THE JAMES D. PHELAN 
 CELTIC COLLECTION 
 
KILLABNBY 
 
 
 T , C 
 
 -:. 
 
 - <**$&xw-- 
 
KILLARNEY LEGENDS; 
 
 ARBANGED AS 
 
 A GUIDE TO THE LAKES. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 T. CHOFTON CHOKER, ESQ. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HENRY G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 
 1853. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Two small Volumes, entitled " Legends of the 
 Lakes, or Sayings and Doings at Killarney," 
 form the basis of the present publication to 
 which, as it is not exactly a reprint, the new 
 and more obvious name of " Killarney Legends" 
 is given. This volume is, in fact, a new 
 edition of those above mentioned, in a more 
 condensed and popular form ; such passages as 
 appeared to possess merely a temporary or per- 
 sonal interest have been omitted, some additions 
 have been made, and the original work has been 
 carefully revised. 
 
 As three years had elapsed since the book was 
 written, there naturally arose a question, whether 
 the numerous individual portraits which were 
 introduced should be retained or rejected ? But 
 since " the lads of the Lakes" must naturally 
 change, like the lights and colouring upon the 
 majestic mountains which surround the lovely 
 waters of Killarney it was determined to pre- 
 serve the sketches of the guides and boatmen, 
 which it was the Editor's fortune to find, as 
 faithful prototypes of their fellows, and as the 
 best medium of communicating to the reader 
 he tales of wonder which are the unquestionable 
 jiheritance of a scene of enchantment. 
 
 810289 
 
iv ADVERITSEMENT. 
 
 Gorham's Hotel, the mention of which occurs 
 as frequently as a certain passage of Rossini's in 
 La Donna del Lago, has passed into other hands ; 
 but though the Gorham himself presides not, 
 his Hotel supports its character, and in conclu- 
 sion of this our Advertisement, we will quote 
 Hagarty's 
 
 " HIBERNIAN HOTEL LATE GORHAM's. 
 
 " D. Hagarty takes leave most respectfully to announce, that he has 
 taken the above Establishment, which he has opened under the most 
 distinguished patronage, in a superior style of comfort and accommo- 
 dation, and trusts that his own and his Wife's experience, together with 
 the most unremitting attention and moderate charges, will ensure for 
 him public support, as well as a continuance of the kind and distin- 
 guished patronage with which he is now favoured. 
 
 44 His Wines will be found of superior excellence, as also his Posting 
 and Livery Establishment." 
 
 Killarney, April 7, 1831. 
 
A 
 
 LETTER OF INTRODUCTION 
 
 TO 
 
 KILLARNEY. 
 
 DEAR KILLARNEY, region there is 
 None like you, so formed for fairies ; 
 From the cliff where dwells the eagle, 
 In his palace high and regal, 
 To the depths thy blue waves under, 
 Thou'rt a little world of wonder ! 
 Every glen, of calm seclusion, 
 Has its tale of dim delusion ; 
 Every rock, and every mountain, 
 Every bower, and every fountain, 
 Has its own romantic story, 
 Or its Legend old and hoary ; 
 Thou'rt a land of dream and vision, 
 Like no land, save the Elysian. 
 
 Hope and fancy, in an attic, 
 Can make all things look prismatic ; 
 But amid the mountains round thee, 
 That in strong enchantment bound thee, 
 Hearts of lively thought and feeling 
 Know a wild and strange revealing ; 
 Mighty forms of mist and vapour 
 Charge and wheel, curvet and caper ; 
 O'er thy Lake, in furious courses, 
 Gallop billowy white horses ; 
 While the spray, in moonlight beaming, 
 Seems the steel-clad warriors' gleaming ; 
 
VI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 And the waterfall's hoarse foaming 
 Voice unearthly gives the gloaming ; 
 Shapes and sounds the mind will cherish, 
 Till in morning's light they perish. 
 
 Once again, on fancy's mission, 
 To thy storehouse of tradition, 
 Quicker far than thought I travel, 
 All its secrets to unravel. 
 I would dive into the mystery 
 Of O'Donoghue's dark history ; 
 And the tranquil home discover 
 Of that maiden's airy lover, 
 Whose heart-touching tale of sorrow 
 Needs no aid from fancy borrow, 
 (Worthy theme for gentle Landon.)* 
 Breast more stern than holy Brandonf 
 Must be his, who feels not pity 
 At that maiden's plaintive ditty.J 
 
 How I love thee, dear Killarney, 
 With thy boatmen's endless blarney ; 
 Monkish tales of Innisfallen, 
 Put to flight by Master Callen,|| 
 Back return in pleasant vision : 
 Not that I hold in derision 
 Pious fathers, who, with praying, 
 Cloister'd walls grew grave and grey in ; 
 From whose eye the soul was laughing, 
 On whose nose was mark of quaffing. 
 
 * Miss Landon is, perhaps, better known by her simple initials of 
 L. E. L. 
 
 t Of course the Saint, not the Reverend Lord, is meant. 
 
 I See, or rather hear, Moore's song of O'Donoghue's mistress, in the 
 ninth number of the Irish Melodies. 
 
 || So written in "Cobbett's Reformation," Part II. for the name of 
 the person to whom, in the 37th of Elizabeth, the Abbeys of Innisfallen 
 and Mucruss were granted by the Crown. It should be Collam ; but 
 Cobbett ' an authority. 
 
INTRODUCTION. VII 
 
 They were fellows wise and merry, 
 Who loved books, nor hated Sherry.* 
 
 Then thy reeks, Mac Gilla Cuddy, 
 In the sunset looking ruddy, 
 How I long their heights to clamber, 
 To find echo's secret chamber, 
 Where, secure from noisy calling, 
 Save when shivered crag is falling, 
 Silence reigns sublime and lonely, 
 Broken by the tempest only. 
 
 O sweet Mucruss, how I love thee, 
 From the hills that rise above thee ; 
 
 * After the flattering manner in which J. S. L. has mentioned my 
 came in the introduction and notes to his volume, entitled " the Harp 
 of Innisfail," this passage will, I trust, sufficiently vindicate me in his 
 eyes from " an illiberality and vulgar prejudice against the friars, 
 which," he is pleased to add, " is disgraceful in a man of my character 
 who ought not to descend to sacrifice truth to bigotry, or to caricature 
 a body of men, that were generally blameless and useful, however 
 much such pictures may agree with the ignorance, or pander to the 
 prejudice, of some of his readers." p. 191. 
 
 Now, although I plead guilty to having written in a careless, good- 
 humoured, and what I considered to be a harmless vein, the fairy tale 
 which has called forth these remarks, and which is reprinted in this 
 Volume I must say, that had I been inclined to draw an offensive 
 picture of monkish life, there were ample materials for doing so within 
 my reach. But to set at rest this matter, which is so seriously charged 
 against me, 1 appeal at once to the historian Giraldus Cambrensis, a 
 contemporary witness, a Roman Catholic, and a connexion of a distin- 
 guished dignitary of that church ; and after the perusal of his words, it 
 will, I feel confident, be readily conceded to me, that, without any 
 stretch of imagination, I might have gone much further in depicting 
 the enjoyments which excited the fancy of honest Father Cuddy, on 
 the evening previous to his wonderful nap. 
 
 " Inter tot enim millia, vix unum invenies, qui post jugem tarn jeju- 
 niorum quam orationum instantiam vino variisque potiouibus, diurnos 
 labores, enormius quam deceret noctu non redimat. Diem itaque na- 
 turalem tanquam ex sequo dividentes, lucidaque spiritui, tempora noc- 
 turna, quoque carni dedicantes, sicut de luce lucis operibus indulgent, 
 sic et in tenebris ad tenebrarum opera convertnntur. Unde et hoc pro 
 miraculo duci potest, quod ubi vina domiuantur Venus non regnat. w 
 Top. Hib. De Ckricis et Monasticia. 
 
 And here I rest my case. 
 
VIII INTRODUCTION. 
 
 I have seen thee, dark and darker, 
 In the Lake a pointed marker ;* 
 With thy woods and caves fantastic, 
 And thy solemn walls monastic ; 
 While from rock to rock the dashing 
 Of the torrent's ceaseless plashing 
 Made a rude and worldly riot, 
 To oppose their blessed quiet. 
 These are sights and sounds impressive, 
 Which could make me grow digressive j 
 But the limits of a letter 
 Are a kind of mental fetter. 
 
 Dear Killarney thy well-wisher 
 And admirer, Mr. Fisher, 
 For the pocket most compactly 
 Has thy Legends framed exactly. 
 Let me offer my petition 
 On behalf of his Edition : 
 Be a patronizing creature ; 
 To thy guests 'twill serve as teacher ; 
 For no doubt the merry summer 
 Will bring many a new-comer, 
 Who'll about, wish to be guided ; 
 Just as once, you know, that I did, 
 In the full and true conviction, 
 That of pleasure, half is fiction. 
 
 T. C. C. 
 
 The Rosery, Barnes, Surrey, 
 1st May, 1831. 
 
 The long and narrow peninsula of Mucruss stretches nearly aeroi 
 the Lake. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. THE INN. 
 
 WANT of a Legendary Guide Book Driver and Guard 
 of the Killarney Mail Scenery on approaching Kil- 
 larney Coltsman's Castle Courtayne's Folly En- 
 trance to the town of Killarney Beggars Waiters 
 from the Inns Gorham's Hotel Landlord described 
 Dinner Boat ordered Guide Town of Killarney 
 described Mountain Mahony His account of the 
 building of Killarney of its Convent View from the 
 Bridge over the Dinah Story of O'Donoghue's fetch 
 The West Demesne and Knockrear Clough-na- 
 Cuddy Scenery Verses to Killarney Legend of 
 Clough-na-Cuddy Gandsey, Lord Headley's Piper, 
 described Page 1 to 17 
 
 CHAPTER II. THE EMBARKATION. 
 
 Breakfast Departure from the Inn Lord Kenmare's 
 House and Park Sunday's well The big tree View 
 from the Ross road Doolan O'Donoghue Legend of 
 the Hurlers of Loch Lane Ross Castle Legend 
 of O'Donoghue and the Soldiers The Embark- 
 ation ' . . 18 to 28 
 
 CHAPTER III. THE EXCURSION. 
 
 Paddy Blake's echo Wright's Guide Book O'Dono- 
 ghue's Pigeon House O'Donoghue's Library Legend 
 of O'Donoghue's enchantment O'Donoghue's Prison 
 Its Legend Innisfallen Island Mouse Island 
 Toomies O'Sullivan's Cascada Legend of O'Sul- 
 livan's Punch-bowl Wood Nymphs Singular effect 
 of light and shade on the Lake The Minister's back 
 Stag and Arbutus Islands Legend of the Arbutus- 
 Darby's Garden Its Legend Glena Bay and Cottage 
 Progress to the Gun rock A Shot O'Donoghue'd 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 Horse O'Donoghue's Broom Billy the Mule's versei 
 Return to Jnnisfallen u Put down the pot at 
 oes" 29 to 44 
 
 CHAPTER IV. THE ISLAND. 
 
 Innisfallen Island described The Eye of the Needltf 
 The Bed of Honour Brown or Rabbit Island Mr. 
 Hallam and Sir Walter Scott Barret, the fisherman 
 Purchase of a Salmon Cooking the Salmon 
 Legend of Tig-na-Vauriah and Donaghadee Ban- 
 queting room Another version of the Legend of 
 Clough-na-Cuddy The old tomb of the ash-tree 
 Legend of Phelim the Friar Moore's verses on leav- 
 ing Innisfallen 45 to 69 
 
 CHAPTER V. THE ABBEY. 
 
 A rainy morning Road to Mucruss Abbey described 
 The Abbey Inscription on the Tomb of O'Donoghue 
 More of the Glens Account of O'Donoghue Daniel, 
 his father Yew-tree in the Cloisters Legend of 
 Skeheen-a-Vibo, or the foundation of Mucruss Abbey 
 Drake the Hermit Irrelagh, another name for Mu- 
 cruss Legend of Father Thady Holen and the monks 
 of Irrelagh A Funeral Verses on monkish life, by 
 Mr. James 70 to 88 
 
 CHAPTER VI. THE WATERFALL. 
 
 Ned Roche The Green Hills View from thence Ross 
 mines Turner the Scotch Steward Sun-set Road 
 to the Waterfall Mountain Stream The Waterfall 
 Legend of Poul-an-Iffrin Return to Gorham's 
 Hotel 89 to 97 
 
 CHAPTER VII. AGHADOE. 
 
 Gorham on horseback Guides Dispute between Picket 
 and Rooter Leahy Departure Hill of Bellevue 
 Molly Boke's cross Aghadoe Adventure of Tim 
 Marcks with the walking skull Story of the Ghost of 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 the Nut-cracker commenced The Deaf Pool Story 
 of the Ghost of the Nut-cracker continued . 98 to 109 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. THE GAP. 
 
 Grenagh The O'Connells Laun or Beaufort Bridge 
 Old Woman Legend of Sgarrive a Kuilleen The 
 Hermit of Killarney, a Ballad by the Right Honorable 
 George Ogle Beaufort Its owners Dunloh Castle 
 Gheran Tuel or Carran Tual The Purple Moun- 
 tain Glena Mountain Echo Mountain Lake 
 Legend of St. Patrick and the Serpent Song The Gap 
 of Dunloh View of the Upper Lake . 110 to 123 
 
 CHAPTER IX. THE UPPER LAKE. 
 
 Lord Brandon's The Boat in waiting Barret the 
 fisherman The Upper Lake Ronayne's Island 
 Weld's account of Ronayne Barret's version of the 
 Story Islands The Giant's Coffin Meeting with 
 Mr. Lynch, an old school-fellow Derrycunnihy 
 The Rev. Arthur Hyde's Cottage Verses on Derry- 
 cunnihy Waterfall The Heading Strap an' Gad 
 Russ Bourky Its Legend 124 to 138 
 
 CHAPTER X. THE DESCENT. 
 
 Passage between the Lakes Coleman's eye Names of 
 the rocks the Eagle's Nest Its echoes Doolan's 
 Song Legend of the Eagle's Nest Shoemaker's bill 
 Paddy Clane's leap Begly Shooting the old Weir 
 Bridge Arrival at Dinis Island Dinner . . 139 to 147 
 
 CHAPTER XI. THE MIDDLE LAKE. 
 
 Nelly Thompson The Marquis of Lansdowne Scenery 
 of Turk Lake The Carbuncle O'Donoghues's Wine 
 Cellar Turk Cottage Bay of Dundag The Devil's 
 Island Doolah Mucruss Brickeen Bridge Sir 
 Walter Scott and Miss Edgeworth Mr. Moore 
 His verses Works on Ross Island Return to Kil- 
 larney 148 to 158 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. MANGERTON. 
 
 Guides Leahy, Picket, and Mountain Mahony Ascent 
 of the Mountain " A Kerry Dragoon" Criticism on 
 Weld Devil's Punch-bowl View from Mangerton 
 described Cowm na Coppul, or the glen of the horse 
 Legend of Billy Thompson and his cow Hint for 
 travellers about to ascend Mangerton . . 159 to 172 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. THE STAG HUNT. 
 
 Doolan and the Waiter in Argument Killarney on the 
 morning of a Stag-hunt Embarkation at Ross Mr. 
 O'Connell's barge Arrival in Dinis Pool Passing 
 the Rapids under old Weir Bridge Assemblage to see 
 the hunt The Chase The Stag taken Irish oratory 
 Return The Stag freed Innisfallen Glena by 
 moonlight Legend of Aileen a roon Arrival at Ross 
 -Anti-musical magistates Up street and down street ; 
 the Barry and Leary factions .... 173 to 185 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. THE LAKE OF KILLBRAN. 
 
 Gorham's Eagles Mr. Lynch's proposal Mrs. Falvey's 
 freeholds Lord Kenmare's Park Mr. Cronin's 
 Lake of Killbran Legend of Loch Bran, or the Lake 
 of the burning Coal 186 to 198 
 
 CHAPTER XV. AHAHUNNIG. 
 
 Spa of Tullig Tiernabowl The gallows tree The Mac 
 Sweenys The Legend of the White Maiden of Tierna- 
 bowl The Druid's Circle Legend of Donald Egee- 
 lagh Lamp-light in Killarney Christening an island 
 Miss Plummer's Island 199 to 210 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. LOCH KITTANE. 
 
 View of the Lower Lake Lough Ardagh The road to 
 Loch Kittane Loch Kittane Kippoch Legend hunt- 
 ingVerses to Loch Kittane .... 211 to 217 
 
CONTENTS. Xlll 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. PHILADOWN. 
 
 Definition of the word Glen Killaha Castle New and 
 old lines of road The Doctor Exterior of a whiskey 
 shop Hunted Excisemen Description of Glanflesk 
 Waterfalls Philadown Labig Owen Account of 
 Owen the outlaw The river Flesk Kindness of the 
 Glensters The Invitation accepted . . 218 to 231 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. A NIGHT IN THE GLENS. 
 
 Description of Daniel O'Donoghue's cabin Arrival of 
 the Company Dancers Legend of the Wizard of 
 Dingle An Irish Nightcap .... 232 to 243 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. THE RETURN. 
 
 The morning walk Wordsworth Mountain torrent of 
 Crohane Breakfast in Daniel O'Donoghue's cabin 
 Farewell to Glanflesk Killaha Castle Father 
 O'Reilly The Inn Gandsey Irish Melodies and 
 Whiskey Punch The Step of the Glens The Eagle's 
 Whistle Lamentation for Myles O'Reilly, the slasher 
 The Widow's Lamentation Verses by the Hon. 
 Mrs. Norton to an Irish Melody Gandsey's Song on 
 Killarney The death-cry, and account of a child's 
 wake Legend of Tom Coghlan and the little Redcap 
 Gorham's Album Gandsey's story of Paddy Kel- 
 leher and his pig 244 to 275 
 
 CHAPTER XX. THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 The weather fish of Killarney Church Arrival of the 
 Tralee Mail Coach Preparations for starting Gor- 
 ham's Album Contributions from W.J. Miss Bourke 
 R. S. Sir Morgan O'Dogherty T. M. Departure 
 The Coach stopped Mr. Lynch's packet Farewell 
 to Killarney Acknowledgment of the Editor's obliga- 
 tionsLetter from Mr. Lynch, commenting on the 
 proof sent to him Directions for seeing the Lakes, 
 in a ten days' trip from London Letter from Gandsey 
 Conclusion 276 to 294 
 
XIV 
 
 TOPOGRAPHICAL INDEX. 
 
 Aghadoe, 10, 99 
 Ahahunnig Glen, 187, 200 
 
 River, 2 
 
 Alexander's Rock, 43 
 Arbutus Island, 38, 128 
 Ardagh Lough, 213 
 Ardfert, 261 
 Ash Island, 43 
 
 Ballycasheen,2, 204, 281 
 Ballydowny, 10 
 Ballyheigh, 261 
 Beaufort, 111, 117 
 Bed of Honour, 46 
 Bellevue, 10, 30, 99 
 Blennerville, 261 
 Bran (Loch) vide Killbran 
 Brandon, Hill, 261 
 Lord, his De- 
 mesne. 123, 124, 162 
 Brewsterfield, 249 
 Brickeen Bridge, 41, 153 
 
 Island, 41, 149 
 
 Brown Island, 46 
 
 Cahir-con-righ, 261 
 Cahirnane, 43, 70, 71 
 Cannon and Cannon Balls, 
 
 140 
 
 Carran Tual, 118 
 Carrig a Fourt, 43, 49, 125 
 a Hocka, 43 
 
 Castle Isktnd road, 187 
 
 Lough, 43, 71 
 
 Cherry Island, 30 
 Claunteens, 182, 193 
 Cloghereen, 71, 160, 172 
 Clough-na-Cuddy, 13, 62 
 Clydagh River, 229 
 Coffin Point, 140 
 Coleman's Eye, 139 
 Coltsman's Castle, 3, 71, 
 
 199 
 
 Corrigraalvin, 100 
 Courtayne's Folly, 4 
 Cowm duve, 123 
 
 na Coppul, 162 
 
 Crohane, 217, 245 
 Cromiglaun, 19, 132 
 
 Dane's Fort, 71 
 Darby's Garden, 38 
 Derrycunnihy, 129 
 
 Waterfall, 130 
 
 Devil's Island, 149, 151 
 
 Punch Bowl, 18, 
 
 96, 161 
 
 Dinah River, 10, 188 
 Dingle, 238 
 Dingle Mountains, 91 
 Dinis Island, 146, 147, 149 
 
 Pool, 146, 176 
 
 Doolagh, 152 
 Drake's Bolster, 78 
 
INDEX. 
 
 XV 
 
 Droumhall, 70 
 Droumhoomper Castle, 3 
 Droumirourk, 71 
 Druidical Circle, 187, 204 
 Dundag Bay, 149, 151 
 Dunloh Castle, 118 
 Gap, 118, 119 
 
 Eagle's Island, 128 
 
 Nest, 19, 42, 140, 
 
 149, 177 
 
 Esknamucky Glen, 135 
 Eye of the Needle, 46 
 
 Fair Hill, 4, 281 
 
 Falvey, Mrs. her Freeholds, 
 
 187 
 
 Farm Lodge, 189 
 Flesk Cottage, 71 
 
 Priory, 71 
 
 River, 3, 43, 71, 
 
 229, 230, 245 
 Road, 70 
 
 Innisfallen Island, 33, 43 
 45, 53, 180 
 
 Irrelagh Abbey, 80 
 
 Kenmare, Earl of, his house, 
 
 18 
 his Park, 
 
 see Park 
 
 River, 161 
 
 Road to, 92, 219 
 
 Fussa Chapel, 103 
 
 Gal way River, 128, 130 
 Gheran Tuel, 118 
 Giant's Coffin, 128 
 Glanflesk, 73, 219 
 Glen of the Horse, see 
 
 Cowm-na-Coppul 
 Glena Bay, 41, 181 
 Cottage, 41 
 
 Mountain, 19, 38, 71, 
 
 119, 149 
 
 Gleun a Heelah, 189 
 Green Hills, 89, 149 
 Grenagh, 110 
 Gun Rock, 41 
 
 Heading, 129, 132 
 Hen and Chickens, 42 
 Hyde's Cottage, 129 
 
 Inch House, 230 
 
 Kerry Head, 261 
 Kilcummin Church, 191 
 Killagy, 211 
 
 Killaha Castle, 219, 227, 248 
 Killarney, Town of, 8, 70, 
 
 162, 187, 207, 276 
 Killbran, Lake of, 187, 189 
 Kippoch, 214, 217 
 Kittane Loch, 211, 214,217 
 Knockanes, 261 
 Knockeen Dubh, 182 
 Knockrear, 12 
 
 Labig Owen, 187, 219, 226 
 Lakefield, 110 
 Laun River, 111 
 Lochaune Bower, 103 
 Lochawn Sloch, 153 
 Long Range, 140 
 Looha River, 229 
 Lough na Brach Darrig, 89 
 
 152 
 Lower Lake, 41, 43, 100, 
 
 154, 212 
 
 Mac Carty's Island, 128 
 Mac Gillicuddy's Reeks, 19 
 
 111 
 
 Macroom, Road to, 219 
 Mangerton, 19, 70, 149, 159, 
 
 161, 200, 217 
 Man of War, 140 
 Mieniska, 103 
 Minister's Back, 37, 64 
 Molly Boke's Cross, 99 
 
XVI INDEX. 
 
