all aid - of life-boats, and of any effective arrangements for the saving of life, he feels assured that he will be excused for reproducing here such portions of these letters as more particularly apply to the consideration of a subject of such vital importance and necessity; and he ardently hopes that his observations have attracted some attention, and that means, effective means, have been since provided for rendering assistance, in a similar crisis, for the preservation of life and property. [A house for the life-boat has since been erected at Kingstown harbour, but unfortunately at the wrong side of the eastern pier.]

At all events, these letters will serve as a faint narrative of the wild scene of confusion and ruin -written, as they were, under extreme excitement; when “The angels of death spread their wings on the blast,”** **and bore away the brave Boyd and his faithful followers. *

To the Editor of the Freeman.*

Kingstown, Saturday Evening,

*February 9th, *1861.

Dear Sir - Having heard early this morning of the melancholy accident which deprived my friend Captain Boyd and some of his gallant crew of their lives in endeavouring to rescue others from a watery grave, I visited the Eastern Pier while the storm continued to blow “wondrous strong” from the N.E., accompanied by rain, snow, and sleet, the tide was hissing, surging, and furiously battling with the outward barrier or artificial rock work which protects the Eastern Pier, over which this morning it completely swept, a receding wave engulfing gallant Boyd and his manly followers. The spectacle was truly awful, fragments of the wreck lay about in the most fantastic forms, the whole presenting the appearance of an immense box of matches crushed by a railway train. The first body was found at half-past two o’clock. On searching through the rocks near the *debris *of the wreck in company with Mr. Charles Nicholls the well-known artist, and a sailor boy, we discovered the body of an old man, closely held between the rocks, entangled in the cordage and a remnant of the sails of the ill-fated vessel. He was evidently at the helm when she struck, having the remains of a seacoat and large boots attached to his person, whilst his comrades, who were afterwards found, were nearly naked. We extricated the body with much difficulty from the wreck and rock work, placed it on the pathway of the pier, composed his limbs and covered the face (which had been bleeding from a severe contusion) with his woollen tie. During the recent gales on the coast of England we were told that the entire fishing, seafaring, and naval population of the villages turned out and lined the coast and headlands anxiously watching to see if they could render any assistance to vessels in distress. Was such the case this day at Kingstown? Certainly not. It was a matter of much surprise to those gentlemen present that, out of the large nautical population of this rising town, there were only two men present who lent an assisting hand to recover the bodies of those who perished in the cause of mercy. At twelve o’clock a ship was seen in distress surging in towards the rock-bound coast where poor Boyd met his death. The moments were anxious and terrible. She was already given up as lost. The wind veered a point, the vessel answered her helm, and with a yard or so of canvas she drifted into the harbour. If she had struck on the rocks there were none present who could have rendered any material service either with ropes, boats, or life buoys. The police, tired and fatigued, were removing the bodies. Where was the lifeboat of which we have heard so much? A proper storm-proof building should be provided for its reception near the battery. When a gentle ripple agitates the waters of Kingstown harbour, the *“lifeboat is manned” *to astonish your suburban telescope sailors, nurse maids and old ladies in bath chairs, at an expense of ten shillings each man, but when the storm rages and every moment threatens death and desolation, the lifeboat is securely “housed.” The ship which so narrowly escaped destruction had scarcely cast anchor in the harbour, when His Excellency the Earl of Carlisle arrived at the scene of wreck and devastation. His sympathies were awakened, and true and heartfelt sorrow was depicted on his countenance when he found that his gallant and pure-minded friend, Captain Boyd, was no more. A highly intelligent seafaring man explained the morning’s disasters to his Excellency, who stood within a few yards of the dead body of an aged seaman, - made further inquiries relative to the melancholy incident, and shortly afterwards took his departure. The Eastern Pier is again left in comparative loneliness, the tide is on the rise, and the storm as boisterous as ever. A carriage approaches the scene - a lady, closely muffled - the wife of Captain Boyd, of the Ajax-steps out; the boat of the Ajax is hailed; she enters - her heart “with silent grief oppressed;” and as the boat puts off for the ship of mourning, exclaims, with mingled feelings of hope and anguish, “He cannot be lost, and, through the mercy of God, be will surely return.” We had at this time occasion to visit Kingstown to change our clothes, which were completely saturated with rain, sleet, and seawater; at the corner of George’s-street a group of idle men were “stopping the way,” scarcely a mile from a scene of misery, where the least of them could have been of use. We returned to the wreck both sickened and saddened. Shortly afterwards the naked body of a fourth seaman was discovered. The police were now making every exertion to be of service ere the night closed on the scene of death. We again searched among the rocks and found a leg with a good boot and neat sock, protruding from a crevice, upheaved granite rocks concealing the remainder of the body. We immediately gave the alarm, thinking at the time it was Captain Boyd’s body. A messenger was at once despatched to procure the attendance of the men of the “Ajax,” who quickly came to the place, the body was extricated with the greatest possible difficulty from under the huge mass of rock-work, which must have been dashed about like small pebbles on the shore. It was found to be poor Curry, one of the finest and handsomest men in her Majesty’s navy. The scene was truly heartrending when the men recognised their ship-mate, who left the “Ajax” that morning in the prime of life and manly heart, to lend a willing hand with his beloved captain in the cause of mercy. Curry’s features were beautiful, even in death. Those honest, brave, and affectionate tars bore him on their shoulders, nearly a mile to the admiralty yard, which had now presented the appearance of a *morgue. *They had some refreshment, and afterwards returned in sorrow to the frigate. Night closed in, and storm and darkness took possession of the Eastern Pier - now the marine *via dolorosa *of Kingstown.

