uniform wall-work of islands, it is an immense pool of clear water, in which the overhanging shrubbery is finely reflected. Its air of repose and quiet beauty makes it of interest to persons of a retiring nature, and those to whom the vastness of mountain scenery does not so pleasantly appeal.
We now pass under the great Gothic arch of Brickeen Bridge, and are in Lough Leane, or the lower lake. It has an area of five thousand acres, being five miles long, and three wide, with a very irregular shore, comprising, high and low lands, coves and inlets, a few mountain recesses, and a great variety of pleasing scenery. Its islands are thirty in number, few of which, however, measure more than an acre in extent. The largest are Rabbit Island, of more than twelve acres, and Innisfallen, of twenty-one acres. Many of them have a fancied resemblance to particular things, and so are named Lamb, Elephant, Gun, Horse, Crow, Heron, Stag. The chief beauties of this great sheet of water are its generally placid surface, the mountains bordering it on the south and west, and its unlikeness to either of the others, in its low lands, and its estates stretching off to the north and east. It abounds in quiet nooks, bays, and inlets, breaking its margin; and the barren rocks on one side contrast finely with the verdure of the shore on the other.
Sir Walter Scott has given a magic charm to Loch Katrine by reciting its legends; but, had he been so disposed, he could have given a like halo to these lakes, for legends of O'Donoghue and of the McCarthys abound, and supply such romantic materials as few countries can boast. As a sample we quote but one:—
Once in seven years, on a fine morning, before the sun's rays have begun to disperse the mist from the bosom of the lake, O'Donoghue comes riding over it on an elegant snowwhite horse, with fairies hovering about him, and strewing his path with flowers. As he approaches his ancient residence, everything resolves itself into its original condition and magnificence; the castle itself, banquet halls, library, his prison, and his pigeon house, are as they were in the olden time. Any one who desires, and is courageous enough to follow him over the lake, may cross even the deepest parts dry-footed, and ride with him into the caves of the adjoining mountains, where his treasures are deposited and concealed; and the daring visitor will receive a liberal gift for his company and venture, but before the sun has arisen, and in the early twilight, O'Donoghue recrosses the water, and vanishes amid the ruins of the castle, to be seen no more till the next seven years have expired.
The part of the lake first entered is called Glena Bay, and as the opposite shore, some three miles away, is low, the distant surface of the lake seems to melt into the horizon, producing an effect not made by either of the other lakes. Here on the little bay's shore is the picturesque cottage of Lady Kenmare; and in the woods and highlands, which for a couple and more miles bound the western shore of the lake, are red deer, and the place was once a famous hunting-ground.
We pursue our course, not stopping at O'Sullivan's Cascade, a waterfall consisting of three sections, situated a short distance back in the forest; nor do we go over to Innisfallen Island, distant but two miles to our left and in full view, though it is remarkably interesting on account of historical associations.
Of all the islands of the lakes it is the most picturesque and beautiful. It contains glades and lawns, thickets of flowering shrubs and evergreens, with an abundance of arbutus and hollies of great size and beauty, and also oak and ash trees of magnificent foliage and growth. Innisfallen contains about twenty-one acres, and commands one of the most desirable and lovely views of the entire lake and surrounding mountain scenery. The most interesting object on it, however, is the grand ruin of the ancient abbey, founded in the year 600, by St. Finian.
In this celebrated place the strange and interesting "Annals of Innisfallen" were composed. They contain fragments of the Old Testament, and a compendious, though not very valuable, annual history down to the time of St. Patrick, and one more perfect from the fourth to the fourteenth century. The originals, written more than five hundred years ago, are now in the Bodleian Library at Oxford. A translation of this work has been repeatedly attempted, but has never been far enough advanced to issue from the press. The Annals are a special record of Munster, but are filled with a dry record of great crimes and their punishment, wars, lists of princes and clergy, and elaborate accounts of the disputes and violent deaths of the ancient kings of Kerry. They record that in 1180, seven hundred years ago, the abbey was the place of securest deposit for all the gold and silver, and the rare and rich goods of the country; that it was plundered by Mildwin, son of Daniel O'Donoghue, as was also the church of Ardfert; and that many persons were slain in the cemetery of the McCarthys.
In parting, the temptation is resistless to quote the lines of Moore relating to this renowned and beautiful place:—
Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well,
May calm and sunshine long be thine;
How fair thou art, let others tell,
While but to feel how fair be mine.
Sweet Innisfallen, long shall dwell
In memory's dream that sunny smile,
Which o'er thee, on that evening fell,
When first I saw thy fairy isle.
We next pass on towards our place of landing. Before us and not far off is Ross Island, situated on the eastern shore of the lake. It is not really an island, but a peninsula, which at times of high water, however, is difficult to reach without crossing a bridge. The place has a finished look, having good lawns and many well-kept avenues and walks. In 1804 a copper mine was opened on it, and for a time afforded a large quantity of rich ore. Croker asserts that during the four years it was worked, $400,000 worth of ore was disposed of at Swansea, at a valuation of $200 per ton, and he informs us that "several small veins of oxide of copper split off the main lode and ran towards the surface. The ore of these veins was much more valuable than the other, and consequently the miners—who were paid for the quality as well as quantity—opened the smaller veins so near the surface that water broke through into the mine, in such an overwhelming degree that an engine of thirty-horse power could make no impression on the inundation." The work was then abandoned. No doubt exists that these mines had been worked in times of antiquity, perhaps by the Danes; for while working them in 1804, rude stone hammers were found, and other unequivocal proofs of preoccupation at an early time.
Ross Castle is a commanding and conspicuous object, standing isolated near the shore, on comparatively level land. It is visible from almost every part of the lake. This castle is generally visited from the land, and is less than two miles from the town of Killarney. Though now in ruins, it has a massive square tower and appendages of considerable size, and is of pleasing outline. The dark stone walls are in good preservation, and well decorated with ivy, which gives the ruin a most stately, yet romantic and picturesque effect.
The grounds are well kept, and are free to the public; though a small optional fee is in order to the lass who comes out of her cottage near by, unlocks the door of the great tower, and, with a tongue not very glib, tells what little she knows of local history. The castle was built by the O'Donoghues, and was long occupied by that celebrated family. In 1652 it was well defended; at the Revolution it held out long against the English invaders, and was the last one in Munster to surrender. On the 26th of July of that year Lord Muskerry, then holding a commission of colonel under the Irish, being hard pushed, occupied the castle, and defended himself against Lord Ludlow; and it was not until he brought vessels of war (in history called ships) by the lake, that the surrender was made. An old legend existed—and legends are powerful for good or for ill—that Ross Castle was impregnable till ships of war attacked it. These were brought, it may be, to take advantage of the superstition. When they were in view, the heart of the inmates of the fortress failed; they were paralyzed with superstitious fear, and could not be induced to strike another blow. Lord Ludlow, in his Memoirs, thus tells the story:—
We had received our