 Mouse Island, 33 Purple Mountain. 118 
 
 Mucruss Abbey, 71, 80 
 
 House, 43 Rabbit Island, 46 
 
 Mine, 89, 153 Keen Cottage, 21, 30, 47 
 
 Peninsula,71,149, Ronayne's Island, 126 
 
 152, 155 Ross Castle, 27, 70 
 
 Road, 19 Island, 26, 41, 157 
 
 Shore, 42 Mines, 43, 90, 157 
 
 Road, 19 
 
 Newfoundland Bay, 132, Round of Beef, 140 
 
 139 Rough Island, 42 
 
 Russ Bourky, 133 
 
 Oak Island, 133 Ruscru, 245 
 
 O'Donoghue's Broom, 42 
 
 Horse, 42 Slieve Mish, $61 
 
 Library, 31 Sgarrive-a-Kuilleen, 112 
 
 Pigeonhouse, Skeheen-a-Vibo, 75 
 
 30 Stag Island, 38 ' 
 
 Prison, 32 Strap an' Gad, 132 
 
 Table, 42 Sugar Island, 43 
 
 - Wine Cellar, Sunday's Well, 19 
 
 150, 152 
 Old Weir Bridge,146,176, Tiernabowl, 199, 200 
 
 179 Toomies Mountain, 19, 33, 
 
 O'Sullivan's Cascade, 33 111, 119 
 
 Punchbowl, 34 Tralee, 261 
 
 Bay, S61, 
 
 Paddy Clane's Leap, 144 Mountains, 162 
 
 Paps, 200 Tullig Spa, 189, 199 
 
 Park House, 18, 189 Turk Cottage, 19, 149, 151 
 
 , the, 71, 186, 188 Lake, 147, 149, 154 
 
 Philadown, 187, 219, 225, Mountain, 41, 70, 149 
 
 245 Waterfall, 89, 92, 93 
 
 Philaquilla. Point, 33, 43, Upper Lake, 126 
 
 105 
 Plummers, Miss, Island, Violet Hill, 70 
 
 146, 209 
 
 Poul-an-Iffrin, 94 West Demesne, 10, 12, 30 
 
 Prospect Hall, 30, 99 Woodlawn, 71 
 
 LIST OF PLATitS. 
 
 Vignette Title : Mucruss Abbey. I Old Weir Bridge. 
 O'Snllivan's Cascade. The Devil's Punchbowl. 
 
 The Gaj> of Dunloh. ( The Glen of the Horse. 
 
KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE INN. 
 
 TAKING it for granted, that when people go to see 
 the Lakes of Killarney, they do not intend making 
 a very serious business of the excursion, but rather 
 desire, while their eyes are pleased with roman- 
 tic scenery, that their ears should be tickled by 
 legendary tales ; taking, I say, this broad assertion 
 for granted, and further, that romantic scenery and 
 legendary tales should go hand in hand with each 
 other, it is certainly extraordinary that no guide- 
 book should exist for the local traditions of Kil- 
 larney. 
 
 Weld's is an excellent volume " the work of a 
 gentleman and a scholar, which merits a place in 
 every library." Wright's is a convenient hand- 
 book for the lakes ; arid there are, beside, other 
 accounts of Killarney well enough in their way. 
 But though these volumes respectively state the 
 names of the rocks, the islands, and the mountains, 
 I 
 
i KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 and, in the true spirit of guides, describe in glow- 
 ing language various scenic effects. does Weld, or 
 \\rig-Kt, p? omith, or Bushe, or even the fair 
 minstrel. Miss Luby, or the accomplished Hannah 
 ]Via'r'.a Bourse, in her seven cantos about " them 
 days" of* G'Donoghue, or Leslie's quarto, or 
 O'Conner's,, or O'Kelly's, or O'Sullivan's octavo 
 verses, or D. S. L.'s Moorish " Harp of Innisfail," 
 inform their readers of all the legends of the lakes, 
 the islands, and the mountains? Do they relate 
 all the miraculous events which the pious annalists 
 of Innisfallen have omitted to record ? Do they 
 
 ? In short, a legendary guide-book to Killarney 
 
 is wanted ; and, about to supply the deficiency, you 
 will be so good, kind reader, as to imagine me 
 seated on the box of the Killarney mail-coach, 
 beside Mat Crowley, the driver. 
 
 Boo boo boo moo he sounds the horn, as 
 we rapidly descend the hill of Ballycasheen, and 
 now we pause on the bridge which crosses the little 
 river Aha-hunnig. 
 
 '"Woe ho, neddy! Hallo, Riley, why don't 
 you take off the drag ?" 
 
 (Sing*) 
 
 1 re -r _JJ pSfc 
 
 Riley, Really, you're the boy, Riley. 
 
 "All right there? Oh bad luck to you, Riley !" 
 Why, then, just keep your wishes of bad 
 
 luck for yourself, Mat Crowley, if you please, 
 
 can't you ?" 
 
 A pretty scene this- -the stream, issuing from a 
 
 wooded glen on the right, brawls along to the left, 
 
THE INN. J 
 
 until it joins the broad rive Flesk. Below the 
 bridge, on the left bank of the: stream, is a cottage 
 and farm-yard, backed by an ancient rookery; 
 and above the river Flesk is a wooded hill crowned 
 by the fantastic towers of a modern castle, beyond 
 which appear the rugged mountains that border 
 the southern shore of the far-famecl lake of Kil- 
 larney. 
 
 " What castle is that, Crowley ?" 
 
 " The castle is it? Why, then, 'tis, it is the 
 castle sure enough, without any kind of doubt ! 
 Did your honour never hear what Tool, the guard, 
 said to a gentleman that axed him about that 
 same Droumhoomper Castle that's the rale name 
 for it, though they calls it Coltsman's Castle. 
 You must know, sir, it was built by one Mister 
 Coltsman, from London Coltsman he calls him- 
 self now, though they say his rale name is Cole- 
 man, and as good a name it is as Coltsman, any 
 day of the week, for a fine leaper Coleman was, as 
 your honour may plainly see on your way to the 
 upper lake But what matter about his name ? 
 he's a rale good gentleman any how, wherever he 
 is, or whatever name is upon him, Coltsman or 
 Coleman, sure 'tis no matter, for 'tis he has spent 
 the power of money, in giving work to the poor 
 people at the castle ; and that is more than can 
 be said of many a one that has a better right nor 
 him. But as I was saying, What's that ? says the 
 gentleman to Tool, just like your honour, pointing 
 over to Coltsman's Castle. O, says Tool, says he 
 it's only a bit of London Pride* that grew up on the 
 hill there lately! Gee-up, countess just look at 
 the rein, Riley." 
 
 * Saxifrage, or London Pride, grows profusely on the 
 nills about Killarney. 
 
 B2 
 
4 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " Mind your hits, Crowley, it's all up hill. 
 What have we here? Is this building a castle 
 too ? It looks like a prison, or " 
 
 " Fakes, then, 'tis few can make head or tail of 
 it a quare place it was to build a castle for sartin, 
 and for that very same reason they calls it Cour- 
 tayne's Folly, your honour by the same token" 
 But the rest was overpowered by boo boo 
 boo moo he. The coach dashes by the park 
 gate, and here we are just entering the town of 
 Killarney. 
 
 " This is Fair Hill, sir." 
 
 " * Fair is foul/ What wretched cabins !" 
 
 " Never mind, sir, we'll be in Killarney 
 directly. 
 
 (Sinjis) 
 
 i 
 
 " -&- I -f 
 
 " Riley, really." 
 
 Rumble rumble, we rattle over the paving stones 
 of Hen-street. Every casement thrown open, 
 and every head protruded, to gaze on the arrivals 
 by the Cork mail-coach; and now we draw up 
 in the Main- street, at the coach-office door. 
 
 What a crowd, and how clamorous are the 
 beggars ! But what are beggars or crowd to the 
 quarrels of rival waiters, who await the arrivals, 
 and who endeavour to carry insides and outsides 
 off, " vi et armis," to their respective establish- 
 ments. 
 
 " Your honour won't forget the driver" 
 " Only one ha'penny for the fatherless or- 
 phins" 
 
THE INN. 5 
 
 " Sure your lordship's glory will throw a small 
 trifle to the poor widow." 
 
 " Oh, then, make way till I see the good 
 gentleman's sweet face, will ye ? and my bless- 
 ing on it; and 'tis his honour is going to give 
 to a poor woman that wants it, and not to the 
 like of ye, for a set of common beggarly black- 
 guards." 
 
 " Tis yourself is the gentlewoman then, Moll 
 Drimen, because your husband was transported 
 for mistaking Mahony's cow Oh she's a drunken 
 blackguard, your honour, never mind her." 
 
 " Something for poor Florry, your worship," 
 cries a fellow with a pair of wooden stumps, 
 mounted upon a ragged coated donkey, " Hurrah 
 for Kerry." 
 
 " The poor blind man, deprived of the blessed 
 light of the glorious day." 
 
 " Will I carry your honour's trunk ?" roars a 
 raggedly inn-runner. 
 
 " A pretty time of day we're come to," exclaims 
 another, " when the likes of you pretend to carry 
 a gentleman's portmantle !" 
 
 " Don't be after minding either of them, sir, 
 I'm the only boy for your honour." 
 
 " This way, sir, to Gorham's Hotel," says Dan 
 Donovan. 
 
 " No," cries Dennis Donovan, a square built, 
 black-whiskered waiter, with green spectacles, 
 " no, his honour will go to the Kenmare Arms." 
 
 And thus the case stands Daniel versus Dennis, 
 each endeavouring to carry off insides and out- 
 sides, bag and baggage, running all the time 
 through the whole vocabulary of Irish slang abuse 
 towards each other, and of blarney towards the 
 strangers. 
 
KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 At length a green-coated, ^lack-belted Peeler 
 Commands the pace, allays the storm, and affords 
 an opportunity of choice. Mine was to establish 
 myself in Gorham's Hibernian Hotel, and I had 
 no reason to regret it. I beg, however, to say 
 that, in thus particularizing Gorham's, I do net 
 mean any thing to the prejudice of " Mastet 
 Tommy Finn/' proprietor of the well-known 
 enmare Arms. 
 
 Next to a man's own home, an Inn is the 
 pleasantest place in the world ; you are always 
 sure of a welcome, and meet with nothing but 
 smiles from the landlord: smiles and welcome 
 increased in exact proportion to the trouble you 
 give. 
 
 Ring the bell pull away you're heartily wel- 
 come. " Waiter, tell Mr. Gorham I want to 
 speak to him." 
 
 1 " Directly, sir." 
 
 " Walk in, Mr. Gorham." 
 
 The door opens, and the Gorham appears : 
 a smart, round-faced, prinky little man, in a blue 
 coat, drab trowsers, white socks, and well-polished 
 pumps. His India silk handkerchief, not willing 
 to hide its bright colours and " blush unseen," 
 contrives to thrust forth a graceful corner, as 
 if escaped by accident from its prison-pocket. 
 His chin buried in a snow-white cravat, his head 
 curled according to Jer Sullivan's newest version 
 of the London mode, and with a pair of well- 
 combed whiskers, which a Bond-street dand^ 
 might envy ; the head thrust forward, the features 
 relaxed into a broad grin of self-satisfaction and 
 smiling complaisance. Imagine all this, I say, 
 and Gorham stands before you. 
 
 Behind Mr. Gorham appears his step-son, 
 
THE- INN. 7 
 
 Daniel, Danil, or Dan Donovan, for by all these 
 names is he known. 
 
 Gorham, (smiling, bowing, rubbing his hands, 
 speaking very fine indeed,) " Do you want me, 
 sare ?" 
 
 " O ! Mr. Gorham, I presume ; I want to have 
 some chat with you, but first let me know what 
 I can have for dinner." 
 
 Dan Donovan interposing, " Sir, if you want 
 accommodation, sir, there's no place, sir, can 
 please you, sir, like Gorham's Hotel, sir." 
 
 " But the dinner, sir ? 
 
 " Why, sir, ther's lamb, sir, and beef, sir, and 
 mutton, sir, salmon, sir, and all sorts of v'riety of 
 vegetables, sir." 
 
 " Let me see, 'tis said your Kerry mutton is 
 very sweet : a leg of mountain mutton, if you 
 please, and some of your curdy salmon, fresh 
 from the lake, what vegetables you like, of course 
 good wine, and some of your whiskey to wash it 
 down ; for, as the poet sings, 
 
 " what will make you so merry, 
 As the dew that is shed on the mountains of Kerry ?" 
 
 All this time Gorham stood smirking and 
 smiling. 
 
 " I should be much obliged to you, Mr. Gorham, 
 to see about a boat for me : to-morrow I intend 
 to visit the lower lake." 
 
 " O, sare, Mr. Pool will wait on you after 
 dinner, 'tis he has the care of the boats." " Good 
 evening, sare." [Exit Gorham, with a bow and 
 a smile.] Gorham to Dan Donovan in the hall 
 " A neat little fellow that, Dan ; 'pon my honour, 
 I'll be bail he's a rare sketcher.' 
 
 Having managed to dine tolerably well on the 
 curdy salmon and mountain mutton, and finished 
 
8 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 my bottle of claret, I had just commenced mixing 
 the whisky punch, when Mr. Pool made his 
 appearance. He was an active middle-aged man, 
 dressed in a shooting jacket, knee breeches, and lea- 
 ther galligaskins, and his countenance bore evident 
 tokens of belonging to one who was no enemy to 
 the good things of this life ; he had been in the 
 army, had gained a Waterloo medal, and held 
 the place of deputy barrack-master to Mr. Chris- 
 topher Galway, agent to the earl of Kenmare ; 
 and, in addition to his other honours, was lord 
 high admiral of the Lakes of Killarney. 
 
 Having, over a tumbler of whiskey punch, 
 bespoke from Mr. Pool a four-oared boat for the 
 ensuing day, and having made it a particular 
 request that Spillane, with his bugle, might be 
 in attendance, I determined on taking a stroll 
 through the town, accompanied by a bare-legged 
 guide, who, since my arrival, had stood at the 
 Inn door most anxiously waiting to know " if my 
 honour would be after going up Mangerton 
 to-morrow morning early." 
 
 The town of Killarney being like most other 
 country towns, and as moreover I suppose those 
 who visit Killarney to be possessed of their eye- 
 sight, (indeed I never heard but of one blind man 
 who went to see the lakes,*) it will be unnecessary 
 here to enter into minute details. I will, there- 
 fore, not detain the reader with an account of its 
 shape, size, and situation, for this every other 
 guide-book has done to a T, but content myself 
 with merely observing, that, for an Irish town, it 
 is remarkably clean. 
 
 The principal charm of a ramble through 
 Killarney consists in being accompanied by an 
 * This, I believe, was Mr. Holman, the blind traveller. 
 
THE INN. 9 
 
 entertaining guide ; one who can put you in 
 possession of the mind of the place, who can tell 
 a good story, and whose local anecdotes, though 
 slight and sketchy, give you a more characteristic 
 idea of the people than could possibly be gained 
 from more laboured accounts. Such a one was 
 Mahony, or, as he was commonly called, Moun- 
 tain Mahony, a tall sun-burnt lad, with an arch 
 expression of countenance, dressed in liberator 
 uniform of green, which, in truth, had been an 
 old sporting jacket of Gorham's, with a hare-skin 
 cap, peculiarly placed on the left side of his head, 
 having the scut projecting according to the most 
 knowing mode. 
 
 In an evening ramble through Killarney, the 
 first thing that will strike a stranger is the num- 
 ber of idle people lounging about the streets, or 
 standing with their backs against the door-posts of 
 the houses and the shop windows. " Why, then,, 
 your honour," said Mahony, " isn't Killarney a 
 fine plashe ? but if it's a fine plashe now, it was'nt 
 always so, it's myself remimbers, or if I don't, sure 
 my father does well enough, when the ground 
 we're triding on, was a wild boggy spot, all full of 
 running strames; but the ould Lord Kenmare, 
 the lord rist his sowl in glory, gave good incou- 
 ragement to the people to build ; and, sure 
 enough, many a jackeen would'nt be walking the 
 pavemints like gentlemen to-day, if it was'nt for 
 the ould lord's giving farms to their fathers and 
 granfaders, for little or nothing, and all because 
 they only builded a bit of a house; but them 
 were the good lords, that did'nt go out of the 
 country, but staid at home and minded the poor 
 people, just for all the world like his honour, Lord 
 Headly may the Lord reward him for that same : 
 
10 KILLAJltfEY LEGENDS. 
 
 but, as I was saying, it would be hard enough t<l 
 get a farm these times, the jantlemen are grown 
 so cute ; indeed, then, they know de valy of a 
 penny as well as any poor man of us all. But see 
 if dare is'nt de bishop's house ! it's well I recol- 
 licts a strame in that same plashe, and so well 
 I ought, for 'tis often an often, when I was a little 
 brat of a by, no bigger then a bee's knee, I used 
 to be catching the trouteens, wid a fork, in it. 
 Sure I'll niver see the likes of them days agin, 
 but where's the use in fritting? There's the Convint, 
 your honour, with the popular trees forenent it ; 
 'tis thim are the good ladies lives there ; for don't 
 they be always praying, and don't they make 
 eye-water and plashters for the poor people, and 
 keep a school to larn the graws (children) the 
 fight way ? " 
 
 By this time we had reached the bridge over 
 the river Dinah, at the end of the new street ; 
 from the left bank of the river, looking up the 
 stream, appeared the hill of Bellevue, dotted with 
 trees and orchards, its summit crowned by a 
 modern house, comfortably peeping forth from its 
 sheltering wood ; to the right, we had the town, 
 with fields belonging to the inhabitants, and 
 before us stood Galway's mill, backed by the 
 pleasant farm of Ballydowny, and part of the 
 range of hill, on which are the remains of the 
 ancient cathedral of Aghadoe, From the mill, 
 the river ran straight as an arrow, till, passing 
 under the bridge, it was lost to the south amid 
 Lord Kenrnare's plantations, commonly called the 
 West Demesne. Immediately beneath us, a bevy 
 of smiling girls, with their petticoats tucked up, 
 were merrily dancing on some clothes which they 
 were thus washing in the river. Along the right 
 
THE INN. 11 
 
 bank of the river ran a broad pathway, called the 
 the Mall. " That's the very spot where Darby 
 Minehan saw the fetch of O'Donoghue," said my 
 guide. 
 
 " How was that ? " said I. 
 
 (i Ah, then, I'll tell you all about it," replied 
 Mountain Mahony, " for sure I ought to know. 
 The last O'Donoghue More, of the glens, you see, 
 was taken sick, very bad, entirely so, that he 
 was obliged to go to one Doctor Gibbins in the 
 city of Cork, all the ways, and a great doctor he 
 was, as I hard tell. Well, sir, while he was in 
 Cork, his ould sarvant, Darby Minehan, you see, 
 was crossing this very bridge of a night, thinking 
 of nothing at all in life surely, but whistling the 
 ould war tune of the O'Donoghues, and a nice 
 tune it is they calls it the eagle's whistle ; and, 
 oh, if your honour could but hear Mister Gandsey 
 play it ! But as I was saying, there was Darby 
 Minehan whistling away like a blackbird in a 
 summer's morning, only 'twas night at the time 
 he was on the bridge, just where we are standing 
 now, and the moon shining bright as day, when, 
 what would he see but a parcel of bys playing 
 hurley on the mall. 6 Hurrah/ says Darby, 
 ' hurrah bys,' says he, ' here's the lauve laider 
 (strong hand) for you,' making over to join the 
 fun, for he was mortal fond of that same hurley. 
 But when he came up to them, the Lord presarve 
 us, who should they be but a parcel of dead 
 people, and O'Donoghue's fetch in the middle 
 of them all, pucking the ball about like a May- 
 boy. 
 
 " You may be sure it was Darby was frightened, 
 when the fetch walked up to him, ' I've a mes- 
 sage for you, Darby,' says he, ' You must go to 
 
12 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 Father Norris the friar, and tell him that he's the 
 only man to cure O'Donoghue, if he'll only make 
 use of a charm he knows himself/ ' I will do 
 that same surely, your honour/ says Darby, and 
 away he legged to the friar as fast as foot could 
 carry him, for glad enough he was to be rid of the 
 fetch. When Father Norris heard the whole 
 story from Darby, he only laughed at it, and said, 
 he wouldn't meddle with charms for the world. 
 But 'twas no laughing matter, for O'Donoghue 
 was taken away ; and by the same token, the 
 greatest berrin 'twas that ever was known to be in 
 the ould Abbey of Mucruss. But what makes 
 the story curus is, that Father Norris himself 
 dropped down dead in the street, just at the door 
 of Tom Sullivan's shop ; and, beyond any kind of 
 doubt, it was because he wouldn't do the fetch's 
 bidding." 
 
 On the conclusion of Mahony's wonderful story, 
 I was about to return to the inn, when he inter- 
 posed with " Sure, it wouldn't be going back 
 your honour would be, widout seeing the West 
 Demesne, and it's only a bit of a step to the hill 
 of Knockrear, where there's the finest prospect in 
 all the wide world. And is'nt there Clough na 
 Cuddy on that same hill where the ould friar from 
 Innisfallen slept for a hundred years and a day, 
 and it's myself will show you the very spot, and 
 the hole that was made in the stone by his two 
 knees, for he was a blessed man, and 'twas pray- 
 ing he was when he was overtaken by the sleep." 
 Unable to resist Mahony's importunities, and see- 
 ing there was yet sufficient light to enjoy " the 
 finest prospect in all the wide world," I consented 
 to visit Clough na Cuddy and Knockrear. We 
 therefore entered the Demesne, by an iron gate, 
 
THE INN. 13 
 
 a few yards from the bridge. Passing the lodge, 
 we turned to the right, and proceeded along a 
 path cut on the side of the hill, for which, and 
 many other pleasing improvements, the Demesne 
 is indebted to the taste of Lady Kenmare. 
 
 Having ascended the hill, the lower lake lay 
 spread before me in all its beauty, dotted and 
 gemmed with islands, its southern shore bounded 
 by noble mountains, the western sky illumined by 
 the bright tints of a setting sun, which threw over 
 the dark breast of Toomies a glow of the most 
 transparent purple, and, to complete the scene, a 
 returning barge swept over the calm bosom of the 
 lake, to the measured tones of a keyed bugle: 
 
 Killarney ! all hail to thee, land of the mountain. 
 Where roves the red deer o'er a hundred hill-tops, 
 
 Or silently views, from the depth of the fountain, 
 His image reflected at eve when he stops. 
 
 Where the monarch of birds, from his throne on the rock, 
 Ere he soars, 'mid the storm, sends his wild scream afar ; 
 
 Where the waterfall rushes with fierce foamy shock, 
 And echo redoubles the sound of its war. 
 
 O, who has not heard of thee, land of the lake ? 
 
 And who that has seen, but enshrines in his heart 
 The glow of thy charms, and those feelings which wake 
 
 At a scene such as this, with a magical start. 
 
 The rush of thy torrents are sweet to my ear, 
 
 Thy lakes and their wooded isles dear to my sight, 
 
 Thy mountains majestic, thy rivulets clear, 
 Alternately flowing 'mid shadows and light. 
 
 Thy wide-spreading woods yonder mountain's green pall, 
 The mellow-toned bugle, the dip of the oar, 
 
 Sweet sights and sweet sounds, on my spirits ye fall, 
 And wake me to gladness and music once more. 
 
 Advancing through a pretty plantation, we soon 
 reached Clough na Cuddy, a large stone with two 
 capsular hollows in it, which were half filled with 
 
14 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 water, A few stunted trees and bushes grew 
 around it, upon one of which several rags were 
 aung, as is usual in Ireland, near places that are 
 considered holy. Whilst I was occupied in look- 
 ing at the stone, an old woman, who stood near 
 it, exclaimed 
 
 "Oh, then, isn't it the blessed stone itself? 
 and there are the two holes down in it, to be sure, 
 where the holy friar knelt at his devotions." And 
 she began to scatter some crumbs upon the ground, 
 to which the little birds, from the neighbouring 
 bushes, immediately flew with all the fearlessness 
 of conscious security." 
 
 "Ah, then'," said their feeder, "ye're a blessed 
 race, and 'tis good right ye have to know this 
 place, and it would be a mortal sin to hurt or to 
 harm ye but what are ye to the little bird that 
 sang to the holy friar for as good as two hundred 
 years ?" 
 
 " That, indeed, was a wonderful bird," said I, 
 " and, my good woman, if you have no objection, 
 I should like very much to know all about it." 
 
 " No objection in life, your honour. Well, then, 
 many years ago, there was a very religious and 
 holy man, one of the monks of a convent here- 
 abouts, and he was one day kneeling at his pray- 
 ers in the garden of his monastery, when he heard 
 a little bird singing in one of the rose-trees of the 
 garden, and there never was any thing that he had 
 heard in the world so sweet as the song of that 
 little bird. 
 