The Victims of the Storm - their Burial.

To the Editor of the Eveniug Mail.

“Peace to the memory of the brave,

Tranquil may their slumbers be.

Peace to the dead beneath the wave;

Brave, gentle Boyd, peace to thee.”

Dear Sir, - It was a saddening sight to-day - the funeral of the drowned. The day, Ash Wednesday; the occasion, the interment of the remains of fine and stalwart men - brave gallant, men - called to eternity in the midst of robust health, and under circumstances which would cause the stout-hearted to cower. But a few hours, comparatively, have passed since this harbour was the scene of a desperate riot of the elements. The angry wave which but yesterday carried ‘murder unnatural’ on its crest has subsided, (wearied and satiated with its work of destruction), into a glassy smoothness. The apparently volcanic revellings on this rock-bound harbour are now numbered with the ‘things that were.’ All seems gentle, subdued, quiet. Melancholy broods over the scene - every one of the thousands who are assembled on the pier is impressed with a sad memory - all are silent - naught is heard but the altercations of the wreck gatherers (collecting the saturated fragments of the many “ill-fated ships”) or the shrill, sharp cry of the gull as it scuds by, and suddenly dives in search of prey. But soon another sound is heard - ‘did you not hear it?’ The cannon boom out the announcement that earth is about to receive its own. - The marine martyrs are being borne to the last resting-place. - The day is bright; yet all seems gloomy. - Ships wear their bunting half mast. - Grief is marked on every countenance as the mourner fall in to take part in the sad ceremony. - Nothing is left undone to testify the sorrow which they feel for the hard fate of the brave dead - military honours of the first-class are paid. - The officers of her Majesty’s service, dressed in state, wear crape. - The procession forms, thousands join it. - Shops suspend their business, - Cannon continue to boom at regular intervals. - The marines, with inverted arms, take their place, - the ‘Dead March in Saul’ completes the saddening character of the ceremonial. With measured step and pent up grief the procession wends its way to the grave. Tears, friendly and sincere, dim eyes that had almost forgotten their use. The coffins, piled on the cannon carriages, (flags of heroic and glorious association enshrouding them), are drawn along by brave sailors, and the ministers of God of all denominations take part in the mournful proceedings. Still the procession is moving on - still the cannon speaks out the public mourning, and silent, half-stifled supplications are sent forth. The graves at Monkstown are reached, the funeral ceremony performed, rounds fired, and then begins the heavy dead fall of earth, and the grave has received its first instalment of the many victims of the fearful storm of Saturday.

Kingstown

Kingstown owes its present proud position and growing prosperity to its having the Model Railway of the British Empire, and the most perfect Mail Service in the world, in connection with Holyhead.

On Saturday, October the 4th, 1834, the first trial of the steam engine “Vauxhall,” with a small train of carriages filled with ladies and gentlemen, was* *made on this railway from Dublin to the Martello Tower at Williamstown. Large crowds of people were assembled at various points to witness the passing of the engine. The experiment is said to have given great satisfaction, not only as to the rapidity of motion, ease of conveyance, and facility of stopping, but the celerity and quickness with which the train passed (by means of the crossings) from one line of road to another. The distance - about two miles and a - half-was performed four times each way, at the rate of about thirty-one miles per hour. The control over the machinery was complete, the stopping and reversing the motion was effected without a moment’s delay.

On the 9th of October, 1834, a train of carriages, crowded with ladies and gentlemen, proceeded the entire length of the line from the station-house at Westland-row to Salthill. There were eight carriages attached to the train; one of the first class, three second, and four of the third class. The first trip was made by the locomotive engine called the Hibernia, and with the many disadvantages attendant on a first starting, the trip from the station-house to Salthill, was performed in fifteen and a-half minutes, and again back to Dublin in twenty-three minutes.

