RIDDELLS OF PARKMOUNT, IRELAND.
157
In
a lot somewhat elevated from the parallel street, and when built was con-
sidered the most elegant country-house in that county. Nothing that a
cultivated taste could suggest, or money secure, seems to have been over-
looked in the arrangement and furniture of the interior of the Riddle
mansion; the rooms are large and cool, the furnishing rich, and the por-
traits and landscapes in oil, upon the walls, are valuable and artistic.
front, over the main entrance, is a fine portico, provided with seats and
large rustic chairs; here, in the evening, we gathered with the Riddle fam-
ily, and in pleasant conversation touching our family history we passed
genial hours; Mr. Riddle occasionally weaving in a story relating to
the adventures of his ancestors in the old country. The village is sur-
rounded by extensive farms owned by the proprietor, and the acres of ri-
pened grain and luxuriant corn, that were standing upon the field, showed
the high state of fertility to which these lands have been raised. Large
droves of sleek cows go slowly to the hillside pastures in the early morn-
ing, and noble horses graze along the fields. In company with the pro-
prietor we walked about the village and along the willow-shaded streets,
having our attention called to many objects of improvement and interest
at every turn.]
The following lines are taken from a poem on Glen-Riddle, composed
by a lady who taught the village school:-
"But whence camest thou, fair RIDDLE GLEN,
Peopled by noble, active men?
Dost thou from Scott's RYEDALE of old,
Bear a sheaf of rye on thy armor bold?
Or dost thou Ireland's ancestry claim,
For him who gave thine ancient name?
But all the same, thou canst contend
With Scotland's or old Ireland's glen.
But where wast thou when Doleraine
Passed through ANCIENT RIDDELL'S Fair Domain,'
To seek the monk of St. Mary's Isle,
In Melrose Abbey's most holy pile?
Thou still wert here, as on creation's morn,
Uncultivated, nameless, thy power unborn.
But 't was thy fate in solitude to dwell,
Till on thy beauties the eyes of RIDDLE fell.
Long years ago, on our own loved shore,
A RIDDLE Stood, one pound his coffer bore,
But with his own keen native wit imbued,
America, land of the free, he viewed.
He wandered o'er the country far and wide,
Until he stood a gentle stream beside,
And meditative watched its onward flow,
His soul with new-born thoughts aglow,
And in imagination saw an ideal Glen
Where his free fancy painted living men;
He invested-and his one pound grew
To one pound more, then treble two.
Oh! Perseverance, thou motto grand,
That reared this Glen in our lovely land;
Linked to Scotland's heraldry of old,
Its builder from the same ancestral fold,
Esteemed of noble heart and kind,
Of progressive and persevering mind.
How often with the ever-busy throng
Beneath the willow's shade I've moved along;
And by the RIDDLE MANSION wend my way,
Under whose shade the Riddle children play.