 " And the holy man rose up from his knees, 
 where he had been kneeling at his prayers, to 
 listen to its song, for he thought he never in all 
 his life heard any thing so heavenly. 
 
 " And the little bird, after singing for some 
 
THE iNN". 15 
 
 time longer in the rose-tree, flew away to a grove 
 at some distance from the monastery; and the 
 holy man followed it, to listen to its singing ; for 
 he felt as if he never could be tired of listening to 
 the sweet song which it was singing out of its 
 little throat. 
 
 " And the little bird, after that, went away to 
 another distant tree, and sung there for a while, 
 and then again to another tree, and so on in the 
 same manner, but ever farther and farther away 
 from the monastery, and the holy man still follow- 
 ing it farther, and farther, and farther, still listen- 
 ing delighted to its enchanting song. 
 
 " But at last he was obliged to give up, as it 
 was growing late in the day, and he returned to 
 the convent ; and as he approached it in the even- 
 ing, the sun was setting in the west with all the 
 most heavenly colours that were ever seen in all 
 this world, and when he came into the convent it 
 was nightfall. 
 
 " And he was quite surprised at every thing he 
 saw ; for they were all strange faces about him in 
 the monastery, that he had never seen before, 
 and the very place itself, and every thing about it, 
 seemed entirely different from what it was when 
 he left in the morning ; and the garden was not 
 like the garden where he had been kneeling at 
 his devotions, when he first heard the singing of 
 the little bird. 
 
 " And while he was wondering at all that he 
 saw, one of the monks of the convent came up to 
 him, and the holy man questioned him c Bro- 
 ther, what is the cause of all these strange changes 
 that have taken place here since the morning ?' 
 
 " And the monk that he spoke to seemed to 
 wonder greatly at his question, and asked him 
 
16 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 what he meant by the changes since morning ; 
 for sure there was no change, that all was just as 
 before ; and then he said, * Brother, why do you 
 ask these strange questions, and what is your 
 name ? for you wear the habit of our order, 
 though we have never seen you before/ 
 
 " So, upon this, the holy man told his name, 
 and that he had been at mass in the chapel in the 
 morning, before he had wandered away from the 
 garden, listening to the song of a little bird, that 
 was singing among the rose-trees, near where he 
 was kneeling at his prayers. 
 
 " And the brother, while he was speaking, 
 gazed at him very earnestly, and then told him 
 that there was in the convent a tradition of a 
 brother of his name, who had left it two hundred 
 years before, but that what had become of him 
 was never known. 
 
 " And while he was speaking, the holy man 
 said, ' My hour of death is come ; blessed be the 
 name of the Lord, for all his mercies to me, 
 through the merits of his only begotten Son/ 
 
 " And he kneeled down that very moment, and 
 said, ' Brother, take my confession, and give me 
 absolution, for my soul is departing/ 
 
 " And he made his confession, and received his 
 absolution, and was anointed, and before mid- 
 night he died. 
 
 " The little bird, you see, was an angel, one of 
 the cherubim or seraphim ; and that was the way 
 the Almighty was pleased in his mercy to take to 
 himself the soul of that holy man. 
 
 " And there before you is the stone where he 
 knelt all the time of his sleep, or his enchant- 
 ment, or whatever it was ; and there are the 
 prints of that holy man's knees in the stone/' 
 
THE INN. 17 
 
 It was almost dark when I reached Gorham's Hotel. 
 
 " Will your honour be for Mangerton in the 
 morning early ?" said Mahony at parting. 
 
 " No, not to-morrow, Mahony, I am going on 
 the lower lake but what music is this ?" 
 
 Terralilira Terralie week-we-hum bum 
 bum boodle boo. I listened more attentively, 
 and heard an excellent performer indeed. 
 
 " Waiter, who is the bagpipe player ?" 
 
 " O, sir, that's Mister Gandsey, Lord Headly's 
 own piper if you want real music, sir, 'tis he 
 that can give it to you in style." 
 
 " What Gandsey, of whose pipes I have heard 
 so much ! pray tell Mister Gandsey I shall be 
 most glad of his company." 
 
 The person thus invited soon made his appear- 
 ance : he was blind, and entered the room lean- 
 ing on his son ; but though blind, the light of 
 genius beamed from his countenance, so as to 
 render his want of sight scarcely perceptible. In 
 addition to Gandsey 's talents as a musician, 
 (which, if not of the highest, are of a highly re- 
 spectable order,) he can tell a good story, sing 
 a good song, and cap Latin verses with any man 
 in the classical County of Kerry. 
 
 I had a most delicious evening with Gandsey 
 and his pipes. He played for me one old Irish 
 air after another, accompanied with much skill 
 and taste by his son on the violin ; and he told 
 me their traditionary histories. 
 
 " Good night, Gandsey good night, I hope to 
 see you again to-morrow many thanks for your 
 music Bless me, 'tis just twelve o'clock, I did 
 not think it was ten ; really you have given addi- 
 tional wings to time." 
 
 " Much obliged to you, sir good night, sir." 
 
18 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE EMBARKATION. 
 
 A FINE day any where is a fine thing; but a fine 
 day at Killarney is the finest of all possible things. 
 Only see how clear the mountain looks, with but 
 one little silvery cloud sleeping in the hollow of 
 the Devil's Punchbowl, the broad face of the sun 
 smiling on it, as if he was just going to say, " You 
 brat of a cloud, I'll swallow you up in a twink- 
 ling." 
 
 It would be a pity to lose a moment " Hallo, 
 Gorham, breakfast, breakfast, all in a hurry, if 
 you please ; tea, coffee, bread, butter, toast, eggs, 
 ham, honey, salmon, all very good is every thing 
 ready, Gorham?" 
 
 " Yes, sare." 
 
 Away we go then, Tom Plunket, Lord Ken- 
 mare's own coxswain, on one hand, Spillane on 
 the other, two of the boatmen in advance, each 
 bearing a great basket of prog, another of the 
 boatmen behind, with a boat cloak thrown over 
 his arm, and, as I soon found, ready to put in his 
 word on all occasions. " That's Lord Kenmare's 
 house, sir," said Plunket, at the same time point- 
 ing from the Haha to an old-fashioned mansion 
 on the right. " And there," said Spillane, a 
 handsome military-looking man, " and there, sir, 
 to the left, beyond the avenue, you may see the 
 park-house looking out of the oak wood." 
 
THE EMBARKATION. 19 
 
 " Where does that road lead?" said I, point- 
 ng to a road on the left of the one we were pur- 
 uing. 
 
 " The road is it ?" said the man with the cloak 
 ' why, then, what road should it be, but the road 
 to Sunday's Well: a fine well it is, and a blessed 
 place, for sure they say, though myself never see 
 it, that if one was to go there at peep of day on 
 an Easter Sunday, they'd see trie sun dancing a 
 jig on the rim of the sky for joy ; and I suppose 
 that's the reason they calls it Sunday's Well." 
 
 " That's a pretty row of trees, Plunket." 
 
 " Yes, sir, they were planted by Lord Ken- 
 mare's grandfather, along the Mucruss road there, 
 for he was mighty fond of all sorts of improve- 
 ments ; and, to be sure, they do look mighty fine, 
 with their branches making a roof over the road ; 
 and this tree here by itself, just at the corner of 
 the Ross road, they calls it the big tree ; it was 
 planted just when the Lordeen's father was born ; 
 a bad place it is to pass at night, for they say 
 many an evil kind of thing do be seen here, and, 
 for certain, I never pass it myself without a knife 
 in my pocket, for steel and iron they say's good 
 again' enchantment." 
 
 By this time we had turned the corner of the 
 Demesne wall, and entered on the Ross road, 
 from whence there was a magnificent mountain 
 *iew Mangerton, broad and bare, the pointed 
 Turk, behind which appeared part of Cromiglaun 
 trending away towards the mountains of the 
 Upper Lake. The Eagle's Nest, the broken and 
 tufted side of Glena, and the broad breast of Too- 
 mies, beyond which were seen a few points of 
 Macgillicuddy's Reeks. The clearness of the sky 
 served to mark more distinctly the rugged out- 
 
20 KILLAUNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 lines of those gigantic hills, while the intense 
 brightness of the sun caused the air to appear 
 like a lucid veil drawn before the bend of the 
 amphitheatre. 
 
 " What's your name?" said I to the man with 
 the cloak, as we proceeded leisurely along the 
 Ross road. 
 
 " Fakes then, I've a very good name with me ; 
 Doolan, at your honour's sarvice." 
 
 " They calls him Doolan O'Donoghue, sir," 
 said Plunket, with a smile. 
 
 " O'Donoghue !" said I, " he was a chief who 
 became enchanted I think, and sometimes appears 
 upon the lake." 
 
 " Why, then, your honour may say that," re- 
 plied Doolan, with some earnestness, " and that's 
 the reason they put the name of O'Donoghue upon 
 me." 
 
 " Oh, he couldn't appear at all," said Plunket, 
 " without Doolan, who's an old friend of his, and 
 knows more about him than any man on the 
 lakes." 
 
 " May be it's on your picky you are this morn- 
 ing," said Doolan, " but many's the true word is 
 said on purpose, and 'tis I that knows my own 
 know in spite of the nation." 
 
 " Then, Doolan, as you know so much about 
 him, I suppose you must have seen O'Donoghue." 
 
 " See him is it ? may be I didn't, why ; but no 
 matter for that, Tim Shea saw him any how, and 
 went of messages for him; and saw the great 
 hurling match on the lake. May be your honout 
 never heard of the hurlers of Loch Lane." 
 
 " No, indeed, Doolan." 
 
 " Why, then, I'll tell you all about how I came 
 by the knowledge of it myself. It was a long 
 
THE EMBARKATION. 21 
 
 time ago I was out fishing on the lake with a 
 jantleman a good jantleman he was, that didn't 
 spare a drop of the cratur on a poor man. But, 
 as I was saying, we was out fishing; the lake was 
 smooth as a looking-glass, and we got on mighty 
 well till the heel of the evening, when the big 
 black clouds, bad luck to them, began to gather 
 about Toomies ; besides, there was an ugly swell 
 upon the water, and the wind began to cuggar* 
 like mad among the mountains. < We're going 
 to have a rout/ says I, * so the best way's to make 
 the land as fast as we can/ ' Pull away, then, 
 like a gay fellow/ says the jantleman; and sure 
 enough I did pull for the bare life; but, as bad 
 fortin would have it, down came the storm before 
 we got half-way. Och, it was it that did make 
 the clatter, and our boat was tossed about like 
 a porpus in the sea ; and, to make bad worse, 
 it began to rain like thunder, and it grew as dark 
 as the dickins. Well, just as the hope was going 
 out of me, there came a big wave and bounced 
 us high and dry on Keen shore ; if your honour'll 
 throw an eye across the bog, you'll see the very 
 spot. Glad enough we were to find ourselves 
 there, but seeing we hadn't a dry tack on us, 
 we made for Jack Looney's cabin. Jack Looney 
 lived at Keen in them days, and a dacent by he 
 was. It was he was surprised to see us, and 
 made an elegant fire up with turf and bog deal ; 
 and it was we was glad enough to turn ourselves 
 before it, like a pair of geese of a Michaelmas 
 Sunday. 
 
 " ' Indeed then, your honour had great good 
 luck at your side that you wasn't drownded ; and 
 so you had/ said Jack to the jantleman, < and 'tis 
 * Literally, to whisper. 
 
22 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 I that have all the bad fortune ; for isn't there all 
 my poor cattle down by the lake yonder there, 
 with never a bit of shelter from the storm? wisha, 
 then/ says he, ' wisha, then, all sorts of bad luck 
 to you, Tim Shea, for laving 'em there. But I 
 won't be after putting up with you any longer, for 
 you havri't the heart of a chicken ever since the 
 night you saw O'Donoghue.' 
 
 " Tim Shea, who was quietly smoking in the 
 chimney corner, started up, and took the pipe 
 from his mouth, in a huff ' Why, then, is it out 
 of your senses you are, Jack Looney/ says he, 
 ' that you'd be after talking in that kind of way ? 
 Fakes then, as stout as you are, may be you 
 wouldn't like to be driving over the country of 
 messages for O'Donoghue. Chicken, indeed ! if 
 I hadn't a heart as big as twenty, I'd be kilt 
 entirely by that thief of a big white horse; and 
 his honour there/ said Tim to the jantleman, 
 ' would say the same, if he knew but the half of 
 what I could tell him.' 
 
 " Then the jantleman up and tould Tim, that 
 as he was to be refaree man, he expected to hear 
 the whole story so with that Tim put his pipe 
 into a hole in the hob, and began the history 
 of his advintures. 
 
 " ' It was/ said he, ' as beautiful a moonlight 
 night as ever came out of the heavens, that I 
 happened to be sitting on a rock by the lake 
 side, watching Jack Looney's cattle ; for, besides 
 that, some ramskallianly thieves were playing the 
 dunnus* in the country; your honour must know 
 that the fences were so bad, there was no keeping 
 the black cow out of pound. Well, as I was 
 saying, it was a beautiful night, and I was sitting 
 * Mischief. 
 
THE EMBARKATION. 23 
 
 on a rock looking at the cattle that were grazing 
 about; and when I got tired of that, I turned 
 about to the lake, that was as still as any thing, 
 with the moon and the stars shining in it, just 
 for all the world as if there was another sky in the 
 bottom of it. But it wasn't long until I began to 
 get quite lonesome like ; for there was the big 
 black mountains, with the white mist circling 
 about them, that looked like so many ghosts; 
 besides the dark islands and gray rocks in the 
 lake were the dismallest things in life, and their 
 shadows that were dancing a moneen* on the 
 water, brought O'Donoghue and his /hurlers into 
 my head, so that I began to think what I should 
 do if O'Donoghue was to come up to me ; for 
 though they say it's lucky to see him, I didn't 
 much like the thoughts of it then. But that was 
 little good for me; for before long I see some- 
 thing white waving on the lake at a great dis- 
 tance; but I thought I should have died with 
 the fright when it came near me, and I saw 
 O'Donoghue himself riding like mad on a big 
 white horse. Up he comes to me, and, without 
 as much as * by your lave/ ' Tim Shea/ says he, 
 ' you must go of a message for me ; you must 
 carry this letter to the county Waterford/ ' To 
 Waterford ! my lord sir/ says I, ' and what to do to 
 Waterford ? yarrah, then, good Mr. O'Donoghue, 
 don't be after sending a poor gomalf like me such 
 a journey this blessed night.' l You thief, you/ 
 says he, ' don't you know I'm O'Donoghue ? I'll 
 tache you better manners than to be mistering 
 me : so, for that very word, you must be off in a 
 minute, or may be it would be worse with you. 
 
 * A jig, from Mom-turf, for a dance upon the turf, 
 t A fool. 
 
24 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 And what are you frightened at, you spalpeen ? 
 Won't I mind the cattle till you come back ? and 
 won't I lend you my own horse ? so that you'll 
 be better mounted than e'er a gentleman in the 
 kingdom/ And that was true enough for him; 
 for he was a beautiful horse as you'd meet in 
 a month of Sundays, and had silver shoes upon 
 him, and gold sturrups, and little gold and silver 
 bells upon his bridle, that jingled with every stir 
 of him. So with that, down he jumps off of the 
 horse, and makes no more to do, but heaves me 
 upon his back. < Tim . Shea, put this letter in 
 your spraun,* and when the horse stops in front 
 of a big castle, give it to the first that'll open the 
 door, and bring me back an answer/ says he. 
 * I will, your honour/ says I. ' Hould tight and 
 be off; hurroo, coppul bawnf/ says he, and away 
 we flew like the wind. Indeed, then, it gave me 
 enough to do to stick on his back, though I held 
 tight by the neck ; for my head was bothered with 
 the jingling of the bells, and he went so fast that 
 he almost knocked the breath out of me. Well, 
 sir, away we flew, and we flew, till we came to 
 the sweet county Waterford ; when, what should 
 my thief of a horse do, but make for a big cliff 
 that hang'd over the sea ; so, when I see where 
 he was going, I thought it was all over with me. 
 ' Ah, then, my beautiful baste/ says I, ' wouldn't 
 you be after turning some other way?' But the 
 unnatural creature took no more notice of me 
 than if I was a Jew or a heathen just ; but when 
 he comes to the edge of the cliff, he turns up his 
 snout and gave a great snort, down he leapt with 
 me all at once clean into the middle of the wide 
 ocean. Splash, splash, went the water, and down 
 * Purse or pouch. t White horse. 
 
THE EMBARKATION. 25 
 
 we went to the bottom; when, where would I find 
 myself, but in the middle of a fine city. So up 
 we went through the street, and all the people 
 staring at us, until we came in front of a big 
 castle, and there we stopt at last, and my coppul 
 bawn began to jingle his bells, like a May boy, 
 till the door was opened, and out walks an 
 elegant lady. * What's your business, Tim Shea?' 
 says she, for they all seemed to know me as well 
 as if I was bred and born among them. ' Wisha, 
 then, nothing at all, my lady,' says I, i only a bit 
 of a note from O'Donoghue.' < Give it here/ says 
 she, * and I'll bring you an answer in a minute.' 
 So with that in she went, and it wasn't long till 
 she came out again with the answer; and, as soon 
 as I had it safe, away went my coppul bawn as 
 fast as ever. Well, sir, it wasn't long till he 
 brought me back again to the big rock, by the 
 lake side ; and sure it was I that was glad to see 
 it ; and as soon as he came up to O'Donoghue, 
 he gives himself a shake, and makes no more 
 of tossing me off than if I was a straw. ' Where's 
 the answer, Tim V says O'Donoghue. * Here, 
 your honour,' says I, as soon as I could get 
 breath to spake. * Well, Tim,' says he, when 
 he read it, ' you'll see some fun soon, for the 
 boys from Waterford are coming, and there'll be 
 as fine a hurling match as ever you see ; but 
 which ever way it goes, don't let a word out 
 of your two lips, if you haven't a mind to sup 
 sorrow.' 
 
 " < So with that up he gets on his white horse, 
 and away he gallops into the lake. ' Joy be with 
 you,' says I, < I'm fairly rid of you at last.' But 
 the words were hardly out of my mouth, when 
 the lake was covered over with O'Donoghue's 
 
26 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 people; and it wasn't long till the boys from 
 Waterford rushed by in a whirlwind, and so to 
 it they went. 
 
 " ' It would do your heart good to see the 
 beautiful ball and hurleys they had, and to hear 
 the shouts of 'em, as they pucked it about from 
 one end of the lake to the other, till at last the 
 Waterford boys began to get the better of the 
 Kerry men. ' Blug-a-bouns ! what are you about, 
 O'Donoghue V says I, quite forgetting that I 
 wasn't to spake ; but if I did, so well I paid for 
 it, for up jumped a big ugly-looking fellow, and 
 hits me a rap over the head with his hurley. 
 Down I dropt as dead as a herring ; and when 
 I came to myself, there was nothing to be seen 
 but the gray mist of the morning, creeping calmly 
 along the lake, and the cattle that were quietly 
 grazing around me. But you see, your honour, 
 Fve a good right to keep a civil distance from 
 the lake after nightfall any how; for sure it was, 
 I was bothered the whole night with O'Donoghue 
 and his hurlers, and his white horse, and mes- 
 sages, and cities in the sea; but 'twill be many a 
 long day till they catch me agin.' That's Tim 
 Shea's story, sir," said Doolan, as we gained the 
 bridge which connects Ross Island with the main 
 land, from which it is only separated by a cut, 
 evidently made for a defence to the castle. Turn- 
 ing to the right, we passed on to the quay at the 
 back of the castle, where we were to embark, 
 after having walked about an English mile and 
 a half, or, as an Irishman would call it, a good 
 mile. 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. Pool, but where's the 
 boat?" 
 
 " O, sir, it hasn't come over from the boat- 
 
THE EMBARKATION. 27 
 
 house yet, but it will be here directly, and in the 
 mean time you can look at the castle, if you 
 please here's the key, Doolan." Upon this we 
 entered the tower of the castle, and, ascending a 
 flight of stone steps, reached a large room on its 
 upper floor. 
 
 " This was O'Donoghue's room, your honour/' 
 said Doolan, " and sure a snug room it was 
 in its day, for all it looks so could and com- 
 fortless now ; and there, doesn't you see the 
 blood on them stones, where O'Donoghue killed 
 the soldiers that didn't believe in him at all, at 
 all ; but sure that was no wonder, for wasn't they 
 black Sasenaghs (Saxons)? but for the matter of 
 that, may be your honour wouldn't be a Catholic 
 either." Here Doolan paused, in expectation 
 of a reply, but receiving none, recommenced as 
 follows : 
 
 " They wouldn't believe in O'Donoghue, so 
 nothing would do them, but out of bravery, they 
 should sleep in the stone room here, and so well 
 they paid for it, for O'Donoghue came in the 
 middle of the night, and knocked both their brains' 
 out agin the wall; and sure isn't the blood on the 
 stones to this very day, for all the water in the 
 lake wouldn't wash it out. And there, your 
 honour, is the very windy O'Donoghue leaped 
 out of when he was enchanted." 
 
 " Ay, I want to hear about his enchantment, 
 Doolan." 
 
 " Why, your honour must know," 
 
 To too tooty too too tur croo 
 
 " There's Spillane's bugle soundin, to let your 
 honour know the boat's riddy." So without wait- 
 ing for the story, we descended to the quay, 
 where we found a pretty four-oared barge, gently 
 
28 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 rocking on the undulating surface of the water, 
 which broke with a pleasing murmur against the 
 rocky shore. The cockswain was already in his 
 place, Spillane seated in the bow, and the boat 
 manned by as stout a crew as ever pulled an 
 oar, so away we went without a moment's delay. 
 
THE EXCURSION. 29 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE EXCURSION. 
 
 " WHAT house is that ?" said I to the cockswain, as 
 we left the quay of Ross, and swept rapidly across 
 the water. 
 
 ' < Is it that perched upon the rock, and peeping 
 out of the trees ? that's the boat-keeper's house, 
 sir, and there's the boat-house just under it, you 
 see, by the water's side, as handy as can be." 
 Shortly after passing it, the boatmen paused 
 upon their oars; the barge floated calmly in the 
 shadow of a fantastic rock, and Spillane suddenly 
 awakened the echo of the castle, whose ancient 
 walls returned distinctly the wild notes of his 
 bugle." 
 
 Scarcely had Spillane concluded, when Thady 
 Begly, a mahogany-faced, broad-shouldered boat- 
 man, started up with " Will I give your honour 
 Paddy Blake's echo ?" and without waiting a 
 reply, put his hand to his mouth and halloed 
 
 " How are you, Paddy Blake ? Very well, I 
 thank you. 
 
 Echo. Well, I thank you. 
 
 " We've on board a good gentleman." 
 
 Echo. Good gentleman. 
 
 " And sure he has plenty of Tommy Walker for 
 the boatmen." 
 
30 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 Echo. Tommy Walker for the boatmen. 
 
 " There, now why, do you hear what Paddy 
 Blake says?" said Begly, as he resumed his seat. 
 
 The hint was not to be misunderstood " Oh, 
 certainly, Mister Plunket, by all means give the 
 men a glass of whiskey." While " their allow- 
 ance," as they called it, was serving out, I took 
 Wright's Guide-book from my pocket, and read 
 the following account of the sounds which I 
 had just heard : " The first echo is returned from 
 the castle, the second from the ruined church 
 of Aghadoe, the third from Mangerton, and 
 afterwards innumerable reverberations are dis- 
 tinguished, which appear like the faded brilliancy 
 of an extremely multiplied reflection, lost by dis- 
 tance and repetition." 
 
 " That's a fine-sounding sentence," said I; and 
 read on till I came to " the obstruction of the 
 sound by hills at different distances, situated as it 
 were in the peripheries of a series of concentric 
 circles, is consequently adapted to the creation of 
 numerous reflections." 
 
 " That is quite satisfactory," said I, as I closed 
 the book. 
 