A second trip was made by the Vauxhall locomotive engine, which performed the journey to Kingstown, in fourteen minutes and a-half; and back to Dublin in twenty-two and a-half minutes.

Several other trials were made with the different engines; all proved eminently successful. The application of steam - that subtle and mysterious vapour - as a motive power, was now, for the *first time, *on trial in *Ieland. *Hopes, fears, and feelings of danger, alternately prevailed.

Success, however, is the crown of every social revolution. The great problem of steam, as a motive power, was solved in Ireland, beyond the hopes of the most sanguine. Suspense, doubt, and danger were dispelled. The minds of all who occupied the experimental trains were filled with admiration, as the train from Dublin rolled majestically on its iron way - smoothly, rapidly; all, *una voce, *expressed their pleasure and delight at the perfect ease, rapidity, and imperceptibility of the movement, so that it was possible to read, and even write, with convenience.

Whirled along by the stupendous though invisible agency of steam, the astonished passengers (as has been happily observed) glided, Asmodeus-like, over the summits of the houses and streets of a great city - were presently transported through green fields and plantations of trees - skimmed across the surface of the sea - then, taking shelter under the cliffs, coasted by marine villas - passed through rocky excavations-and finally found themselves in the centre of a great seaport town, which unites, with pleasing variety, the bustle of a commercial city with the amusements of a fashionable watering-place.

To those who have not seen the beauties of Dublin bay and its vicinity, it is impossible to convey an adequate impression of the effect produced on the mind of the spectator from the moving railway train.

The following description of the Kingstown Rail-way Works is taken from The Penny Journal, 1834:-

“The character of the works, the variety of the different constructions, and the costly expenditure upon the Dublin and Kingstown railway, contrasted with the uniform level appearance which the country presents to the eye of a casual observer (glancing over the level ground, between the south side of Dublin and the shores of the bay), prompt the not unnatural remark of the cheapness and facility with which a railway might have been constructed. But many causes have concurred in requiring a continual change in the transverse sections of the railway, which have, certainly, greatly added to the novelty and interest of the work, though, at the same time, difficulties have been increased, and expenses augmented far beyond what has ever been required to form a level passage through the most difficult districts where railways have been introduced.

Among those causes may be enumerated the expediency of penetrating deeply into the centre of the metropolis; the attention requisite to be paid to public safety, and to vested and incorporated rights; the great value of the property, whether as building sites or suburban grounds; the interposition of secluded demesnes; the preservation of the bathing, boating, and other accommodations of individuals, and of the public along the coast; the necessity of making the course of the road as direct as possible, and of connecting the several changes of direction by easy curves; the caution to be exercised in tracing a complete and isolated route for the peculiar machines to be employed (through the rich and populous district in the vicinity of a large commercial city), to a termination on the quays of the finest artificial harbour in the world - where the smallest nautical conveniences had to be preserved from interference, or to be amply compensated for and replaced - close to the streets of a rising and populous borough, the conveniences and even the apprehensions of whose inhabitants had to be consulted.

The original intention was to have commenced the railway at the rere of the college buildings, and to have skirted the college park, parallel to Great Brunswick-street. This would have made the starting point about the Clarendon stables, and within a very short distance of the very centre of Dublin business. Vague fears, misrepresentations, and other causes, created an outcry against such a proposition, which, it is hoped, at a future and not distant period, may still be realized.

The Holyhead Packets and Mail Service

The noble and graceful looking steamers that sail from Kingstown Harbour twice every day, are unequalled in any other British or foreign port. *A quartette *and harmonious commercial union of really splendid vessels, commanded by gentlemen, whose courtesy and kindness to tens of thousands of passengers who annually travel with them across Channel, are only equalled by their great efficiency as first-class seamen in the most unqualified sense of the words, and by their anxiety for the preservation of life, and vast property entrusted to their safe keeping, by the energetic and spirited Directors of the

“City of Dublin Steam Packet Company,”

who deserve the thanks of the nation at large, for having placed on this great international transit and connecting link, steam vessels of such enormous power, vast proportions, and perfect nautical construction, unsurpassed in luxurious elegance and home comforts, as that to be found in the Leinster, *Munster, Connaught, *and *Ulster, *now commanded by Captain Rogers, Captain Kendal, Captain Slaughter, and Captain Triphook.

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Dublin and London, 1793.

