It was once one of the liveliest
and most fashionable resorts in Ireland, but its famous spas, to which
gentlewomen and gallants came in the last century, are now unfrequented
and almost forgotten. When abductions, duelling, and such pastimes were
in vogue, "The Rakes of Mallow" were in their heyday. As Lysaght sang:--
"Beauing, belleing, dancing, drinking,
Breaking windows, damning, sinking,
Ever raking, never thinking,
Live the rakes of Mallow.
Spending faster than it comes,
Beating waiters, bailiffs, duns,
Bacchus' true-begotten sons,
Live the rakes of Mallow.
Living short, but merry lives.
Going where the devil drives:
Having sweethearts, but no wives,
Live the rakes of Mallow."
[Illustration: _Photo, Roche, Dublin._ Mallow Castle.]
~The Blackwater~ flows past Mallow through a rich country surrounded by
soft-breasted hills and well-planted lawns, to Fermoy, a garrison town
of importance, from which Mitchelstown, eleven miles away, may be
reached by a light railway. The caves at Mitchelstown are described
elsewhere (Waterford section). We will part the branch line here and
return, _via_ Cork, to Youghal, the point from which to become familiar
with the Blackwater at its best.
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