 Inspired by the whiskey, the men stretched 
 stoutly to their oars, and we shot gaily by the 
 shore of Ross, where sometimes little marshy 
 meadows opened to the view, surrounded by wood 
 and rock, which frequently approached the water's 
 edge, and often overhung it : while, on the other 
 side, we had a large bog, Keen Cottage, and 
 Cherry Island, backed by part of " the Demesne," 
 Bellevue Hill, and Prospect Hall. 
 
 " There's O'Donoghue's pigeon-house, sir," said 
 Plunket, poinling to a large mass of insulated 
 rock close to the shore of Ross. 
 
THE EXCURSION 31 
 
 " And there," said Doolan, pointing to a nunv 
 ber of huge book-shaped stones, which lay scat- 
 tered along the shore, " and there's O'Donoghue's 
 library." 
 
 " Indeed, Doolan ! he must have had a hard 
 study of it, then. But where's the story about 
 O'Donoghue's enchantment ?" 
 
 " Sure enough, your honour, I'll tell you the 
 whole story just as it happened. You must know, 
 then, that O'Donoghue was mighty rich, and power- 
 ful he was, and kept a brave house in his day, in 
 the ould castle of Ross that's yonder there ; and, 
 moreover and above, 'tis said he was the wisest 
 man of his time, and could do wonders by the 
 power of the black art. With all his art, however, 
 he couldn't help growing ould ; so, not liking to 
 die, he thought he'd try if he couldn't make him- 
 self young again. Up he goes to the top of his 
 castle, and shuts himself up in a room, with his 
 black book, for as good as seven weeks. Nobody 
 knew what he was doing all that time, or how he 
 lived, till, at the end of the seven weeks, he called 
 for his wife. Well, sir, up she went to him, and 
 then he tould her what he was about how he had 
 a mind to grow young again, that there was but 
 one way of doing it, and that he wanted her help. 
 1 Do you see that tub ?' says he ; < well, you must 
 cut me to pieces, and put me into it, lock the 
 door, and in seven' weeks' time you'll find me alive 
 and well, but no bigger than a three-years-ould 
 child.' ' I will/ says she. ' Oh, but I must have 
 a trial of you first,' says he, ' for if you was to get 
 frightened, it would be all over with me/ So 
 with that he takes his black book. * Now,' says 
 he, ' I'm going to read, and if you cry out at any 
 thing you see, I'll be taken away from you for 
 
32 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 ever.' Well, sir, while he was reading, the 
 fright fullest things in the world made their appear- 
 ance, and there was a noise as if the whole castle 
 was going to pieces. The lady, however, stood it 
 out manfully for a long time, till she saw her own 
 child lying dead on the table before her ; then she 
 was frightened in earnest, and gave a great shriek ; 
 upon which the castle shook like a leaf, and O'Do- 
 noghue, leaping out of the windy, disappeared in 
 the waves of Loch Lane. His horse, his table, 
 his library, were all taken away at the same 
 time, and may be seen at different parts of 
 the lake turned into stone. That's the way 
 O'Donoghue was enchanted ; and 'tis said that 
 he now lives in a brave palace at the bottom of 
 the lake." 
 
 By this time our boat was smoothly gliding 
 under a large insular rock, which rises to a 
 considerable height above the surrounding water, 
 and which Plunket called my attention to, as 
 O'Donoghue's prison. 
 
 " Once upon a time, sir," said he, " there was 
 a young lady, the most beautifullest young cratur 
 what could be^ and she was runned away with by 
 a great murdering outlaw, of the name of Carthy. 
 Well, sir, that was very well. But what does 
 O'Donoghue do, for 'twas before the time he was 
 enchanted, but he swears by this and by that, 
 that if he caught Carthy, he'd make a holy show 
 of him. For what business had a blackguard like 
 him, that was living up and down about the 
 country, to carry off a young lady born and bred ? 
 And so he fixed two great iron rings into the top 
 of this rock here, and got Shaune Gow (Jack the 
 smith) to make a thunder- boult of a chain, and 
 says he to his men, says he " 
 
'ujiL]L mrAirs 
 
THE EXCURSION. 33 
 
 But the rest of the story has escaped my 
 memory. 
 
 Proceeding onwards towards the base of Too- 
 mies mountain, we left the prison rock behind 
 us. To our right lay Innisfallen the delicious 
 Innisfallen ! 
 
 On our left was Philequilla point, and the 
 Mouse Island. " A darling little spot, sir, isn't 
 it ?" said Doolan, taking the stump of a pipe 
 from his mouth, quietly shaking out the ashes 
 against the gunwale of the boat, and then deposit- 
 ing it in his waistcoat pocket, 4< a darling little 
 spot surely." 
 
 " But why is it called Mouse Island ?" said I. 
 
 " Sure then, for all the world," replied Doolan, 
 " an't it like a beautiful little mouse among the 
 other islands upon the lake." 
 
 We soon got within the shadow of the broad 
 breasted Toomies, whose inverted summit seemed 
 to descend into the water beneath ; and just as 
 we approached its wooded base, Spillane, stand- 
 ing up, played most sweetly upon his bugle, 
 " The meeting of the waters," while, as if in 
 unison with the melody, the dash of an invisible 
 cataract was heard among the trees. 
 
 " What are we to land here for ?" said I to 
 the cockswain. 
 
 " Only just to show your honour O'Sullivan's 
 cascade," was the reply. " Here, Doolan, show 
 the gentleman the way." 
 
 Accordingly, ascending a rugged path through 
 the wood, we soon reached the foot of the fall, 
 
 " Isn't that as fine a sight as you'd meet with 
 
 in a month of Sundays," said Doolan. " Only 
 
 see how the white water comes biling like a pot 
 
 of praties over the big black rocks ; down it comes, 
 
 p 
 
34 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 one tumble over the other, the green trees all the 
 while stretching out their arms as if they wanted 
 to stop it. And then it makes such a dickins of 
 a nise as it pounces into that black pool at the 
 bottom, that it's enough to bother the brains of a 
 man entirely. Why, then, isn't it a wonder how 
 all that water sprung up out of the mountain ; 
 for sure, isn't there a bit of a lake above there, 
 in the hollow of the hill, that the waterfall comes 
 out of, they calls it O'Sullivan's punchbowl." 
 
 " And, pray, who was this O'Sullivan, that had 
 such a capacious punchbowl ?" 
 
 " Och, then, 'tis he's the fine portly looking 
 jantleman, and has a vice (voice) as big as 
 twenty ; 'twould do your heart good to hear the 
 cry of him on a stag-hunt day, making the 
 mountain ring again." 
 
 " Well, Doolan, you haven't told me all this 
 time who O'Sullivan is." 
 
 " Why, then, that's the quare question for your 
 honour to be after axing me. Sure all the coun- 
 try knows O'Sullivan of Toomies, for didn't him, 
 and his father before him, live at the butt end of 
 the mountain, near the neck of the Lawn ; and 
 wasn't they great chieftains in the ould times ; 
 and hadn't they a great stretch of country to 
 themselves: they haven't so much now, for their 
 hearts were too big for their manes (means ;) and 
 that's the rason O'Sullivan was obligated to sell 
 this part of the mountain to Mr. Herbert of 
 Mucniss." 
 
 " A sad story this, Doolan ; but it seems to 
 me these O'Sullivans must have been very fond 
 of a bowl of punch, or why is the lake you 
 have mentioned called O'Sullivan's punch- 
 bowl ? 
 
THE EXCURSION. 35 
 
 " Oh, then, your honour's as sharp as a needle 
 entirely ; but about that same lake it's a quare 
 story sure enough. A long time before there 
 was a waterfall here at all, one of the rale ould 
 O'Sullivans was out all day hunting the red deer 
 among the mountains. Well, sir, just as he was 
 getting quite weary, and was wishing for a drop 
 of the cratur to put him in spirits " 
 
 " Or spirits into him," said I. 
 
 " Oh, sure, 'tis all the same thing," returned 
 Doolan with a grin, intended for a smile. " Tis 
 all one surely, if a man can only have the drop 
 when he wants it. Well, what should O'Sullivan 
 see but the most beautiful stag that ever was seen 
 before or since in this world ; for he was as big as 
 a colt, and had horns upon him like a weaver's 
 beam, and a collar of real red gold round his 
 neck. Away went the stag, and away went the 
 dogs after him full cry, and O'Sullivan after the 
 dogs, for he was determined to have that beautiful 
 fine stag ; and though, as I said, he was tired and 
 weary enough, you'd think the sight of that stag 
 put fresh life into him. A pretty bit of a dance 
 he led him, for he was an enchanted stag. Away 
 he went entirely off by Macgillicuddy's Reeks, 
 round by the mountains of the Upper Lake, 
 crossed the river by the Eagle's Nest, and never 
 stopped nor staid till he came to where the punch- 
 bowl is now. 
 
 " When O'Sullivan came to the same place he 
 was fairly ready to drop, and for certain that was 
 no wonder ; but what vexed him more than all 
 was to find his dogs at fault, and the never a bit 
 of a stag to be seen high nor low. Well, my dear 
 Bowl, he didn't know what to make of it, and 
 seeing there was no use in staying there, and it 
 D 2 
 
36 KILLARNEY LEGENDS 
 
 so late, he whistled his dogs to him, and was just 
 going to go home. The moon was just setting 
 behind the top of the mountain, shedding her 
 light, broad and bright, over the edge of the wood 
 and down on the lake, which was like a sheet of 
 silver, except where the islands threw their black 
 shadows on the water. 
 
 " O 'Sullivan looked about him, and began to 
 grow quite dismal in himself, for sure it was a 
 lonesome sight, and besides he had a sort of dread 
 upon him, though he couldn't tell the reason why. 
 So not liking to stay there, as I said before, he 
 was just going to make the best of his way home, 
 when, who should he see, but Fuan Mac Cool 
 (Fingal) standing like a big joint (giant) on the 
 top of a rock. 
 
 " < Hallo, O'Sullivan/ says he, ' where are you 
 going so fast ?' says he ; ' Come back with me/ 
 says he, * I want to have some talk with you.' 
 You may be sure it was O'Sullivan was amazed, 
 and a little bit frightened too, though he wouldn't 
 pertind to it ; and it would be no wonder if he 
 was; for if O'Sullivan had a big vice (voice) 
 Fuan Mac Cool had a bigger ten times, and it 
 made the mountains shake again like thunder. 
 
 < What do you want with me ?' says O'Sul- 
 livan, at the same time putting on as bould a face 
 as he could, 
 
 " < I want to know what business you had 
 hunting my stag ?' says Fuan, ' by the vestment/ 
 says he, < if 'twas any one else but yourself, 
 O'Sullivan, I'd play the red vengeance with him. 
 But, as you're one of the right sort, I'll pass it 
 over this time ; and, as my stag has led you a 
 pretty dance over the mountains, I'll give you 
 a drop of good drink, O'Sullivan ; only take my 
 
THE EXCURSION. 37 
 
 advice, and never hunt my stag again.' Then 
 Fuan Mac Cool stamped with his foot, and all of 
 a sudden, just in the hollow which his foot made 
 in the mountain, there came up a little lake, 
 which tumbled down the rocks, and made the 
 waterfall. When O 'Sullivan went to take a drink 
 of it, what should it be but rale whiskey punch ; 
 and it staid the same way, running with whiskey 
 punch, morning, noon, and night, until the 
 Sasenaghs* came into the country, when all at 
 once it was turned to water, though it goes still 
 by the name of ' O'Sullivan's Punchbowl.' " 
 
 On our return to the boat, two or three bare- 
 footed sun-burnt damsels started out of the wood, 
 with " Won't your honour have some hurts ?" 
 Not wishing, however, for any hurts, (anglice, 
 bilberries,) we re-embarked ; and, after comforting 
 the crew with another glass of whiskey, pursued 
 our excursion. 
 
 The day, during our absence, had changed; 
 dark clouds scudded through the sky, and the 
 water was broken into little waves, which mur- 
 mured against the shore. The scene, however, 
 was improved by the sweeps of light and shadow ; 
 and for a short time I noticed a very peculiar 
 effect : the rays of the sun, darting directly through 
 a rift in one of the dark clouds, illumined a little 
 circular spot on the water ; within this circle the 
 waves appeared leaping up with a dazzling bril- 
 liancy, while all around was thrown into deep 
 gloom. 
 
 Proceeding eastward along the base of the 
 mountain, we soon came under that part of it 
 called the " Minister's Back," and in a short time 
 
 * Saxonsthe English. 
 
38 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 gained the Stag and Arbutus Islands, which lie 
 close to the shore, and, at a little distance, look 
 like a continuation of the mountain. And here, 
 while I employed myself in gathering some sprigs 
 of arbutus, which struck my fancy, Plunket com- 
 menced as follows, respecting what he called the 
 arrabutus : 
 
 " The arrabutus, you see, sir," said he, " is the 
 strawberry tree. And arn't the little red berries 
 that is upon it for all the world like strawberries, 
 only they don't be upon the ground. It grows 
 wild hereabouts upon the naked rocks, without 
 the least taste of earth in life ; and sometimes you 
 will see a tree fairly rising up out of the water. 
 Only the Lake of Killarney isn' t a sea, like the 
 wide ocean there would be some sense in what 
 the ould woman, who thought to puzzle the young 
 man, axed him. Did you ever hear her question 
 and his answer to it, which was a mighty 'cute 
 one to be sure ? 
 
 f There was an ould woman who axed of me, 
 How many wild strawberries grew in the sea? 
 I made her an answer as well as I could 
 As many red herrings as grew in the wood/ 
 
 There's the question, and there's the answer, 
 then." 
 
 Turning the corner of Stag Island, we passed 
 between Darby's Garden and Glena Mountain. 
 " Darby's Garden is rather an odd name for that 
 rock," said I. 
 
 " You wouldn't say that, if you knew the rason 
 of it," replied Doolan, who seemed to be story- 
 teller general. 
 
 " Let me hear the reason, then." 
 
THE EXCURSION. 39 
 
 " Why, then, sir, you must know the ould 
 Lord Ken mare was a great man for giving encou- 
 ragement to all sorts of poor people that would 
 be for building houses ; granting them long leases : 
 long life to him but sure I needn't wish that 
 now, for isn't he dead and gone many the long 
 year ago ; and more's the pity for the good ould 
 times of rale gentlemen are gone along with him. 
 Oh, then, the ould times were the times in earn- 
 est, when the ould nobility of the country would 
 have the power to break a man, or to make a 
 man; and, indeed, they'd -just do one as soon as 
 the other, and nobody to call them to 'count for 
 it either." 
 
 " And those were the good old times, Doolan," 
 said I. 
 
 "To be sure they were we've no times like 
 them now, any way. Howsomdever, there was a 
 man, you see, called Darby Mahony and 'twas 
 good the ould Lord Kenmare was to him ; first he 
 gave him, rent free, a piece of ground to build a 
 cabin upon, and then he gave him a small patch 
 for his praties, and then a field for his cow, and 
 then a piece of bog for his turf, and, after all, a 
 small strip for a haggard, and every inch of this 
 all rent free, or for next to nothing. 
 
 " Darby Mahony got all these pieces of ground 
 so asy, one after the other, out of the ould lord, 
 only just for the axing, that, as well became him, 
 he thought the next thing he'd ax for would be a 
 fine rich meadow, of twenty acres or upwards, that 
 surely was worth all he had before. 
 
 " So up he goes, one morning early, to the big 
 house, and there he sees the ould lord eating his 
 breakfast out under a tree, and says Darby, says 
 he, < The top of the morning to your lordship's 
 
40 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 glory/ < Good morning to you, Darby Mahony/ 
 says his lordship, ' what do you want now ?' 
 1 Indeed, then/ says Darby, answering him at 
 once, without making the least bones of the mat- 
 ter, ' I have come to your lordship this morning, 
 my lord, in the expectation that your lordship 
 would, my lord, be after giving me a small bit 
 of ground, that's convenient to the cabin I have 
 built, for me to make a purty little flower-garden 
 of it/ 
 
 " * What ground do you spake of?' says his 
 lordship. < And sure, then, Darby Mahony, 'tis 
 a quare thing for you to think of making a flower- 
 garden. Why, man-alive, the pigs would soon 
 settle your flowers for you/ 
 
 " ' Oh, indeed/ says Darby, * I've a great taste 
 for gardening ; and 'twould be a great joy to me 
 making a garden out of the waste ground/ 
 
 " ' What waste ground are you talking about V 
 says his lordship. 
 
 " ' Why, what they calls the buttercup meadow/ 
 says Darby, ' please you my lord ; and sure 'twould 
 make a purty flower-garden for me/ 
 
 " ' What, my best meadow !' cried the ould 
 lord, in a regular fret; ' go 'long with you, Darby 
 Mahony, you impudent scoundrel, go 'long with 
 you, and let me never see your face again/ 
 
 " Darby sneaked away, nor said a word more ; 
 but the next day the ould lord was in his barge, 
 you see, upon the lake, and as he was passing 
 the rock that is now called Darby's Garden, who 
 should he see but Darby Mahony himself upon it 
 fishing. 
 
 " ' Long life to your lordship/ says Darby. 
 * I hope your lordship's honour hasn't forgot the 
 garden/ 
 
THE EXCURSION. 41 
 
 " < The garden is it, Darby/ says the ould lord; 
 * Devil burn me,' says he, ' if I have, and 'tis 
 thinking I was all last night what garden I could 
 give you ; but as you seem to like the spot you're 
 on there, I give you that rock for your garden, 
 Darby, and much good may do you with it ; and 
 I hope the next time I come this way, 'tis a purty 
 garden I'll see growing there with ye/ 
 
 " And Darby's Garden 'tis called/' said Doolan, 
 " to this hour." 
 
 " What a beautiful bay," said I. The wooded 
 side of Glena descended to its verge, while full 
 before us a neat cottage peeped forth from its 
 leafy nook through the branches of two aged oaks. 
 " Silence." The boatmen rest upon their oars, 
 and Spillane is going to rouse the echoes. 
 
 " Thank you, Spillane, that was very good 
 indeed. What do you call this cottage where we 
 are going to land ?" 
 
 "Glena Cottage, sir; it belongs to Lord 
 Kenmare." After having seen the cottage, 
 we ascended a little mount near it, which com- 
 mands a fine view of the bay, the southern 
 shore of Ross Island, and the northern shore of 
 the Lower Lake. Then, re-embarking, we pro- 
 ceeded eastward, passed the entrance of the river 
 which descends from the Upper Lake, coasted 
 along the northern shore of Brickeen Island, had 
 a peep under the arch of Brickeen Bridge of the 
 Middle Lake, and Turk Mountain, and landed on 
 the Gun Rock. 
 
 " Where's the powder ?" inquired Doolan. 
 " Oh, murder, I'll be bail ye forgot it." 
 
 " Forgot it," repeated Thady Begly, " why 
 would I forget it, why but oh, murder and Irish, 
 if 'tisn't wet it is, after all !" 
 
42 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " You may as well think of firing a shot with 
 soup as with that powder," said Plunket, nodding 
 his head. 
 
 " 'Twas myself thought that some misfortin or 
 other would happen to the powder," said Doolan ; 
 " sure I never yet was out on the lakes with ye 
 that some misfortin didn't come to it, and so I 
 just put a charge in the corner of my pocket on 
 starten, and here it is safe and sound. Make 
 ready to fire then. Is the gun loaded ?" 
 
 " No but what matter ?" 
 
 " Ready," said Begly. 
 
 " Fire, then," cried Doolan. Bang! how it 
 thunders through the hills ?" 
 
 " O, your honour, that's nothing at all to the 
 Eagle's Nest," said Begly. 
 
 " Well, I suppose I shall see the Eagle's Nest 
 in due time : to-day I must be content with skirt- 
 ing the northern shore of Mucruss," and a fine 
 shore it is, rising bold and rocky above the water, 
 which has fretted its base into caves and fantastic 
 forms : now and then, however, a quiet bay opens 
 to the view some green inviting spot. 
 
 " Look to the left, sir, and you'll see the Rough 
 Island and O'Donoghue's table, and the Hen and 
 Chickens ; and there, close to Mucruss shore, 
 don't you see O'Donoghue's Horse, looking for 
 all the world as if he was going to drink up the 
 lake ?" 
 
 " What, that rock shaped like an animal drink- 
 ing?" 
 
 Here we are just passing under O'Donoghue's 
 Broom. "Don't you see that bare yew-tree stick- 
 ing up out of the rock ?" said Begly, as we came 
 in sight of the object to which he called my atten- 
 tion. 
 
THE EXCURSION. 43 
 
 " The yew-tree next it comes in view, 
 And tall is that tree, I must tell to yoji ; 
 But if it is tall, it is white and bare, 
 And often gentlemen at it do stare/' 
 
 " Why, then, arn't they elegant verses ?" said 
 Doolan, that Mr. Moore made when he visited the 
 lakes ?" 
 
 " O yea no," said Begly, " 'twas one Mr. Wil- 
 liam Sullivan, the mason at Cloughereen, a great 
 poet." 
 
 " Is it Billy the mule you're speaking about ?" 
 inquired Doolan. 
 
 " 'Tis well he isn't overhearing you, Doolan," 
 replied Begly ; "for sure what sort of a name is 
 Billy the mule to put upon a born poet ?" 
 
 After passing Ash Island, Carrig-a-hocka, or 
 the Sugar Rock, and Mucruss House, we made a 
 sweep to the north, leaving Castle Lough on our 
 right : then, turning to the west, we passed Cahir- 
 nane, the mouth of the river Flesk, Alexander's 
 Rock, Carrig a Fourt, Ross Mines, and, returning 
 to Philequilla Point, crossed over to Innisfallen, 
 where we were to dine, after having coasted the 
 eastern extremity of the Lower Lake. 
 
 
 was sounded by Spillane, as we approached the 
 island. 
 
 " What is that call for ?" said I. 
 
 ' That's Tut down the potatoes, sir,'" answered 
 Spillane ; and again he sounded. 
 
44 
 
 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 m 
 
 Put down the pot at oes. 
 
 Accordingly, upon landing, we found a large 
 pot of potatoes steaming away, and little Mrs. 
 Curtin very busy preparing every thing for 
 dinner. 
 
THE ISLAND. 45 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE ISLAND. 
 
 A GOOD dinner anywhere is a good thing; but 
 after an excursion on the lake, when the appetite 
 has been sharpened by the breeze from the moun- 
 tain, a good dinner is doubly excellent. And 
 when that good dinner is eaten on the Island 
 of Innisfallen, it is really a most exquisite treat. 
 Imagine an island rising from the bosom of a 
 lake, commanding a view, on one side, of im- 
 mense mountains, whose wild sublimity is con- 
 trasted on the other with a green and cultivated 
 shore ; the lake now presenting a wide sweep of 
 water, and now diversified with wooded islets 
 and naked rocks; then the island itself, about a 
 mile in circumference, broken into easy undu- 
 lating swells, with here a rocky point stretch- 
 ing far into the lake, and there a little bay 
 encroaching on the land here the trees are 
 scattered lightly over the island, and there richly 
 grouped now you command a view of the lake 
 through the opening woods, and now you can 
 scarcely perceive its twinkle through the leafy 
 screen which skirts the rocky shore. " Well, 
 Plunket, what do you want ?" 
 
 " May be your honour would just step round 
 the island while the dinner is getting ready." 
 
46 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " With all my heart." Away we went, and soon 
 reached the western extremity of the island, where 
 Plunket directed my notice to a tree which he 
 called " the eye of the needle." The name is 
 given to it from a hole caused by the tree rising 
 with a double trunk, and again uniting. 
 
 " Sure your honour will thread the eye of 
 the needle; every one that comes to Innisfallen 
 threads the needle," said Plunket. 
 
 " Pshaw," said I, "I never shall be able to 
 squeeze myself through that hole, I'm too fat ; 
 besides, where's the use of it ?" 
 
 " The use, sir, why it will ensure your honour 
 a long life, they say; and, if your honour only 
 was a lady in a certain way, there would be no 
 fear of you after threading the needle." 
 