The following extracts from a report, relative to shortening the time in transmitting the mails from Dublin to London, was presented to the Irish Parliament, in 1793, by the Chief Directors of Inland Navigation. They will be read with much interest by the gentlemen interested in the transit of Her Majesty’s Royal Mail at the present day.

“Look upon this picture, and upon this.”

The communication between London and Dublin may be shortened in point of time nearly one-half: to judge of this, it is necessary to see how the mail is despatched at present (1793); it is sent to the packet at different hours, from six till twelve in the evening, according as the tide serves; but when the tide serves between twelve and six, it waits for the tide: so that, taking the average, there are three hours here lost for one-half of the year. It is put on board the packet at the Pigeon-house Dock. If the wind blow fresh from the east, or north-east, the packet cannot sail; and thus an entire tide, sometimes two tides, or twenty-four hours, are lost if the wind happens to blow fresh from the north at neap tides, the packet is sometimes neaped in the dock, as happened last summer, and, therefore, cannot sail; all this to the very great injury of trade. When the packet sails, unless the wind be to the westward, she has considerable difficulty in working out to the great loss of time. When she arrives at Holyhead, which, taking an average of nine hours, is, perhaps, too short a time, the mail there waits for the coach to go out in the morning, and crossing two ferries, and passing over several mountains, and the sands of Cheshire, 47 hours are allowed for its arrival in London, but in general it takes 48. When the mail returns to Holy-head, nearly the same delays arise there again, (for that also is a tide harbour,) so that, taking the average, a letter written from Dublin to London is in general not answered in less than a week; but, supposing the packet to lie and take in the mail at the Sound of *Ireland’s Eye, *the mail would then be despatched at a certain hour every night for the packet could sail at any given hour, and with any wind that blows, and could go out in weather that she could not work out in from the Pigeon-house Dock, and in fifteen minutes from the time the mail is put on board, she would be completely at sea, lying her course. When the mail arrives at Holyhead, if, instead of sending it across two ferries to Chester, it were sent from Bangor ferry, along Lord Penryn’s road, coming out at the head of the valley of Llanroost to Shrewsbury, by paying a little attention to shortening the road through Anglesea, and finishing Lord Penryn’s road about four miles, the distance might be shortened by 24 miles. The distance between Holyhead and Shrewsbury at present is 114 miles; shortened by 24, it would be 90. The expenses attending the completing this line of road would not exceed £4,000. The distance between Dublin and Ireland’s Eye might be shortened half a mile, and make the distance six miles and a-half. Supposing, then, this mode adopted, the mail cart might run from Dublin to Ireland’s Eye in one hour; from Ireland’s Eye, the packet being near two leagues to the eastward of the Pigeon House, and being so readily at sea, by giving a little premium to the captain and crew (supposing a guinea a trip), for each time the mails were landed in 12 hours after delivered, this being little more than the rate of four knots (or miles) an hour, five times out of six the mails would be delivered in time; and if, instead of sacrificing the interest of the public to the convenience of mail coach travellers, their interest were to give way, and the mails be sent forward in a lighter carriage, carrying two passengers only, and the coachman and guard, with a little encouragement the mails might be pushed from Holyhead to Llangollen (60 miles by the short road), at the rate of seven miles an hour, and from Llangollen, the difficulties of the Welch road being surmounted, and the road from thence through Shrewsbury to London (186 miles) good, the mail might be pushed at the rate of eight miles and a-half an hour (the mails to Shrewsbury formerly ran 10 miles an hour), the account of time would then stand thus:-

  Hours

From Dublin to Ireland’s Eye 1

Putting mails on board 15 minutes

From Ireland’s Eye to Holyhead 12

Landing mails 45 minutes

From Holyhead to Llangollen, allowing for crossing Bangor ferry 10

From Llangollen to London 23

Total 47

“Supposing, then, the mails to leave Dublin at eight in the evening, they would be at Holyhead a quarter past nine in the morning; leave Holyhead at ten, be at Llangollen at seven in the evening, and in London at five the next evening, and letters might be answered by that night’s post; and, supposing the Irish mails to leave London also at eight and allowing one hour more for coming from Llangollen by night, the mail would be at Dublin at six the fourth evening. Upon return of the mail from London, in order to avoid any delay arising at Holyhead from waiting for the tide, a short pier should be run out from the rock near the light-house, at which the packet next in order for sailing should lie afloat, and which would be then ready for sea at any time of the tide, and thus the communication between the two countries would be completed, without losing time on either side; the expense of this pier would amount to about £4,000. The advantages of such expeditious communications are too obvious to need argument

“Another advantage arising from the adoption of this plan would be the speedy dispatch of government expresses, which at present are frequently delayed for hours together on account of the tide.”

General Index .