 " In that case, I must try and get through :" 
 having done so, we proceeded a little further to 
 the bed of honour, a shelf of rock which over- 
 hung the lake, and was overshadowed by a 
 branching yew. 
 
 " The bed of honour why the bed of honour, 
 Plunket?" 
 
 " Oh then, indeed, because twas there a lord 
 lieutenant of Ireland, who came to visit the 
 lakes many many years ago, would go to sleep, 
 to cool himself, after drinking plenty of the 
 whiskey punch." 
 
 " What do you call that island ?" 
 
 "That's Brown or Rabbit Island but take 
 care, sir, don't go out so far on that ledge of 
 rock, for that's the very spot the poor author 
 gentleman fell from; they called him Hallam, 
 your honour." 
 
 " What, the author of the < Middle Ages ?' " 
 
 " True for you, sir, he was a middle- aged 
 
THE ISLAND. 47 
 
 man ; and if he was, he broke the middle of his 
 leg, and was laid a long time on the flat of 
 his back in Keen Cottage over there ; I suppose 
 Doctor Mayberry and Doctor Murphy had pretty 
 pickings on the gentleman's leg; and then there 
 was another great writing gentleman, one Sir 
 Walter Scott, came to Killarney about the time, 
 and he used to go and visit the poor gentleman 
 with the smashed leg; and I heard tell but 
 there's Spillane sounding his bugle, to let your 
 honour know that dinner is ready." 
 
 We hastened round the remainder of the island, 
 and returning to the ruins of the old monastery, 
 at its eastern extremity, found Thady Begly and 
 Doolan fiercely disputing the price of a salmon 
 with a fisherman who had just landed. 
 
 " Here's Barret, the fisherman," said Begly, 
 " has got a fine salmon 'tis every bit of a ten 
 pounder; and sure your honour would like to 
 see it roasted on the arrabutus skivers?" 
 
 " Oh, but sure he axes too much entirely for 
 it, quite out of the way, it is," said Doolan. 
 
 " Indeed, then, Mr. Doolan," said Barret, " it's 
 no way out of the way, what I'm axing for it, 
 begging your pardon." 
 
 "Oh, Barret, but I say it is out of the way," 
 interposed Begly. 
 
 " Well," said Barret, " I'll leave it to the gen- 
 tleman's own self; and be said, by his honour 
 without another word " 
 
 " If a good half-crown will buy the fish, Barret, 
 here it is for you, to end all disputes." 
 
 " Oh, God help us, 'tis fun your honour is 
 making of me ; indeed, then, I have sold before 
 now a worse salmon than that for three times 
 the money, and 'tis only for me to carry it on 
 
48 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 to Killarney there, to Mr. Sedgewick the fish- 
 man, and 'tis every halfpenny of eight pence a 
 pound only I wouldn't be after huxtering like 
 with him, seeing your honour was upon the lake 
 tc-day ; and sure I am none of the kind that 
 vould take advantage of a gentleman, because 
 fie is at a nonplush for his dinner." 
 
 " I'm much obliged to you, Barret, for the pre- 
 ference ; however, I am not at a nonplus for my 
 dinner ; but if you like to take sixpence a pound, 
 here are two half-crowns for you." 
 
 " I never was the man to gainsay a gentleman; 
 but make it the sixpence halfpenny for luck, sir." 
 
 " No, Barret, here are the two half-crowns, 
 I'll give you no more, whatever Mr. Sedgewick's 
 price may be." 
 
 " Well, your honour, I'll take it sooner than 
 make the least differ, or have another word about 
 the matter, though 'tis poor payment, God help 
 us, for a man to be out since break of day this 
 morning, wet and hungry." 
 
 " Here, give Barret a glass of whiskey. You 
 shall have your dinner with the boatmen, Barret." 
 
 " Long life and good luck to your honour; and 
 may you never want the finest salmon in the Lakes 
 of Killarney to roast upon the arrabutus skivers. 
 Oh, this whiskey is mortual strong." 
 
 " Take the other hand to it then, Barret," said 
 Doolan, smiling at his own joke. 
 
 During the time we were bargaining for the 
 salmon, the boatmen had kindled a turf fire within 
 the walls of the ruin ; and no sooner was the 
 bargain concluded, than Begly commenced cut- 
 ting up the fish in junks, which he placed upon 
 long wooden skewers, and stuck in the ground all 
 round the fire. 
 
THE ISLAND. 49 
 
 " Begly. you arn't doing that the right way," 
 muttered Barret. 
 
 " And what do you know about the matter ?" 
 said Begly, evidently a little piqued at Barret's 
 interference; " it would be fitter for you to be 
 making shoes than minding what doesn't consarn 
 you." 
 
 " Making shoes indeed, 'nations to your soul, 
 sure that's a dacenter trade than yours, which isn't 
 a trade at all ; and sure if I stuck to my shoe- 
 making, I needn't have gone to Carrig a Fourt, 
 where Comwell, the thief of the world, planted 
 his cannon again the ould castle of Ross; but 
 as to dressing a salmon, 'twould be a quare thing 
 if I didn't know something about it by this time; 
 and as for you, Begly, you deserve to be whipped 
 from Tig na Vauriah to Donaghadee, for you're a 
 poor ignorant cratur, and knows as much about 
 a salmon as a horse does about spaking Latin." 
 
 " And where," said I, " is this Tig na Vauriah? 
 I know where Donaghadee is." 
 
 " Why," replied Barret, " 'tis the farthest dis- 
 tance in all Ireland from Tig na Vauriah to 
 Donaghadee ; and they tells a sort of story about 
 how they came by their names." 
 
 " I should have no objection to hear this story," 
 said I ; upon which Barret related the following 
 legend : 
 
 " There was once (a long time ago) a poor 
 man, whose name was Donagha Dee, and he 
 lived in a small cabin, not far from a forest, in 
 the heart of the County Kerry. Ireland at that 
 time was not so bare as it is now, but was covered 
 with great forests ; inasmuch that it is said a 
 squirrel might have travelled from Dingle de 
 Couch to the City of Cork without once touch- 
 E 
 
50 . KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 ing the ground. Now, you must know, that 
 Donagha was a very poor man, and had a scold- 
 ing wife ; so that, between his wife and his poverty, 
 he could scarcely ever get a moment's peace. A 
 man might, perhaps, put up with a cross word 
 now and then from a woman, if she was pretty, or 
 had any other good about her ; but, unluckily, 
 Donagha's wife had nothing at all to recommend 
 her ; for, besides being cross, she was as old and 
 as ugly as the black gentleman himself; so you 
 may well suppose they had but a dog-and-cattish 
 sort of life. 
 
 " One morning in the beautiful month of May, 
 Donagha was quietly smoking his doodeen (pipe) 
 in the chimney corner, when his wife, coming in 
 from the well with a can of water, opened upon 
 him all at once, as if there were a thousand bea- 
 gles in her throat. ' You lazy good-for-nothing 
 stocagh/ said she, ' have you nothing else to do 
 this blessed morning but to sit poking over the 
 ashes with your doodeen stuck in your jaw ? 
 Wouldn't it be fitter for you to be gathering a 
 brosna (fire wood), than be sitting there as if you 
 were fastened to the sieshtheen (low seat) with a 
 twelvepenny nail ?' All this she said, and much 
 more ; to which Donagha made no reply, but 
 quietly took his billhook and gad, and away with 
 him to the forest. I don't know what made him 
 so quiet with her ; may be he wasn't in fighting 
 humour, and may be he thought it best to get out 
 of her way, for they say a good retrate is better 
 than a bad fight any day. A beautiful fine day it 
 was sure enough ; the sun was dancing through 
 the trees, and the little birds were singing like so 
 many pipers at a pattern, so that it was like a new 
 life to Donagha, who, feeling the cockles of his 
 
THL ISLAND. 51 
 
 heart rise within him, took up his billhook and 
 began to work as contented as if he had nothing 
 at home to fret him. But he wasn't long at work, 
 when he was amazed at the sound of a voice, that 
 seemed to come out of the middle of the wood ; 
 and, though it was the sweetest voice he had ever 
 heard, he couldn't help being frightened at it too 
 a little, for there was something in it that wasn't 
 like the voice of man, woman, or child. ' Dona- 
 gha ! Donagha !' said the voice ; but Donagha 
 didn't much like to answer. * Donagha !' said 
 the voice again; so when Donagha heard it again, 
 he thought may be it would be better for him 
 to speak. ' Here I am/ says he ; and then the 
 voice answered back again ' Donagha, don't be 
 frightened/ said the voice, ' for sure I'm only 
 St. Brandon, that's sent to tell you, because 
 you're a good christin and minds your duty, you 
 shall have two wishes granted to you, so take 
 care what you wish for, Donagha. l Och, success 
 to you for one saint any how/ said Donagha, 
 as he began to work again, thinking all the time 
 what in the wide world he had best wish for. 
 Would he take riches for his first wish? then 
 what should he take for the second ? a good wife 
 or wouldn't it be better not to have any wife 
 at all? Well, he thought for a long time, with- 
 out being able to make up his mind what to 
 wish for. 
 
 11 Night was coming on, and so Donagha, 
 gathering a great bundle of fire-wood up, he 
 tied it well with his gad, and, heaving it upon 
 his shoulder, away home with him. Donagha 
 was fairly spent with the work of the day, GO 
 that it was no wonder he should find the load 
 on his shoulder rather too much for him; and, 
 
 E2 
 
52 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 stumbling with weariness, he was obliged at length 
 to throw it down ; sitting upon his bundle, 'twas 
 Donagha was in great botheration ; the night was 
 closing in fast, and he knew what kind of a wel- 
 come he'd have before him if he either staid out 
 too late, or returned without a full load of firing. 
 ' Would to heaven,' says he, in his distress, and 
 forgetting the power of his wish, f would to heaven 
 this brosna could carry me, instead of my being 
 obliged to carry it.' Immediately the brosna 
 began to move on with him, and, seated on the 
 top of it, poor Donagha cut a mighty odd figure 
 surely ; for until he reached his own door he 
 never stopped roaring out a thousand murders, 
 he was so vexed with himself at having thrown 
 away one of his wishes so foolishly. His wife 
 Vauria (Mary) was standing at the door looking 
 out for him, ready to give him a good saletting ; 
 but she was fairly struck dumb at seeing Donagha 
 so queerly mounted, and at hearing him crying 
 out in such a manner. When she came a little 
 to herself, she asked Donagha a thousand ques- 
 tions about how he came to be riding upon a 
 brosna ; and poor Donagha, being so questioned, 
 could not help telling her the whole story just as 
 it happened. It was then that she was maa 
 angry in earnest with him, to think that he would 
 throw away his luck. Donagha, worn out and 
 perplexed, was not able to bear it, and at length 
 cried out as loud as he could, ' I wish to heaven, 
 I wish to heaven, you old scold, that's the plague 
 of my life, I wish to heaven that Ireland was be- 
 tween us.' No sooner said than done, for he was 
 whipped up by a whirlwind and dropped at the 
 north-eastern side of Ireland, where Donaghadee 
 now stands. And Vauria, house, and all, was 
 
THE ISLAND. 53 
 
 carried off at the same time to its most south- 
 western spot, beyond Dingle, and not far from 
 the great Atlantic Ocean. The place, to this day, 
 is known by the name of Tig na Vauria, or Mary's 
 house ; and, when people would speak of places 
 wide asunder, it has become a sort of proverb 
 to say, ' as far as Tig na Vauria from Donagha- 
 dee.' " And that's the reason, sir." 
 
 " A very good dinner indeed, Plunket, and 
 nicely laid out; and this banqueting-room, seated 
 on its rocky promontory, commands a charming 
 view of the lake and mountains : what a curious 
 old doorway ! it appears to have been part of the 
 abbey." 
 
 " It was a little chapel, sir, that was built by 
 one of the McCarthys, over the bones of the monks 
 that was killed by him ; and, sure enough, when 
 the workmen were repairing the place, they found 
 a sight of bones under a big flag." 
 
 66 Now, Plunket, I think you had better give 
 the men their dinners, and do not forget some 
 whiskey to wash it down." 
 
 During the time my crew were engaged in their 
 eating, I employed myself in writing the following 
 legend* of the Island, according to my own fashion, 
 the foundation of which had been hastily related 
 to me by Plunket, as we hurried back at the sound 
 of Spillane's bugle : 
 
 " Above all the islands in the Lakes of Kil- 
 larney, give me Innisfallen ' Sweet Innisfallen,' 
 as the melodious Moore calls it. It is, in truth, 
 a fairy isle, although I have no fairy story to tell 
 you about it ; but if I had, these are such unbe- 
 lieving times, and people of late have grown so 
 
 * Reprinted from the " Fairy Legends and Traditions of 
 the South of Ireland," by permission of Mr. Murray. 
 
54 KILLAHNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 sceptical, that they only smile at my stories, and 
 doubt them. 
 
 " However, none will doubt that a monastery 
 once stood upon Innisfallen island, for its ruins 
 may still be seen ; neither that, within its walls 
 dwelt certain pious and learned persons called 
 monks. A very pleasant set of fellows they were, 
 I make no doubt ; and I am sure of this, that they 
 had a very pleasant spot to enjoy themselves in 
 after dinner the proper time, believe me and 
 I am no bad judge of such matters for the enjoy- 
 ment of a fine prospect. 
 
 " Gut of all the monks, you could not pick 
 a better fellow, nor a merrier soul, than father 
 Cuddy; he sang a good song, told a good story, 
 and had a jolly, comfortable-looking paunch of 
 his own, that was a credit to any refectory table. 
 He was distinguished above all the rest by the 
 name of ( the fat father/ Now, there are many 
 that will take huff at a name, but father Cuddy 
 had no nonsense of that kind about him, he 
 laughed at it and well able he was to laugh, 
 for his mouth nearly reached from one ear to the 
 other his might, in truth, be called an open 
 countenance. As his paunch was no disgrace 
 to his food, neither was his nose to his drink. 
 Tis a doubt to me, if there were not more car- 
 buncles upon it, than ever were seen at the bottom 
 of the lake, which is said to be full of them. 
 His eyes had a right merry twinkle in them, like 
 moonshine dancing on the water ; and his cheeks 
 had the roundness and crimson glow of ripe 
 arbutus berries. 
 
 " He ate, and drank, and prayed, and slept 
 what then ? He ate, and drank, and prayed, 
 and slept again ! Such was the tenor of his 
 
THE ISLAND. 55 
 
 simple life ; but, when he prayed, a certain drow- 
 siness would come upon him, which, it must be 
 confessed, never occurred when a well-filled 
 ' black-jack' stood before him. Hence, his 
 prayers were short, and his draughts were long. 
 The world loved him, and he saw no reason why 
 he should not, in return, love its venison and its 
 usquebaugh. But, as times went, he must have 
 been a pious man, or else, what befel him, never 
 would have happened. 
 
 " Spiritual affairs for it was respecting the im- 
 portation of a tun of wine into the island monas- 
 tery demanded the presence of one of the bro- 
 therhood of Innisfallen, at the abbey of Irelagh, 
 now called Mucruss. The superintendence of this 
 important matter was committed to father Cuddy, 
 who felt too deeply interested in the future wel- 
 fare of any community of which he was a mem- 
 ber, to neglect or delay the mission. With the 
 morning's light he was seen guiding his shallop 
 across the crimson waters of the lake, towards 
 the peninsula of Mucruss, and, having moored 
 his little bark in safety, beneath the shelter of a 
 wave-worn rock, he advanced with becoming dig- 
 nity towards the abbey. 
 
 " The stillness of the bright and balmy hour was 
 broken by the heavy footsteps of the zealous fa- 
 ther. At the sound, the startled deer, shaking 
 the dew from their sides, sprung up from their 
 lair as they bounded off 'Hah!' exclaimed 
 Cuddy, ' what noble haunch goes there ! how 
 delicious it would look smoking upon a goodly 
 platter !' 
 
 " As he proceeded, the mountain bee hummed 
 his time of gladness around the holy man, save 
 when buried in the fox-glove bell, or revelling 
 
56 K1LLAKNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 upon a fragrant bunch of thyme ; and even then 
 the little voice murmured out happiness in low 
 and broken tones of voluptuous delight. 
 
 " Father Cuddy derived no small comfort from 
 the sound, for it presaged a good metheglin sea- 
 son ; and metheglin he regarded, if well manu- 
 factured, to be no bad liquor, particularly when 
 there was no stint of usquebaugh in the brewing. 
 
 " Arrived within the abbey garth, he was received 
 with clue respect by the brethren of Irelagh, and 
 arrangements for the embarkation of the wine 
 were completed to his entire satisfaction. 
 
 " ' Welcome, father Cuddy/ said the prior, 
 ' grace be on you/ 
 
 " * Grace before meat then/ said Cuddy, ' for 
 a long walk always makes me hungry, and I 
 am certain I have not walked less than half a 
 mile this morning, to say nothing of crossing the 
 water/ 
 
 " A pasty of choice flavour felt the truth of this 
 assertion, as regarded father Cuddy's appetite. 
 After such consoling repast, it would have been 
 a reflection on monastic hospitality to depart 
 without partaking of the grace-cup; moreover, 
 father Cuddy had a particular respect for the 
 antiquity of that custom. He liked the taste 
 of the grace-cup well he tried another, it was 
 no less excellent and when he had swallowed 
 the third, he found his heart expand, and put 
 forth its fibres, willing to embrace all mankind. 
 Surely, then, there is Christian love and charity 
 in wine ! 
 
 " I said he sung a good song. Now, though 
 psalms are good songs, and in accordance with 
 his vocation, I did not mean to imply that he was 
 a mere psalm-singer. It was well known to the 
 
THE ISLAND. 57 
 
 brethren, that wherever father Cuddy was, mirth 
 and melody were with him; mirth in his eye, 
 and melody on his tongue and these, from ex- 
 perience, are equally well known to be thirsty 
 commodities ; but he took good care never to let 
 them run dry. To please the brotherhood, whose 
 excellent wine pleased him, he sang- -and as 
 ' in vino veritas,' his song will well become this 
 veritable history. 
 
 ( Quam pulchra sunt ova 
 
 Cum alba et nova 
 In stabulo scite legunter, 
 Et a Margery bell a, 
 Quae festiva puella ! 
 Pinguis lardi cum frustis coquuntur. 
 ( Ut belles in prato 
 
 Aprico et lato 
 Sub sole tarn laete renident, 
 Ova tosta in mensa 
 Mappa bene extensa 
 Nitidissima lance consident.'* 
 
 " Such was his song. Father Cuddy smacked 
 his lips at the recollection of Margery's deli- 
 cious fried eggs, which always imparted a pecu- 
 liar relish to his liquor. The very idea provoked 
 Cuddy to raise the cup to his mouth, and with 
 one hearty pull thereat, he finished its contents. 
 
 * i O 'tis eggs are a treat, 
 
 When, so white and so sweet, 
 From under the manger they're taken, 
 
 And by fair Margery, 
 
 Och ! 'tis she's full of glee, 
 They are fried with fat rashers of bacon. 
 
 * Just like daisies all spread 
 
 O'er a broad sunny mead, 
 In the sunbeams so beauteously shining, 
 
 Are fried eggs well displayed 
 
 On a dish, when we've laid 
 The cloth, and are thinking of dining.' 
 
58 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " This is, and ever was, a censorious world, often 
 construing what is only a fair allowance into an 
 excess; but I scorn to reckon up any man's drink, 
 like an unrelenting host, therefore I cannot tell how 
 many brimming draughts of wine, bedecked with 
 the venerable Bead, father Cuddy emptied into his 
 " soul-case ;" so he figuratively termed the body. 
 " His respect for the goodly company of the 
 monks of Irelagh detained him until their adjourn- 
 ment to vespers, when he set forward on his return 
 to Innisfallen. Whether his mind was occu- 
 pied in philosophic contemplation, or wrapped in 
 pious musings, I cannot declare ; but the honest 
 father wandered on in a different direction from 
 that in which his shallop lay. Far be it from me 
 to insinuate that the good liquor, which he had so 
 commended, caused him to forget his road, or that 
 his track was irregular and unsteady. Oh, no ! 
 he carried his drink bravely, as became a decent 
 man, and a good Christian; yet, somehow, he 
 thought he could distinguish two moons. 
 
 " ' Bless my eyes/ said father Cuddy, ' every 
 thing is changing now-a-days ! the very stars 
 are not in the same places they used to be ; I 
 think Camceachta (the Plough) is driving on at a 
 rate I never saw it before to-night ; but I suppose 
 the driver is drunk, for there are blackguards 
 every where/ 
 
 " Cuddy had scarcely uttered these words, when 
 he saw, or fancied he saw, the form of a young 
 woman, who, holding up a bottle, beckoned him 
 towards her. The night was extremely beautiful, 
 and the white dress of the girl floated gracefully 
 in the moon-light, as with gay step she tripped on 
 before the worthy father, archly looking back 
 upon him over her shoulder. 
 
THE ISLAND. 59 
 
 " ' Ah, Margery, merry Margery !' cried Cuddy, 
 you tempting little rogue ! 
 
 Et a Margery bella, 
 Quae festiva puella ! 
 
 I see you, I see you, and the bottle ! let me but 
 catch you, Margery bella !' and on he followed, 
 panting and smiling after this alluring apparition. 
 
 "At length his feet grew weary, and his breath 
 failed, which obliged him to give up the chase ; 
 yet, such was his piety, that, unwilling to rest in 
 any attitude but that of prayer, down dropped 
 father Cuddy on his knees. Sleep, as usual, 
 stole on his devotions, and the morning was far 
 advanced, when he awoke from his dreams, in 
 which tables groaned beneath their loads of 
 viands, and wine poured itself, free and sparkling 
 as the mountain spring. Rubbing his eyes, he 
 looked about him; and the more he looked, the 
 more he wondered at the alteration which ap- 
 peared in the face of the country. 
 
 " ' Bless my soul and body !' said the good 
 father, " I saw the stars changing last night 
 but here is a change !' 
 
 " Doubting his senses, he looked again. The 
 hills bore the same majestic outline as on the 
 preceding day, and the lake spread itself beneath 
 his view in the same tranquil beauty, and studded 
 with the same number of islands ; but every 
 smaller feature in the landscape was strangely 
 altered. What had been naked rocks, were now 
 covered with holly and arbutus. Whole woods 
 had disappeared, and waste places had become 
 cultivated fields ; and, to complete the work 
 of enchantment, the very season itself seemed 
 changed. In the rosy dawn of a summer's morn- 
 ing, he had left the monastery of Innisfallen, and 
 
60 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 he now felt, in every sight and sound, the dreari- 
 ness of winter. The hard ground was covered 
 with withered leaves ; icicles depended from 
 leafless branches ; he heard the sweet low notes 
 of the robin, who familiarly approached him ; and 
 he felt his fingers numbed from the nipping frost. 
 Father Cuddy found it rather difficult to account 
 for such sudden transformations ; and, to convince 
 himself it was not the illusion of a dream, he was 
 about to rise, when, lo ! he discovered both his 
 knees were buried at least six inches in the solid 
 stone ; for, notwithstanding all these changes, he 
 had never altered his devout position. 
 
 " Cuddy was now wide awake, and felt, when 
 he got up, his joints sadly cramped, which it was 
 only natural they should be, considering the hard 
 texture of the stone, and the depth his knees had 
 sunk into it. But the great difficulty was, to 
 explain how, in one night, summer had become 
 winter, whole woods had been cut down, and 
 well-grown trees had sprouted up. The miracle 
 (nothing else could he conclude it to be) urged him 
 to hasten his return to Innisfallen, where he might 
 learn some explanation of these marvellous events. 
 " Seeing a boat moored within reach of the shore, 
 he delayed not, in the midst of such wonders, to 
 seek his own bark; but, seizing the oars, pulled 
 stoutly towards the island and here new wonders 
 assailed him. 
 
 " Father Cuddy waddled, as fast as cramped 
 limbs could carry his rotund corporation, to the 
 gate of the monastery, where he loudly demanded 
 admittance. 
 
 " ' Holloa ! whence come you, master monk, and 
 what's your business ?' demanded a stranger, who 
 occupied the porter's place. 
 
THE ISLAND. 61 
 
 " ' Business ! my business !' repeated the con- 
 founded Cuddy. ' Why, do you not know me ? 
 Has the wine arrived safely ?' 
 
 " ' Hence, fellow P said the porter's represen- 
 tative, in a surly tone, ' nor think to impose on 
 me with your monkish tales/ 
 
 " * Fellow P exclaimed the father ; ' mercy on 
 us, that I should be so spoken to at the gate of 
 my own house ! Scoundrel P cried Cuddy, raising 
 his voice, ' do you not see my garb my holy 
 garb V 
 
 " ' Ay, fellow P replied he of the keys, ' the 
 garb of laziness and filthy debauchery, which has 
 been expelled from out these walls. Know you 
 not, idle knave, of the suppression of this nest of 
 superstition, and that the abbey, lands, and pos- 
 sessions were granted, in August last, to Master 
 Robert Collam, by our Lady Elizabeth, sovereign 
 queen of England, and paragon of all beauty, 
 whom God preserve P 
 
 " ' Queen of England P said Cuddy, ' there 
 never was a sovereign queen of England ; this is 
 but a piece with the rest. I saw how it was going 
 with the stars last night : the world's turned upside 
 down. But surely this is Innisfallen island, and 
 I am the father Cuddy who yesterday morning 
 went over to the abbey of Irelagh, respecting the 
 tun of wine. Do you know me now?' 
 
 " ' Know you ! how should I know you ?' said 
 the keeper of the abbey. * Yet, true it is, that 
 I have heard my grandmother, whose mother 
 remembered the man, often speak of the fat 
 father Cuddy of Innisfallen, who made a profane 
 and godless ballad in praise of fried eggs, of 
 which he and his vile crew knew more than they 
 did of the word of God ; and who, being drunk, 
 
62 KILLARtfEY LEGENDS. 
 
 it is said, tumbled into the lake one night, and 
 was drowned ; but that must have been a hundred, 
 ay, more than a hundred years since/ 
 
 " ' 'Twas I who composed that song in praise of 
 Margery's fried eggs, which is no profane and 
 godless ballad : no other father Cuddy than my- 
 self ever belonged to Innisfallen/ earnestly ex- 
 claimed the holy man. ' A hundred years ! 
 what was your great-grandmother's name ?' 
 
 " ' She was a Mahony of Dunloh, Margaret ni 
 Mahony ; and my grandmother ' 
 
 " * What ! merry Margery of Dunloh your great- 
 grandmother !' shouted Cuddy. ' St. Brandon 
 help me ! the wicked wench with that tempting 
 bottle ! Why, 'twas only last night a hundred 
 years ! your great- grandmother, said you ? 
 God bless us ! there has been a strange torpor 
 over me ; I must have slept all this time/ 
 
 " That father Cuddy had done so, I think is 
 sufficiently proved by the changes which occurred 
 during his nap. A reformation, and a serious one it 
 was for him, had taken place. Eggs fried by the 
 pretty Margery were no longer to be had in 
 Innisfallen ; and with a heart as heavy as his 
 footsteps, the worthy man directed his course 
 towards Dingle, where he embarked in a vessel on 
 the point of sailing for Malaga. The rich wine 
 of that place had of old impressed him with a 
 high respect for its monastic establishments ; in 
 one of which he quietly wore out the remainder of 
 his days. 
 
 " The stone impressed with the mark of 
 father Cuddy's knees may still be seen ; and 
 should any incredulous person doubt my story, 
 I request him to visit Killarney, where he may 
 satisfy himself, that Clough na Cuddy remains in 
 
THE ISLAND. 63 
 
 Lord Kenmare's park, an indisputable evidence of 
 the fact." 
 
 The boatmen having concluded the important 
 business of dinner, preparations were made to re- 
 embark, when Barret, the fisherman, accosted me 
 with, " Did they show your honour the ould 
 tomb, with the ash-tree growing out of the top 
 of it?" 
 
 " No, Barret, they did not." 
 
 " Then if you will just step a little to the west 
 of the abbey, sir, I'll shew it to you." 
 
 " It certainly does appear to have been a tomb, 
 although there is no inscription ; do you know 
 whose tomb it was, Barret ?" 
 
 " Ah, then, 'tis I who can tell you all about 
 whose tomb it was ; it belonged to father Phelim, 
 one of the ould friars that lived in the abbey 
 there; and, more than that, I can tell you how 
 he came to be a friar. 
 
 " Many a long day ago, before the lake was 
 a lake at all, there was many a snug bit of a 
 farm, where nothing is now to be seen but the 
 wide-spreading waves of Loch Lane. Wisha, 
 then, bad luck to Moll Donoghue, for sure it 
 was all along of her laving the spring-well unco- 
 vered, that the beautiful land was drownded (and 
 beautiful fine land it was by all accounts); but 
 the never a four-footed beast '11 graze there again, 
 barring the trouts and the salmons ; for the black 
 lake is flowing over it this many a long day, and 
 the more's the pity. But where's the use in fret- 
 ting? for what's one man's loss is another man's 
 gain; and isn't there the innkeepers, and boatmen, 
 and buglers, in the town of Killarney yonder 
 there ? 'tis they and the likes of them that ought 
 to be glad of it, any how. 
 
64 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 '-' Well, as I was saying, many a long day 
 before the lake was a lake at all, one Diarmid 
 O'Sullivan had a snug little farm of his own 
 at the butt of Toomies Mountain, just under the 
 * Minister's Back :' only it wasn't the ' Minister's 
 Back' then, because why there wasn't such a 
 thing as a minister in being at all then, for 
 them were the good ould times, and elegant 
 times they were. Snug and comfortable Diarmid 
 O'Sullivan was, and well to do in the world; 
 for it was he that had plenty of yearlings and 
 shanafaughs* (that had the run of the mountain), 
 and could take a good gorloguef of his own 
 potheen every morning of his life, and had plenty 
 of every thing, and would have been as happy 
 as may be, if it wasn't for his son Phelim. 
 
 " There wasn't such a bullamskiagh} in the 
 barony of Magunihy as Phelim. Och, it was he 
 was the boy for a bit of a skrimige (skir- 
 mish); and then, as for fun and frolic, there 
 couldn't be a pattern or dance, wedding or wake, 
 within ten miles of him, but Phelim was sure to 
 be there. 
 
 " It happened that Jack Connor of Fyrees, as 
 sporting a boy as you'd wish to see, took sick 
 of a fever and died ; he was the very likeness 
 of Phelim, and there wasn't two such cronies 
 to be found from Knocknacoppul to Tignavau- 
 riah. A sorrowful day you may be sure it was, 
 when news of Jack's death was brought to the 
 farm ; and it was Phelim that took it to heart, 
 and was braunach enough on account of it, and 
 set off hot -foot to the wake. A beautiful wake 
 he had of it, with plenty of ' givings out/ and such 
 
 * Two-year-old cows. t A small glass. 
 
 $ A bully literally, a shield striker. Sorrowful. 
 
THE ISLAND. 65 
 
 wonder of a berrin, that you might have heard 
 the cry a good mile before they came to the 
 ould church of Innisfallen, that wasn't an island 
 at all then, but only a snug little knop of a 
 hill. 
 
 " When the berrin was over, the people went 
 off one after another, till at last no one was 
 left but Phelim, who, from the whiskey and the 
 grief mixing together, lost all knowledge of every 
 thing going on around him. He had seated him- 
 self forenent his crony's grave, near a great heap 
 of sculls and bones, and a pitiful sight it was 
 to see them, as bare and as bleached as the brow 
 of Mange rton after a night's snow. 
 
 " ' Why, then, Jack Connor, 'tis you was the 
 truth of a good fellow,' said Phelim, who was 
 beginning to come to himself; ' and sure and 
 sartin I'll never see the likes of you again ; and 
 it's a pitiful case that you should lie there in 
 the could grave, and many a good-for-nothing 
 spalpeen* left behind. Only to think the likes 
 of you should ever come to this/ continued 
 Phelim, at the same time taking up one of the 
 sculls that lay near him ; ' to think the likes of 
 you should ever come to this, is enough to break 
 the heart in a stone !' 
 
 " < Who is it that meddles with the dead ?' 
 
 said a great, big, tall, old man, stepping at the 
 
 same time from behind a broken tomb. Phelim 
 
 was quite daunted at the sound of the voice, 
 
 and no wonder, for it was not like the voice of 
 
 one belonging to this world; and, when he looked 
 
 up, he felt his blood turning to ice within him. 
 
 There the old man stood, like one of the giants 
 
 * A cowardly rascal. 
 
 F 
 
66 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 that used to be formerly, with a long white beard, 
 and his large lifeless-looking eyes fixed upon Phe- 
 lim, as he put the question to him for the second 
 time : ' Who is it that meddles with the dead, 
 when the dead have the power to walk?' For, 
 sure enough, it was the dead hour of night; 
 and the moon was shining clear and bright on 
 mountain and wood, on river and rock, and 
 gave, (the Lord presarve us !) a ghastly appear- 
 ance to the grey tombs, and upright headstones 
 that were scattered about that lonely spot. Now 
 Phelim wasn't much given to fear any thing dead 
 or alive ; so he soon mustered up his courage, 
 and began to excuse himself as well as he could. 
 ' Why then, please your honour/ said he, t I 
 didn't mane any harm at all, at all ; for sure 
 it was only thinking of poor Jack Connor I was, 
 that's lying there in the could grave/ 
 
 u ' That's no reason for me,' said the spirit, 
 or whatever it was ; < you had no business med- 
 dling with the dead any how ; so you'd better 
 put down the scull and follow me, for your 
 penance must be long and heavy.' 
 
 " * Why, then, isn't it a poor case to be obliged 
 to folly a ghost at the dead hour of night ?' says 
 Phelim to himself as he walked after the figure 
 who went before him, swiftly and silently, to the 
 mouth of a dark tomb, that stood open, as if 
 ready to receive them both, ' You must leap 
 down there, Phelim,' says the ghost, standing in 
 front of the tomb. * Why, then, is it to bury 
 me alive you want; the never a one of me will 
 leap down that black dismal looking hole, if you 
 was as big again,' says Phelim. ' You won't !' 
 says the old man, * we'll see that presently;' so 
 
THE ISLAND. 67 
 
 with that he gave Phelim a rap, and down he 
 went. ' You're down now, and 'twill be many 
 a long day before you come up again,' says he, 
 and he said no more. 
 
 Two hundred years after, a loud ullagone* was 
 heard on the shore of Innisfallen. The good fa- 
 thers who lived in the abbey then went out with 
 all speed to see what was the matter, and they 
 found a fine young man, who seemed lost entirely 
 in sorrow, when he saw the great piece of water 
 that was flowing between him and the mountain 
 of Toomies. And who was this but Phelim, who 
 had just come back to the world again, and was 
 bemoaning the loss of house and home; for it 
 seemed to him as if it was but a day since he 
 had followed Jack Connor to the grave, and 
 now to have the waters flowing over all : but 
 he had been to another world, the secrets of 
 which he was not allowed to tell. When the 
 good fathers heard his story, they took him into 
 the abbey, where he became one of the most blessed 
 among them all, and was sought after far and 
 near by the people, whom he often advised to 
 take pattern by his example, and never be so 
 foolish as to meddle with the dead." 
 
 " They are waiting for me, Barret, I believe 
 here's Spillane coming, Spillane coming." 
 
 " Oh, there's no need to hurry, sir." 
 
 " Begly, why don't you push off the boat ?" 
 said Plunket " it's getting cold, sir you'd bet- 
 ter put on the boat cloak." 
 
 " Good by, Barret" and away we row from 
 the Island of Innisfallen. 
 
 * Lamentation. 
 F2 
 
68 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 Sweet Innisfallen,* fare thee well, 
 
 May calm and sunshine long be thine f 
 
 How fair thou art let others tell, 
 While but to feel how fair, is mine ! 
 
 Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well, 
 And long may light around thee smile, 
 
 As soft as on that evening fell, 
 When first I saw thy fairy isle . 
 
 Thou wert too lovely then for one, 
 
 Who had to turn to paths of care 
 Who had through vulgar crowds to run, 
 
 And leave .thee bright and silent there ; 
 
 No more along thy shores to come, 
 But, on the world's dim ocean toss'd, 
 
 Dream of thee sometimes, as a home 
 Of sunshine he had seen and lost ! 
 
 Far better in thy weeping hours 
 
 To part from thee as I do now, 
 When mist is o'er thy blooming bowers, 
 
 Like sorrow's veil on beauty's brow. 
 
 For, though unrivall'd still thy grace, 
 Thou dost not look, as then, too bless'd ; 
 
 But, in thy shadows, seem'st a place 
 Where weary man might hope to rest 
 
 Might hope to rest, and find in thee 
 
 A gloom like Eden's, on the day 
 He left its shade, when every tree, 
 
 Like thine, hung weeping o'er his way ! 
 
 Weeping or smiling, lovely isle ! 
 
 And still the lovelier for thy tears- 
 For though but rare thy sunny smile, 
 
 *Tis Heaven's own glance when it appears. 
 
 Like feeling hearts, whose joys are few, 
 But, when indeed they come, divine 
 
 The steadiest light the sun e'er threw 
 Is lifeless to one gleam of thine ! 
 
 * Copied from the Ninth Number of the " Irish Melo- 
 dies," by the permission of Mr, James Power. 
 
THE ISLAND. 69 
 
 So sung Moore, on his departure from Irinis- 
 fallen. And feeling that I could not probably 
 write much smoother verses, without taking more 
 trouble than such jingling things are worth, 
 and, moreover, that it would be impossible to 
 leave " sweet Innisfallen" without flinging a 
 verse or two at it, I hope Mr. Moore will for- 
 give my unceremonious appropriation of his beau- 
 tiful lines. 
 
70 KILTARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE ABBEY. 
 
 WHAT a day ! rain, rain, rain " but such things 
 will happen in Ireland," as Miss Edgeworth philo- 
 sophically remarks; one of those interminable 
 Kerry showers, which are said to be nearly as long 
 and as tedious as a suit in Chancery. 
 
 No lake to-day no, there is no chance of that ; 
 and as for the town, it presents only to the view 
 a long dreary street, each end blocked up by 
 impenetrable mist, with here and there a bare- 
 footed wench, in a ragged blue cloak, trotting 
 hastily through this second deluge, or a solitary 
 peeler driving a pig to pound, and enduring a 
 
 wetting for the sake of the fine. 
 
 +-* 
 
 Hurrah ! the mist is clearing up from the 
 mountain, and the sun is coming out here's a 
 fine evening, contrary to all expectation. " Hallo, 
 Gorham, a horse and a guide for the Abbey." 
 Tis done in an instant ; and now we pass under 
 the double row of lime trees, which overarch the 
 Flesk road ; and now, emerging from their leafy 
 shade to the right,behold, over a green flat, Ross 
 Castle, backed by the mountains ; on the left, 
 Droumhall, or Violet Hill, rising directly from the 
 road; and full in front, Mangerton and Turk peer- 
 ing over the woods of Cahirnane. 
 
THE ABBEY. 71 
 
 " Where does that road lead us to ?" said I to 
 my one-handed guide. 
 
 " That's the Woodlawn road, sir," 
 " A fine river this, what do you call it ?" 
 " The river Flesk, at your honour's service, and 
 this is Flesk bridge we are upon ; there to the 
 right you may see Flesk priory and part of Cahir- 
 nane, with a distant bit of the lake ; here to the 
 left is Woodlawn House, the park, and Coltsman's 
 Castle ; and here, close to us, is part of the demesne 
 of Flesk Cottage." 
 
 From the bridge, proceeding southward, we 
 passed Cahirnane's romantic farm, Flesk Cottage, 
 the residence of Lord Headly, Castlelough, and 
 Dane's Fort. At last we obtained a view of 
 Mucruss, stretching its rocky length across the 
 Lower Lake, till it seemed to touch the opposite 
 mountain of Glena, and soon entered the little 
 village of Droumirourk, or CJoughereen, where 
 Ned Roche admitted us into the demesne of 
 Mucruss, and prepared to accompany us to the 
 Abbey, whose ancient tower just peeped above 
 the surrounding woods. 
 
 Crossing a rustic bridge over a stream which 
 runs vithin a few yards of the gate, we had a 
 pleasant walk through a beautiful lawn, sprinkled 
 and clumped with every variety of tree. We soon 
 came in sight of the eastern window of the Abbey, 
 gracefully rising from a gentle acclivity, which we 
 ascended ; and entering by a small iron gate that 
 was opened by Ned Roche, found ourselves within 
 the precincts of its melancholy burial-ground. 
 After passing a large heap of sculls and bones, 
 piled up in an angle of the ruin, we reached the 
 great western portal of the church, and, advancing 
 under the ivy'd tower, paused for a few moments 
 
72 KILLARNEY LEGEtfDS. 
 
 to read the inscription on the tomb of O'Donoghue 
 More, which is placed in the centre of the choir. 
 
 " What more could Homer's most illustrious verse, 
 Or pompous Tully's stately prose rehearse, 
 Than what this monumental stone contains, 
 In death's embrace Mac Carthy More's remains ? 
 Hence, reader, learn the sad and certain fate 
 That waits on man, spares not the good or great ! 
 And while this venerable marble calls 
 Thy patriot tear, perhaps, that trickling falls, 
 And bids thy thoughts to other days return, 
 And with a spark of Erin's glory burn ; 
 While to her fame most grateful tributes flow, 
 Oh, ere you turn, one warmer drop bestow. 
 If Erin's chiefs deserve thy generous tear, 
 Heir of their worth, O'Donoghue, lies here ! 
 
 O'Donoghue More of the Glens 
 
 departed this life 
 the 21st day of February, 1808 
 Aged 31 years." * 
 
 " This O'Donoghue More must have been a 
 great man in his day," said I. 
 
 " Oh, then, you may say that, master," replied 
 Rooter Leahy, so was my one-handed guide 
 named from his iron-tipped wooden stump, " but 
 he was just nothing to his father before hinij ould 
 O'Donoghue Daniel, it was he was the cleverest 
 man in the county, for he was like a giant, and 
 could knock down a bull with a blow of his fist ; 
 and wasn't he out hunting of a day, and his horse 
 
 * O'Donoghue is buried in Mac Carthy More's vault, 
 over which a large tomb has been raised, bearing the arms 
 of O'Donoghue ; the crest, a pelican feeding her young; 
 the motto, Nihil virtus generosa timet ; with the above 
 inscription, written by Mr Marcus Hare. Close to this 
 tomb is the original covering of Mac Carthy More's vault, 
 a flat stone, level with the floor of the choir, having the 
 coronet and arms of Glencare rudely sculptured on it. 
 
THE ABBEY. 73 
 
 stuck up to the neck in a bog, he made no more 
 of taking him by the two ears, and pulling him 
 out, than I would of a bit of a kippen.* And then, 
 for all he was as strong as Sampsin, wasn't he as 
 quiet as a lamb, barring when he was fretted ; and 
 wasn't he the best you ever see to all his followers 
 and people from Glanflesk ; for sure if one of them 
 was to make free with a good fat beef as often as 
 they did, it was only to leave a quarter of it in 
 O'Donoghue's kitchen, and there'd be no questions 
 axed about the matter ; little business a constable 
 would have in Glanflesk in them days. And when 
 any of the people would go to O'Donoghue's house, 
 wouldn't he hand the piggins of whiskey to them, 
 and take a shoulder of mutton, and throw a bone 
 to one, and a sliver to another, and make as free 
 with them as if they were his own equals. Och, 
 'tis the ould gentlemen were the right sort." 
 
 Regaining the arch under the tower, we turned 
 to the right, and, through a short gloomy passage, 
 entered the cloisters ; from the open space, in the 
 centre of which there grew a noble yew-tree, whose 
 branches, rising above the ruin, spread their green 
 arms on every side. " That's a noble tree," said 
 I ; " I wonder Kelly the turner never thought of 
 buying it to make snuff-boxes, 'twould doubtless 
 be a profitable speculation." " Is it to cut down 
 the yew-tree you mean, sir ?" said Rooter, with a 
 look of astonishment. " Why, then, that's what 
 nobody would do, after what happened to the 
 soldier, who cut off a little branch of it. He was 
 warned by ould Drake, the hermit, not to touch 
 it, for it was a holy tree ; but he said that was all 
 botheration ; so he cut off a branch of it, and, as 
 sure as you are there, the branch dropped blood, 
 * A switch. 
 
74 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 and the soldier fell dead on the spot. And, with- 
 out doubt, it's a bad thing to meddle with any 
 thing belonging to the Abbey ; for, sure, they say 
 it was built by the blessed angels : did you ever 
 hear, sir, how it came to pass ?" " No, indeed 
 Leahy," said I. " Why, then, I'll tell you al 
 about it," said he ; then, taking a pinch of snuff 
 he with great gravity thus proceeded : 
 
 " You must know, sir, that there lived in the 
 neighbourhood of Slieve Loughera, a man whose 
 name was Croohoore Bawn ; he had a great deal 
 of land, cattle, and sheep ; and one son, who was 
 called Shane-Bawn-a Croohoore. Now, Shane- 
 Bawn-a Croohoore was a very promising youth, 
 and had an uncle a priest, who took a great fancy 
 to him ; so he sent him to Rome to study, and be 
 made a priest of. Arrived in Rome, Shane was 
 lodged in a monastery, where he studied so hard, 
 that in a short time he beat them all out and out ; 
 which made the other students so jealous, that 
 they were always watching for opportunities to 
 bring Shane into disgrace. It happened one day, 
 just after Shane was priested, that he saw one of 
 the students shaving himself on a Monday. 
 
 * MOT a smoky lath veh vuan, 
 Naw dane lum an LuanJ 
 
 said Shane. ' What's that you're saying ?' said 
 the student. ' Why,' said Shane, ' it's an old 
 Irish saying ; and the meaning of it is, ' If you 
 wish to live long, don't shave on a Monday.' 
 ' I have you now,' thought the student, though he 
 said nothing to Shane; but, as soon as he had 
 done shaving, away he goes to the abbot, and 
 tould him what Shane said ; saying it was a great 
 crime for a priest to believe in any such thing, and 
 that he had no right to be bringing his ould Irish 
 
THE ABBEY. 75 
 
 pishogues* to Rome. So the abbot went and tould 
 the pope ; and the pope enjoined it as a penance 
 upon Shane, that he should return to his own 
 country, and never stop travelling till he came to 
 a place called Skeheen-a-Vibo ; but he wasn't 
 to ax any one where it was ; and when he found 
 it, he was to build an abbey there. When Shane 
 arrived in Ireland, you maybe sure Slieve Loughera 
 was the first place he made for ; but his father 
 was dead, and he found an old herdsman taking 
 care of the place. He stopped that night with 
 the herdsman, and the next morning, being Sun- 
 day, he went up to the top of the mountain to hear 
 mass. The herdsman axed him where he was 
 going, and when Shane tould him, he said there 
 was neither mass nor chapel on the mountain. 
 ' No matter for that/ says Shane, ' I've the power 
 to hear, from the top of the mountain, the bells 
 ringing and the mass saying in the city of Rome.* 
 Well, sir, Shane travelled a long time in search of 
 Skeheen-a-Vibo, till at last he came to the village 
 of Cloghereen, at the foot of Mangerton mountain; 
 and there, as he was sitting on a rock, in a very 
 melancholy way, he chanced to hear two little 
 girls that were talking near him. ' Did you see 
 my goats any where V said one of the little girls. 
 
 " ' Indeed, then, I did/ said the other, ' they're 
 up yonder there, at Skeheen-a-Vibo.' Glad 
 enough Shane was to hear what the little girl 
 said ; so he followed her to where she found the 
 goats ; and that's where the Abbey is now. Shane 
 immediately gathered all the masons in the coun- 
 try, and began to build the Abbey ; but as fast as 
 he built in the day-time, it was thrown down at 
 night : who threw it down, is more than I can tell, 
 * Charms. 
 
7 6 fctLLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 unless it was the devil himself. Well, this con- 
 tinued for a long time, till at last Shane was 
 obliged to give it up as a bad job. The very night 
 after he gave it up, there was a great noise heard 
 in the air, as if there was a great battle ; and the 
 next morning, when Shane got up, what should 
 he see but the Abbey built up nearly to the top 
 of the tower. To be sure, it was the blessed angels 
 that did it ; and they would have finished it en- 
 tirely, if Shane hadn't cried out with surprise. 
 Then Shane took possession of it, and gathered 
 the friars together, and became the first abbot 
 of Mucruss Abbey. So that's the story of Ske- 
 heen-a-Vibo," said Leahy, taking another huge 
 pinch of snuff ; " and it's no wonder the people 
 shouldn't like to meddle with the yew-tree, or any 
 thing else belonging to so holy a place." 
 
 66 Pray, Rooter, who was this Drake, the hermit, 
 you have mentioned ?" 
 
 " If your honour will just step up the stone 
 stairs here, I'll show you his bed, and tell you 
 all about him." 
 
 We ascended the screw-like stairs which led 
 from the cloisters to Drake's bed. It was a wide 
 niche, lighted by a loophole window, and nearly 
 opposite the huge aperture of an ancient fireplace. 
 " Well, sir/' said Rooter, " this Drake was a 
 mighty holy man, as every one thought ; and no- 
 body in the wide world could beat him at praying ; 
 and he used to be always warning the people to 
 take care of their souls, and not to be going jig- 
 ging to patterns and goalings, and drinking in 
 tents and shebeen houses. ' For,' says he, ' 'tis 
 through the means of that same whiskey, which 
 is the Devil's holy water, that thousands of souls 
 are lost entirely ; and them that might be decent 
 
THE ABBEY. 77 
 
 and respected to the end of their days, come to 
 sorrow and disgrace and surely 'twas true for 
 him. 
 
 " He was a kind of hermit like, for he used to 
 wear a long beard ; and he used to sleep in the 
 Abbey here amongst all the skulls and bones in 
 that very spot, sir. And he was counted a blessed 
 man, always praying, and at his devotions morn- 
 ing, noon, and night, as every body believed, 'til 
 one summer's morning, when the ould Colonel 
 Herbert, you see, took a walk out early down to 
 the Abbey, and he thought he heard some one 
 singing the Cruskeen lawn among the tombstones. 
 
 " ' Gramachree ma Cruskeen Slan tu gal ma 
 vourneen olia mesha Cruskeen lawn lawn 
 lawn. 1 
 
 " * Hubbubbo,' says the ould colonel, f what's 
 the matter now? I never heard such diversion 
 going on in the ould Abbey afore.' So he takes 
 and steals on tiptoe like a butterfly ; and what 
 would he see before him but that ould buck of a 
 hermit, Drake, blind drunk, and he singing, like 
 a jolly-boy, the Cruskeen lawn, and a great big 
 black bottle in his hand. ' Oh you ould canting 
 vagabond,' said the colonel, 'by this and by that/ 
 swearing a powerful oath, 'you'll stay here no 
 longer blindfolding the people ; and sure 'twas 
 a decent holy man that I thought I had given 
 leave to take up his quarters in the Abbey; but 
 'tis ever and always the way, you may be sure of 
 it, the greater the saint the greater the sinner ; 
 out with you, you thief of the world,' says he, 
 * and let me never see your face again.' 
 
 " Drake had no understanding left in him, so 
 he never heeded a word the ould colonel said ; 
 but there he kept on singing the Cruskeen over 
 
78 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 and over again. So, seeing there was no use in 
 life to be talking at the ould fellow, the colonel 
 walks away with himself. But he hadn't got far, 
 when, what should he see but Jer Sullivan and 
 another man coming up the lawn to their work in 
 the garden. * Come here, boys/ says he, * I've 
 a job for ye ; here, ye must just take ould Drake, 
 the hermit, neck and heels, and lay him out/ 
 
 " ' Oh, murder, colonel dear/ says Jer, * and 
 'tisn't dead he is ? Well, then, a blessed man any 
 how is gone from among us/ 
 
 " ' Ye must lay him out/ says the colonel, ' and 
 'tis no where else but on the public road, that he 
 may have a great wake of it ; but first, you see, 
 as he looks mighty rosy about the gills, just step 
 up to the house and get a little chalk, 'til we 
 make a purty looking corpse of him/ Well, Jer 
 Sullivan ran all the way to the house, and was 
 soon back with the chalk; and, by this time, the 
 ould drunken thief of a hermit was fast asleep. 
 So the colonel takes the chalk and whitens Drake's 
 face all over completely, and 'twas Jer Sullivan 
 that clapped his hands when he saw how 'twas 
 with him ; for 'twas only the evening before, that 
 Drake had overpersuaded him to forswear whiskey 
 for a year and a day. 
 
 " Then he and the other man, sure enough, 
 took the ould boy, neck and heels, and brought 
 him down to the lodge ; and outside the gate 
 they got a big lump of a stone, ('tis there to this 
 hour, and is known by the name of Drake's Bol- 
 ster,) and they put it under his head ; and the 
 ould colonel got a cheeny plate out of the lodge, 
 and he broke it in two halves, and he put the big- 
 gest half, with three-pence-halfpenny upon it, 
 down on Drake's breast, and there he lay with his 
 
THE ABBEY. 79 
 
 white face like a corpse in earnest. 'Twasn't long 
 till the people were going by to their work ; and, 
 sure enough, every one stopped to look at the 
 corpse, as they thought, by the road-side, and to 
 give a small trifle towards the berrin, if they had 
 it ; but 'twas soon they saw 'twas only a make- 
 believe, and a sham corpse after all. 
 
 " Oh, 'twas mad angry entirely they were, one 
 and all, and they'd have murdered the vagabond 
 Drake, only he run as well as he could for his 
 life ; and whatever became of him after, or where 
 he went to, is not rightly known, but, for certain, 
 he never showed his nose again about this part 
 of the country. And that's all the story about 
 Drake, Sir." 
 
 On our return to the choir, we found a mason 
 busily employed in opening a tomb. 
 
 " Ah, then, Bill White, is that yourself; how is 
 every inch of you?" said my guide to the mason. 
 
 " Purty well, I thank you, Mr. Leahy ; and 
 how's all with you ?" 
 
 " That's a melancholy job you are at," said I. 
 
 " And so 'tis, your honour, for one Kathleen 
 Kelly, a nice young creature of a strip of a grow- 
 ing girl as you'd wish to lay your two eyes upon, 
 that took the fever. Oh, then, 'tis her mother's 
 heart that is broke completely ; and a melancholy 
 place this ould Abbey is surely, though 'twas 
 high-go-ding the ould friars used to play up here 
 formerly, they say, and a rollocking life they had 
 of it, if 'tisn't much belied they are. Them were 
 the boys that never minded making free with a 
 neighbour's sheep, now and then on a pinch. 
 Did your honour ever hear the story they tell 
 about the monks and the farmer ?" 
 
 " I've heard many queer stories about the monks," 
 said I, " but what monks do you speak of?" 
 
80 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " Why, the monks of Irrelagh, to be sure, sir/' 
 said White, " what other? That's the name of this 
 Abbey." 
 
 " What is the meaning of this name ?" said I, 
 " I thought it was called Mucruss Abbey." 
 
 " And so it is too/' said White; "but, you see, 
 the Abbey of Irrelagh means the Abbey on the 
 lake. Well, not long after, the Abbey was rebuilt 
 by one Father Thady Holen; the poor friars didn't 
 know what in the world to do for want of the vic- 
 tuals, so they all began to talk at Father Holen : 
 * It was all along of your spending all our money 
 on the building,' says they to Thady, < that we're 
 in the pucker we are this blessed day, without a 
 bit or a sup to keep body and soul together.' 
 
 " ' Whisht, ye fools,' says Thady, if I did'nt 
 make an elegant building of it, do you think the 
 people would come to mass or confession to us, 
 when they have many a better place nor this was 
 to go to ; but if ye'll only hold out for a little 
 while, I'll be bail we'll have the full of the people, 
 and then every thing will go on well enough. In 
 the mane time I'll find some way of making the pot 
 boil, and ye must all lend a hand. Can't ye go 
 to the strong farmers' wives and make much of 
 the childer, put ye're blessing upon the house, and 
 say an occasional mass, and, I'll answer for it, 
 they won't let you want for any thing.' ' We 
 will,' says they ; and away they all went except 
 one young friar, Father John they called him, and, 
 without any doubt, he was the very image of the 
 ould Father Thady Holen, as like as could be, 
 and, only that such a thing could'nt be, you'd say 
 he was the ould friar's son ; but, be that as it 
 may, it's certain they were the greatest cronies in 
 the world, and the young one always did the ould 
 one's bidding. 
 
THE ABBEY. 81 
 
 " * Come here, brother Jack/ says Thady, < I 
 want to have a bit of a talk with you. You see 
 what a way I'm in with those ungrateful hounds, 
 after building such an elegant house over their 
 heads, they can't put up with short allowance for 
 a few days ; and surely, if I don't find plenty of 
 the best for them, there'll be open murder, and 
 we'll be all done for ; so I'll tell you what I'll do, 
 if you'll only stand by me, and promise not to let 
 on to man or mortal.' 
 
 " ' Never fear me, 'says Father John, ' sure you 
 know I'd go through fire and water to serve you." 
 
 " Well," says Thady, ' well,' says he, ' I'll tell 
 you what I have in my head. There's ould Ned 
 Cronin above there has plenty of fat sheep, and I 
 can't see why we shouldn't help ourselves to a 
 couple of them, when it's for the good of the 
 church ; and sure we can give him the value of 
 them in masses for the good of his sowl, and all 
 his fathers before him ; that'll be better for him 
 than all the sheep in the world ; and sure, ex- 
 change is no robbery, they say. So, if you have 
 no objection, we'll begin this very night.' 
 
 " ' No objection in life,' says Father John ; and 
 so away they went to help themselves to ould 
 Cronin's sheep. You may be sure it wasn't the 
 worst they took ; and, when they came back, 
 there was no want of mutton in the Abbey, nor of 
 plenty of good broth ; and the other friars had got 
 lashens of meal from the farmers' wives, and 'twas 
 plenty's mothers they had once more among them. 
 
 " Poor Cronin didn't know what to do; his best 
 sheep were all going one after another, and, for 
 the life of him, he couldn't make out the thief. 
 ' Ah, then, wisha mother dear,' says he to his ould 
 mother-in-law, who sat in the chimbley corner, 
 
82 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 1 isn't it a cruel case to have all my fattest sheep 
 going this way ? sure I'll be a ruined man, so I 
 will, and be obliged to' cut and run, and give leg 
 bail for my honesty. Oh, then, if I had hould of 
 the thief I'd make a mummy of him, so I would, 
 but I can't for the life of me think of who it 
 can be/ 
 
 " e Can't you, Agra?' said the ould woman quite 
 quietly, ' can't you, Agra? why, then, I'll tell you, 
 it's those thieving beggarly monks that come prowl- 
 ing about the place, like so many foxes after a 
 flock of geese ; and, sure enough, they've hardly 
 left me a hen in the world to lay an egg to eat for 
 my supper ; the sorrow take the whole set of 
 them, say I/ 
 
 " ' Whisht ! whisht! mother dear,' says Cronin, 
 1 don't be talking of the clargy in that kind of 
 way, or you'll bring a curse on me and mine ; for 
 sure we ought to lave the clargy to God, let them 
 do what they will.' 
 
 < Well, I'll tell you what I'll do for you, my 
 child,' said the ould woman, ' and if you'll only 
 give your consent, I'll engage to find out the thief. 
 Put me in the big chest that's up on the loft, and 
 make a little hole in it for me to peep through, 
 and give me something to eat, and a drop to com- 
 fort the ould heart within me ; and take the chest 
 to the Abbey to keep, by the way you're afraid of 
 the robbers, and I'll soon know if it's the friars 
 that's taking your sheep. You can come for the 
 chest next day, pertinding you want to get some- 
 thing out of it.' 
 
 " Well, sir, Cronin being overpersuaded, did as 
 the ould woman desired him, and locked her up in 
 the chest, and took her to the Abbey. 
 
 " When the night came, the two friars as usual 
 
THE ABBEY. 83 
 
 brought in a lump of a fat sheep, and tumbled it 
 down on the floor. * We have you/ says they, ' in 
 spite of ould Cronin and all his watching.' ' Ho, 
 ho ! may be so, I think I have you now ; I knew 
 I was right, though Neddy wouldn't believe me/ 
 thought the ould woman to herself as she was 
 peeping through the hole in the box, when she saw 
 the two friars killing the sheep. Now, you must 
 know, she had a way with her of taking a power 
 of snuff when any thing fretted her, and the sight 
 of the killing the sheep vexed her so, that she 
 began to take snuff like mad ; the snuff was as 
 good snuff as ever was made by Miles Moriarty or 
 Lundy Foot himself, and it so happened that, for 
 the life of her, she couldn't help giving a thunder- 
 ing sneeze, a psha ! a psha ! ' God bless us !' 
 cried the ould woman. 
 
 " l By the thumb-nail of our blessed lady, we're 
 found out ; break open the chest at once/ roared 
 Father Thady. 
 
 " And, sure enough, they did break open the 
 chest, when what would they see but my ould 
 woman. 
 
 " ' Choke her, Jack/ whispered Thady. 
 
 " ' Ay, there she's done for now ; only stick 
 a lump of bread in her mouth, that it may look 
 "ike an accident, and fasten up the chest again.' 
 
 " ' That I mightn't/ said Father John, ' but 
 I'll be revenged of that thief of a Cronin, for giv- 
 ing us such a murdering job.' 
 
 " ' Leave it all to me/ said Thady, ' I'll manage 
 it so that we'll make a pretty penny, and throw 
 all the blame on the ould hag herself, who'll tell no 
 more stories now, that's certain.' 
 
 " The next morning Cronin came for his chest, 
 which he carried home with him, and his step- 
 G 2 
 
84 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 mother in it, safe and Sound, as he thought ; but 
 when he opened it, and found the ould woman as 
 dead as a barn-door nail, it was he was dumb- 
 foundered, sure enough. 'Och, ullagone, mo- 
 ther dear, and why did you die ?' cried he, i and 
 why wouldn't you take my advice, and not be 
 meddling with the clargy ? and there, see now if 
 you haven't brought a judgment from God upon 
 yourself for spaking ill of those holy men ? Och, 
 ullagone, and why were you so obstinate, mother 
 dear ?' But all his ullagoning was no use, it 
 wouldn't bring back the ould woman again ; so, 
 after a rattling wake, he had her buried in the 
 churchyard of the ould Abbey. 
 
 " < Now, Jack,' says Father Thady, after the 
 berrin was over, * now, Jack, I'll tell you what, 
 when the night comes on we'll take the ould 
 woman up, and put her against Cronin's door/ 
 
 " No sooner said than done ; and when Cronin 
 opened his door in the morning, the ould woman 
 fell in upon him, and he raised such a hullabaloo 
 with the fright, that he brought all the neigh- 
 bours about him in a twinkling. Well, sir, he 
 didn't know what to make of it, for he was fright- 
 ened out of his seven senses, so away he runs to 
 Father Holen to ask his advice. 
 
 " * It's a terrible thing indeed/ said the ould 
 rogue, l she must have done something that hin- 
 ders her from resting in the grave ; but I'll tell you 
 what you'll do give out a great wake, and invite 
 all the brothers to it, and get masses said for the 
 repose of her soul/ says he, at the same time hold- 
 ing open a large pocket he had in his vestment 
 for bagging rabbits. Now, Cronin understood 
 what this meant well enough, so he put some 
 money in the friar's pouch for the masses, anu 
 
THE ABBEY. 85 
 
 invited all the holy fathers to the wake, where 
 there was plenty of every thing, and they were as 
 merry as if it was a wedding. After they had eat 
 and drank enough, and said their masses, the ouid 
 woman was buried again. But my boys wasn't 
 satisfied yet, so they took her up once more, and 
 fastened her on the back of Cronin's horse, that 
 was grazing in the field ; and when he went out 
 in the gray of the morning, what should he see 
 but his ould mother riding towards him ! Away 
 he ran bellowing like a bull, and away the horse 
 trotted after him every foot of the way till he got 
 over the threshold of his own door. If he was in 
 a perplexity before, he was more so now ; and, 
 to make bad worse, the friars didn't know what 
 to say to it ; however, they advised another wake 
 and more masses, which was accordingly done, 
 and the ould woman buried again with all possible 
 speed. 
 
 " ' Now, Jack/ says Father Thady, as they 
 raised the ould lady for the third time, ' now, Jack, 
 for the master stroke of all, that'll finish the work, 
 and take all suspicion clear and clean off of us.' 
 So with that they carried the body to Cronin's 
 sheep-house, where, after killing three of the 
 sheep, they stuck her up in a corner with a bloody 
 knife in her hand. When Cronin came to let the 
 sheep out, and saw three of them lying dead, and 
 his ould mother standing with the bloody knife 
 in her hand, his anger got the better of his fright. 
 
 " ' Ah, you ould murdering vagabond !' cried 
 he, ' I see how it is now, it was yourself that 
 killed the sheep, and now you can't rest in your 
 grave, for belying the holy friars.' With that he 
 ran off and told the whole story to Father Thady, 
 who gave him absolution and promised, as he now 
 
86 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 knew the rason of her walking, he'd make her lie 
 quiet in the grave for ever after. Then the ould 
 woman was buried, and never rose again ; and 
 the story flew about the country like lightning, 
 and brought crowds to the Abbey ; for they looked 
 upon it as a miracle from God in behalf of the 
 holy fathers, who from that hour never wanted 
 for any thing, till Cromwell (bad luck to him !) 
 came and turned them, body and bones, out of 
 house and home. 
 
 " Oh, ullagone ullagone ullagone oh oh 
 oh ullagone ullagone ullagone ullagone/' 
 
 " Fakes, sir, here's the berrin coming, don't 
 you hear the cry ?' said White, as he finished his 
 story. Then pointing to an inscribed stone in 
 the wall of the Abbey " There's the stone has 
 got carved out upon it all about how Father Thady 
 Holen rebuilded the Abbey." 
 
 With some difficulty I read " <rate pro fcltci 
 atatu train* Cfjafoi f^olenti (jut fjunc sacrum conteutum, Ire 
 iiobo, reparare eurabit &nno IDomtni, 1626." 
 
 A loud shout of " Oh, ullagone ullagone 
 ullagone !" sounded close to the Abbey walls, and 
 in a few minutes the interior was filled by an 
 immense crowd. The deal coffin, simply painted 
 black, was borne by white napkins to the tomb ; 
 while the female friends of the deceased, with two 
 or three keeners, or professional mourners, loudly 
 crying, occasionally struck it in the violence of 
 their grief, or, clapping their hands together, 
 screamed in a wild and fearful manner. 
 
 After the coffin was consigned to the silent 
 torrjb, the crowd partially withdrew ; but many 
 still lingered, wailing over the graves of recently 
 lost relatives, or quietly praying beside the tombs 
 of their long-buried ancestors. It was a scene to 
 
THE ABBEY. 87 
 
 affect the mind, and excited various musings in 
 mine ; much as I had just heard monkish life 
 traduced, I was inclined to throw a veil over the 
 failings of humanity, and express my envy of 
 
 -" those monks of old, 
 
 Their book they read, and their beads they told ; 
 To human softness dead and cold, 
 
 And all life's vanity. 
 
 They dwelt like shadows on the earth, 
 Free from the penalties of birth, 
 Nor let one feeling venture forth, 
 
 But charity. 
 
 I envy them ; their cloistered hearts 
 Inew not the bitter pang that parts 
 Beings that all affection's arts 
 
 Had linked in unity. 
 
 The tomb to them was not a place 
 To drown the best-loved of their race, 
 And blot out each sweet memory's trace 
 
 In dull obscurity. 
 
 To them it was the calmest bed 
 That rests the aching human head: 
 They looked with envy on the dead, 
 
 And not with agony. 
 
 No bonds they felt, no ties they broke, 
 No music of the heart they woke, 
 When one brief moment it had spoke, 
 
 To lose it suddenly. 
 
 Peaceful they lived, peaceful they died ; 
 And those that did their fate abide 
 Saw Brothers wither by their side 
 
 In all tranquillity. 
 
 They loved not, dreamed not, for their sphere 
 Held not joy's visions ; but the tear 
 Of broken hope, of anxious fear, 
 
 Was not their misery. 
 
88 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 I envy them, those monks of old, 
 And when their statues I behold, 
 Carved in the marble, calm and cold, 
 
 How true an effigy ! 
 
 I wish my heart as calm and still 
 
 To beams that fleet, and blasts that chill, 
 
 And pangs that pay joy's spendthrift ill 
 
 With bitter usury."* 
 
 * These lines are from the pen of G. P. R. James, Esq. 
 by whose obliging permission they are here reprinted. 
 
THE WATERFALL. 89 
 
 C'HAPTER VI. 
 
 THE WATERFALL. 
 
 THE last faint cry had died away upon the breeze, 
 and the Abbey was left to its usual solitude and 
 repose, when Ned Roche, as civil a fellow as any 
 in the parish, again ushered us into the lawn. 
 
 " Roche/' said I, "I wish to visit the green 
 hills and Turk Waterfall/' 
 
 " Then, sir, you had better order Leahy to take 
 your horse to Bill Mayberry's cottage, at the cor- 
 ner of the plantation, and I will show you the way 
 over the green hills/' 
 
 This was accordingly done ; and we began to 
 ascend the hill to the south of the Abbey. It was 
 a steep green acclivity, planted with rows of the 
 bell-shaped lime and the branching chestnut, 
 while here and there a light single tree, or mas- 
 sive clump, sprung from the dark gray rock, which, 
 in picturesque forms, might be seen peeping from 
 beneath the foliage. Rising above the woods, 
 which skirted the base of this acclivity, we gained 
 the open brow of the hill, and began to enjoy the 
 prospect. 
 
 " What do you call that lake ?" said I. 
 
 " That's Lough na brach darrig, or the Lake of 
 the red trout, sir, it's right in the middle of West 
 Mucruss, near the old copper mine." 
 
90 KILLAllNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " By the bye, your copper mine may well be 
 called old ; it was worked many hundred years 
 ago, I believe." 
 
 " Oh, that's the Ross mine your honour is talk- 
 ing about/ 7 said Roche ; " they say it was worked 
 by the Danes long before the time of St. Patrick 
 himself; and, for certain, they sometimes find, 
 down in the mine entirely, the ould hammers the 
 Danes used to work with quare looking things 
 they are, like a lump of a brown paving stone." 
 
 Here Roche observed a tall broad -shouldered 
 man, with high cheek-bones, and all that national 
 peculiarity which immediately proclaims a Scotch- 
 man, coming towards us. " That's Turner, the 
 Scotch steward," whispered Roche. 
 
 " Your servant, sir," said the steward ; " ye 
 hae been casting an ee o'er thae bonnie birken 
 braes, and thae sma' fish ponds whilk thae ca' the 
 Lakes of Killarney ; the whilk, as I said to Sare 
 Walter Scott, are a' nae thing to our ain Highland 
 Lochs. Gude faith, I ne'er spared to tell him it 
 was a warld's wonner that a sensible chiel like him 
 should spen his siller in travelling sae far frae the 
 bonnie North, an' a' to glour on thae blinking 
 nievefu's o' water, when he micht hae seen muckle 
 better at name." 
 
 " And why didn't you stay in the North ?" said 
 Roche, who by no means relished the Scotchman's 
 speech ; " and why did'nt you stay in the North ? 
 faith, then, it would be a long day till we'd send 
 for you. And, if you don't like us, why don't you 
 go back, and not be running down the country in 
 that kind of way ?" 
 
 " Hoot awa', Roche, hoot awa' wi' your idle 
 havers, ye're a' a pack o 1 beggarly priest-ridden 
 loons ; and you ken ye're fain to send for the 
 
THE WATERFALL. 91 
 
 cannie lads o' Scotland, to learn ye hov/ to drive 
 the pleugh or wark your lands, of the whilk ye 
 ken as muckle as an auld aiver hosting in a smiddy. 
 And ye are, I'm jalousing, ettling at wiling the 
 siller out o 7 the gentleman's pouch wi' your bleth- 
 rins about thilk lake and thae mountains. But 
 I maun be ganging, for the gloaming shot is 
 bleezin red o'er thae western hills. Gude e'en 
 to ye, sir, but dinna gie credit to a' the clish- 
 maclavers o' that daft chiel ; he has na as muckle 
 serious sense as a hen could haud in its gowpen." 
 
 " The devil fly away with you," said Roche, 
 as he looked after him, and gave vent to his 
 anger, " the devil fly away with you; if 'twouldn't 
 vex the greatest saint that ever lived, to hear 
 those blackguard Scotchmen running down the 
 country. And don't I remember when that very 
 fellow came here, he hadn't a penny to jingle 
 against a tombstone? but, if he hadn't money, 
 may be he had the manes of making it, for sure 
 it was he could play the fiddle to parfection." 
 
 By this time we had ascended another slope, 
 whose brow was covered with a circular grove, 
 where we paused for a few minutes to rest our- 
 selves, and gaze on the scene below. Fine dark 
 woods of ash and oak formed the first distance ; 
 beyond these the Lower Lake stretched towards 
 the setting sun, its calm surface reflecting 
 the gorgeous hues of a glorious evening sky, 
 while the mountains, the islands, the shores, and 
 the woods reposed in one broad and solemn tint. 
 In the remote distance the lofty Dingle Moun- 
 tains shewed their irregular forms in the most 
 vivid purple, intermingled with clouds which 
 glowed with the brightest orange. 
 
 Descending the south-eastern slope of the hill, 
 
92 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 Tve crossed a few fields, and gained Bill May- 
 "berry's cottage, where Rooter Leahy was in attend- 
 ance with my horse, and here Roche consigned 
 me to his guidance. At this point the road 
 divides: one branch, called the old road to Ken- 
 mare, going straight up the hill between Man- 
 gerton and Turk Mountains ; and the other, called 
 the new line, keeping in the low ground, turns 
 off by a plantation of firs towards the base of 
 Turk, which, seen through the vista of a fir grove, 
 seemed to block up the passage with its woods 
 and crags. Arrived at the foot of this seeming 
 barrier, we found a small bridge thrown over a 
 mountain stream, which, issuing from a glen on 
 the left-hand side of the road, brawled most 
 musically along till lost amid the woods to the 
 right. Here we entered the glen, and traced 
 the stream upwards by a rude pathway through 
 the wood, till, suddenly emerging from the leafy 
 covert, we found an open space of rock and 
 heath, which, though in a deep hollow between 
 Turk and Mangerton, was still rising ground. 
 Before us was seen the top of the Waterfall 
 gleaming through the trees, while the space, 
 which I have mentioned, opened like a wild 
 amphitheatre cut from the surrounding woods. 
 To the left, as we advanced, the woods were 
 principally composed of larch and Scotch fir, 
 but on the right-hand side they were entirely 
 of larch, rising with feathery branches, one above 
 the other, up the almost perpendicular side of 
 Turk, from whose crags sprung an occasional 
 holly or arbutus. Looking back, as the ground 
 continued to rise, we caught a glimpse of the 
 woods beneath us, of the Middle Lake, the beau- 
 tiful peninsula of Mucruss, and part of the Lower 
 
THE WATERFALL. 93 
 
 Lake, with its northern boundary of green and 
 cultivated hills. 
 
 The stream, whose upward course we were 
 tracing, was itself an object of picturesque in- 
 terest, brawling at the bottom of a deep rent 
 between the pathway and Turk Mountain ; large 
 rocks were scattered along its course, over which 
 it sometimes fiercely rushed, flinging its foam 
 to the breeze, like the tail of a snow-white steed ; 
 sometimes it gushed through the rocky fissures, 
 and not unfrequently formed peaceful little pools, 
 which my guide informed me were sometimes so 
 clear that you might almost count the pebbles 
 at the bottom. Arrived at that point where the 
 glen became so narrow as only to leave a pas- 
 sage for the water between the opposing hills 
 we stood upon a bank, and, looking down, be- 
 held a wilderness of rocks, among which the 
 stream formed little cascades, overhung at either 
 side by the mountains with their woods and 
 evergreens; and directly in front, down the broad 
 face of a dark rock, thundered the Waterfall. 
 The fall is about eighty feet in height, and 
 was, in consequence of the heavy rain of the 
 morning, full, foaming, and magnificent. 
 
 " Ah, then, if I had but half the riches that's 
 hid in the heart of that big black rock, I'd be 
 a made man for ever and a day after," exclaimed 
 my guide, as we stood gazing upon the Water- 
 fall. 
 
 " What riches are you talking about! I don't 
 understand you," said I. 
 
 " Why, then, Fll let your honour into the 
 sacret of it," said Leahy. "You must know, sir, 
 that a long time ago, before your great-great- 
 grandfader was born, the world was full of all 
 
94 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 sorts of enchantment and bedevilment ; so that 
 a dacent man could hardly shew his nose out 
 of doors, with the good people and spirits, and 
 phookas. They ain't half so much in the world 
 now, as they was in them days : but, as I was 
 saying, it was hard for a man to shew his nose, 
 for, if a man was to vex one of them, he might 
 as well throw himself at once into the middle 
 of Poul an IfFrin. 
 
 " Just about that time, there lived at Clogh- 
 ereen, a strong farmer, by name Larry Hayes, 
 a dacent man he was, but every thing was go- 
 ing wrong in the world with him, and the more 
 was the pity ; for he was what you may call a 
 rale good fellow. But, as misfortin would have 
 it, he couldn't put a cow or sheep upon his 
 little farm, but he was sure to find them in the 
 morning all torn and smashed to bits. Poor 
 Larry was surprised what could have done him 
 so much mischief, for he didn't think there was 
 a creature in the world owed him the laste 
 grudge in life. At last he determined to watch 
 the farm for one night, though he was mighty 
 frightened at the thoughts of the good people 
 and the spirits, but seeing there was no help 
 for it, out he went at the dead hour of the 
 night. He wasn't long walking about the field, 
 when, what should he see but a man standing 
 close beside him, which took a great start out 
 of him, for he didn't know how he came there: 
 however, he gathered courage, and began to dis- 
 course the man, when, all at once, as they were 
 talking together, the man vanished away, and a 
 big wolf stood before him. It was Larry was 
 half dead at the sight; however, he blessed him- 
 self with the sign of the cross, and then his 
 
THE WATERFALL. 95 
 
 courage came again. ' In the name of God, 
 and the queen of heaven/ says he, ' who are 
 you ? and where's the man was here this minute ?' 
 With that, the wolf began to spake just like a 
 natural born christin. ' I'm the man/ says he, 
 ' I'm enchanted, and it was I that killed your 
 sheep, and I couldn't help it, but if you'll fol- 
 low me, and do my bidding, I'll make a rich 
 man of you ; you needn't be afraid, for no harm 
 shall come to you.' 
 
 " So after some consideration Larry said he 
 would, and the wolf brought him up the glen 
 here to the big black rock, where the waterfall 
 is now, there was no waterfall there then ; so 
 he opens a door in the rock, and takes Larry 
 into an illigant parlour, where he was changed 
 all at once from a wolf into a beautiful young 
 man. After giving Larry plenty of beef and mut- 
 ton and whiskey punch, he took and shewed him 
 a room full of gold, and gave him a big bag of 
 it. You may be sure it was Larry was glad to 
 get the gold, and gladder still when he was 
 tould to come for more as often as he pleased; 
 1 only/ says the enchanted man, * only don't let 
 mortal know any thing you saw to-night : if you 
 keep the sacret for seven years, you're a made 
 man, and every thing will prosper with you ; but if 
 you tell it to any one, I'll be destroyed, and so will 
 you.' ' Never fear me/ said Larry, and he made 
 the best of his way home with the bag of gold. 
 
 " All the neighbours wondered to see Larry 
 Hayes grow so rich all at once, and without any 
 rason for it ; and so did his wife Nell Flanigan, 
 she often axed him to tell her where he got the 
 gold, but all to no purpose ; so one night, she 
 followed him, and saw him go into the rock, for 
 
96 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 she was determined to satisfy her curosity. Oh, 
 the women bangs all for curosity ! Well, when 
 he came out, she taxed him with wanting to keep 
 the sacret from his own wife, and the mother of 
 his children ; and, to make a long story short, she 
 tazed him so with her leeching, that he was 
 obliged to tell her the whole story. Immediately, 
 the wolf appeared on the top of the rock, ' You're 
 done for now, Larry Hayes/ roared he in a voice 
 of thunder, that made the mountain shake again 
 and again : and then he was whipt up in a flame 
 of fire to Poul an IfTrin, on the top of Mangerton, 
 where, he no sooner plunged into the lake, than 
 the water burst a hole through the side of the 
 bowl, and, running down the mountain like 
 lightning, covered the rock with the foam of its 
 fall. Larry Hayes and his wife had enough to do 
 to get out of the way of the water; and, in a short 
 time, he became poorer than ever, till at last he 
 had to travel the country with a bag on his back, 
 like a poor Buckaugh as he was. 
 
 " From that day to this, no one has been able 
 to get at the cave full of gold ; though, the ould 
 Colonel Herbert did his best ; for, didn't he turn 
 the course of the fall ? your honour may see the 
 cut he made in the mountain. To be sure, he 
 did say, he only wanted to turn a mill with the 
 water out of the Devil's Punchbowl, and have a 
 view of the fall from his parlour windy : but, that 
 was only to blindfold the people ; for, when he 
 couldn't find the door in the rock, or the cave full 
 of gold, why, he just let the strame take its own 
 course again, fair and easy." 
 
 Night now began to close around, and obliged 
 us to hasten back to Gorham's Hotel, with all 
 possible despatch. 
 
THE WATERFALL. 97 
 
 " Good evening, Spillane," said I, as I entered 
 the Inn, "You will attend in the morning; I pro- 
 pose visiting the Gap of Dunloe; and, Gorham, 
 you'll have horses ready, and order the boat, with 
 my old crew, to meet me at the Upper Lake." 
 
 " Certainly, sare." 
 
 n 
 
98 KILLAUNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AGHADOE. 
 
 " YOICKS Yoicks Tally ho down Fan, down 
 you slut get along Pompey" roused by such 
 exclamations, I jumped from my bed, and, poking 
 my nightcap out of the window, found they pro- 
 ceeded from Gorham, who, dressed in a green 
 hunting frock, was mounted on his famous black 
 horse, which (being not a little vain of his skill) he 
 caused to curvet and prance, like the horses of 
 Phidias on the frieze of the Parthenon. And 
 then he rode from the door, followed by his dogs, 
 and the shouts of a crowd of waiters, boatmen, and 
 runners, exclaiming " Well done, Gorham ! 'tis 
 you're the line horseman, any how." 
 
 My toilet is not a very tedious operation ; my 
 breakfast was soon despatched, and, accompanied 
 by Spillane and a guide, I was about to depart for 
 the Gap, when we were delayed by a dispute, 
 which arose between Rooter Leahy and the guide 
 who was appointed to conduct me. 
 
 " Yerra, Gineral Picket, where are you going so 
 fast ?" said Rooter, " sure, 'tis myself is to go with 
 the gentleman." 
 
 " Badershin!" said Picket, "Badershin! *f you're 
 for a walk this fine morning, Rooter, you're quite 
 welcome entirely ; but, by my own sowl, that's all 
 
AGHADOE. 99 
 
 you'll get by it ; for, didn't Gorham, the dacent 
 man, tell me to bring back the horses from the 
 Gap." 
 
 " You're welcome home to me, Picket/' said 
 Rooter, "why, then, do you think to come over 
 an ould soldier in that kind of way ? don't I know 
 well enough, the dacent man never said any such 
 thing, and, if he did itself, it isn't to his saying it 
 would be left, but to the gentleman himself; sure 
 I was his honour's guide all along, and he wont 
 have any one else." 
 
 "That'll never do, says Gorham!" shouted 
 Picket, "do you take me for a fool, Rooter, to be 
 sketched in that kind of way, by a one-handed 
 pinchioner like you ; a pretty time of day we're 
 come to, indeed." 
 
 Upon this, Rooter was about to discharge his 
 wooden stump on Picket's crown, when I inter- 
 fered, and with some difficulty put an end to the 
 dispute, by deciding in Picket's favour : promis- 
 ing, however, to accept of Rooter's guidance on 
 the next occasion. 
 
 Mounting our horses, we proceeded down the 
 New-street, and, crossing the bridge, took the 
 road which leads over the hill of Bellevue. As 
 we descended the hill, we had through the woods 
 of Prospect an occasional glimpse of the Lower 
 Lake, with its islands and mountains, till we 
 reached Molly Boke's cross, where the Bellevue 
 is joined by the lower or mill road : from whence, 
 proceeding westward, we in a short time left 
 the main road, and began to ascend the hill 
 of Aghadoe, by a narrow lane or Bohereen, lead- 
 ing to the ancient ruin which crowns its summit. 
 
 The remains of the church stand at the back of 
 the burial-ground, which is covered with house- 
 H 2 
 
100 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 like tombs : behind the church, close to a gateway 
 is the base of one of those round towers, whose 
 use and origin have served to amuse and puzzle 
 the antiquary ; and in an adjoining field, to the 
 west of the burial-ground, are the remains of a 
 circular fortalice, commonly called the Bishop's 
 Chair. From the burial-ground there was a map- 
 like view of the Lower Lake and its surrounding 
 country. 
 
 Nor wanted peeping hall and castled height, 
 The bank-divided farm, the ruin brown, 
 The mazy river wandering blue and bright, 
 , Like veins on beauty's forehead straying down ; 
 The smoke calm curling from the neighbouring town, 
 Contrasting fair with wild and rugged scene, 
 Primeval mountains, nature's awful throne, 
 Vast solitudes, where seldom foot I ween, 
 Save the red-antler'd monarch of the wastes, hath been. 
 
 " A fine extensive prospect this," said I to 
 General Picket, so was my guide called. 
 
 " That's the good truth for your honour," he 
 replied; "only it's a mighty lonesome place, and 
 they say it's haunted by spirits, though Tim Marcks 
 says there's no such thing. May be your honour 
 wouldn't know Thicus Morckus; he's a long 
 stocah of a fellow, with a big nose, wears knee- 
 breeches, corderoy leggings, and takes a power of 
 snuff. And, if your honour would like to see him, 
 he lives at Corrigmalvin, at the top of High-street, 
 in the town of Killarney. To be sure, some 
 people say all that comes from Tim isn't gospel 
 but that's neither here nor there; so, as I was 
 saying, * I don't believe in spirits/ says he to me, 
 3>f a day he was mending the road here, and I 
 dong with him. 
 
 " ' The dickins you don't,' says I, ' and what's 
 your rason for that same?' 'I'll tell you that, 1 
 
AGHADOE. 101 
 
 says he ; 'it was a could frosty night in the month 
 of December, the doors were shut, and we were 
 all sitting by the side of a blazing turf fire. My 
 father was smoking his doode.eri, hi- the chiniin?y 
 corner, my mother was > overseeing the girls that 
 were tonging the flax, and -I Knd die fcther gos- 
 soons were doing nothing at all, onty roasting 
 praties in the ashes. 
 
 " ' Was the colt brought in ?' says my father. 
 ' Wisha, fakes then ! I believe not/ says I. < Why, 
 then, Tim/ says he, ' you must run and drive him 
 in directly, for it's a mortal could night/ i And 
 where is he, father?' says I. 'In the far field, at 
 the other side of the ould church/ says he. 
 * Murder !' says I, for I didn't like the thoughts 
 of going near the ould church at all, at all. But 
 there was no use in saying agen it, for my father 
 (God be merciful to him !) had us under as much 
 command as a regiment of soldiers. So away I 
 went, with a light foot and a heavy heart. Well, 
 I soon came to the bounds' ditch between the 
 farm and the berrin-ground of the ould church. 
 Then I slackened my pace a little, and kept 
 looking hither and over, for fear of being taken by 
 surprise. The moon was shining clear as day, 
 so that I could see the gray tombstones and the 
 white skulls ; when, all at once, I thought one of 
 them began to move. I could hardly believe my 
 two eyes ; but, fakes, it was true enough ; for 
 presently it came walking down the hill, quite 
 leisurely at first, then a little faster, till at last it 
 came rolling at the rate of a fox-hunt. 
 
 " ' 'Twill be stopped at the bounds' ditch/ 
 thinks I ; but I was never more out in my reckon- 
 ing, for it bowled fair through the Gap, and made 
 directly up to me. ' By the mortal frost/ says I, 
 
102 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 ' I'm done for;* and away I scampered as fast as 
 my legs could carry me ; but the skull came faster 
 after me, for I could hear every lump it gave 
 against the 'stones-. ' 
 
 " ' It's a long stretch of a hill from the berrin- 
 gFO'iin/1 rlo'wn to the road ; but you'd think I 
 wasn't longer g'e'cimg down, than whilst you'd be 
 saying ' Jack Robinson/ Sure enough I did 
 make great haste ; but if I did, * the more haste 
 the worst speed,' they say, and so by me any how, 
 for I went souse up to iny neck in a dirty Lochaune 
 by the side of the road. Well, when I recovered 
 ^ little, what would I see but the skull at the 
 edge of the Lochaune, stuck fast in a furze bush, 
 and grinning down at me. 
 
 " ' Oh, you're there,' says I ; I'll have one rap 
 at you any how, for worse than die I can't ;' so I 
 up with a lump of a black-thorn I had in my fist, 
 and gives it a rap, when what should it be, after 
 all, but a huge rat, which had got into the skull, 
 and, trying to get out again, it made it to roll 
 down the hill in that frightful way. ' To be sure/ 
 said Tim, * to be sure it was mighty frightful, but 
 it wasn't a ghost after all ; and, indeed, (barring 
 that,) I never saw any thing worse than myself, 
 though we lived for a long time near theould church 
 of Aghadoe.' " 
 
 " Very well, Picket," said Spillane, " so you 
 don't believe in spirits ; but what do you say to 
 the ghost of the Nut-cracker?" 
 
 " And who was this Nut-cracker?" said I. 
 
 " I'll tell you all about him, sir," replied Spil- 
 lane, " but, in the mean time, we had better move 
 on towards the Gap." 
 
 Accordingly we pursued a road which led along 
 the brow of the hill, till we reached the gate of 
 
AGHADOE. 103 
 
 Mieniska Cottage, then, turning down the hill, 
 we regained the great road at a place called 
 Mieniska Cross. " Well, but what about the 
 Nut-cracker, Spillane ? " said I, as we passed 
 by Fussa Chapel, and pursued our way between 
 the woods and orchards which skirted this part of 
 the road. 
 
 " Not far from Killarney, sir," said Spillane, 
 " there once lived a poor man, whose name was 
 Paddy Byrne. He was by trade what is called a 
 hedge-schoolmaster, because in the summer time 
 he preferred teaching his scholars in the clear 
 open air, to confining them within his small cabin. 
 He is the very same Paddy Byrne of whom Mr. 
 Gandsay sings : 
 
 " Mister Byrne was a man 
 
 Of very great big knowledge, sir, 
 And behind a quickset hedge, 
 
 In a bog, he kept his college, sir, 
 He taught ' Reynard, the sly fox,' 
 
 Ay, and more he had to brag on 
 The < Irish rogues and rapparees' 
 * Saint George, sir, and the dragon.' ' 
 
 Such a one was Paddy Byrne, who kept his 
 academy by the side of Lochaune bower, under 
 the hill of Aghadoe. The place is well known; 
 and any one will point out Lochaune bower, or 
 the deaf pool, so called because it is said that if 
 two people were to stand at opposite sides of the 
 pool, they would not be able to hear each other, 
 though they should call ever so loudly." 
 
 " Did you ever try the effect of your bugle 
 there, Spillane ? " 
 
 "No, I can't say that I ever did, sir, for 'tis 
 a small muddy pool by the road-side ; the country 
 people are afraid to pass it late at night, as it is 
 supposed to be enchanted, and is said to be 
 
104 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 haunted by the figure of a lady dressed all in 
 white." 
 
 " I can tell you, Spillane, what happened to 
 an English friend of mine at the deaf pool, not 
 many years ago. He was accompanied by a Kil- 
 larney gentleman, who pointed out the little pond 
 to his notice, and at the same time related the 
 tradition you have just mentioned as the origin of 
 its name. ' 1 am obliged/ said my incredulous 
 friend, ' to receive as truth many of the marvellous 
 stories which are told me respecting these beauti- 
 ful Lakes, because I cannot disprove them; but 
 the extraordinary tale you have related, of two 
 persons not being able to hear each other at a dis- 
 tance of less than a hundred yards, if they were to 
 speak even in an ordinary tone, to put shouting 
 out of the question, is really too ridiculous, when 
 no other natural cause exists, than a pond of 
 muddy water between them, to intercept the sound/ 
 ' The experiment is soon tried/ said the Killar- 
 ney gentleman, evidently not much pleased at the 
 veracity of a legend of the Lakes being called in 
 question. ' Take your station here, and I will go 
 round to the other side of the pool, and call to you.' 
 He did so, at least he moved his lips, and per- 
 formed all the gestures of a person, at first speak- 
 ing, and then shouting, but although it was a still 
 summer's morning, no sound whatever reached my 
 friend : who, on shouting in return, was answered 
 only by gestures expressive of his efforts to make 
 himself heard being ineffectual. And thus ended 
 his experiment. But, Spillane, as I am come pre- 
 pared to give full credence to all that is told me, 
 I will not require you to put the deaf pool to the 
 test ; and will, therefore, thank you to resume your 
 story about the Nut-cracker/' 
 
AGHADOE. 105 
 
 " Well, sir, Paddy Byrne not only possessed 
 the peculiarities common to his class, but had also 
 many little oddities of his own : he was a grave, 
 thickset, little man, with immense bushy eyebrows 
 and a lame step, so that when he attempted to 
 walk, it was with a one-two-three hoppish kind of 
 motion : and then he was so very fond of nuts, 
 which he was continually cracking, that he was 
 universally nick-named the Nut-cracker. It 
 chanced, however, one fine day in the nutting 
 season, that Paddy met with his fate. He had 
 gone to Philequilla Point, in Ross Island, in 
 order to lay in a store of this favourite article (for 
 Philequilla is famous for nuts,) w r hen unfortu- 
 nately, just as his bag was full, he was tempted to 
 the edge of a rock, by a fine brown glossy bunch. 
 Holding by a branch, and stretching at the nuts, 
 the faithless branch gave way, and down went 
 Paddy. 
 
 " Sorely was he bruised and battered by the 
 fall ; and in this condition he was discovered by 
 some woodmen, who procured immediate assist- 
 ance, and carried him home, not forgetting the 
 bag of nuts which was the cause of his misfortune. 
 To make a long story short, poor Paddy died, 
 leaving particular directions that the bag of nuts 
 should be placed on his coffin in the tomb. A 
 fine funeral he had ; and after seeing Paddy and 
 his bag quietly deposited together, the people as 
 usual returned to their respective homes. 
 
 " Among the neighbours who went to the fune- 
 ral was Tim Murphy, a strong farmer, who lived 
 at no great distance from the ruined church of 
 Aghadoe, where we have just been, sir, and in 
 whose house there was gathered (as usual) at 
 night a knot of people, labourers and others, who 
 
106 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 were amusing themselves as they sat round the 
 hearth, by talking over the various news of the 
 day. Among other things, the curious whim of 
 Paddy Byrne was mentioned, in ordering the bag 
 of nuts to be placed on his coffin, and buried with 
 him ; and this, of course, brought on many stories 
 of ghosts and apparitions which had been seen at 
 the old church. ' I don't believe a word about 
 such things/ said Sheehy, who had been for some 
 time a quiet listener, ( I don't believe in ghosts at 
 all ; and I'll bet a half-pint with any of ye, that 
 I'll go to Paddy Byrne's tomb this very night, and 
 bring away his bag of nuts/ 
 
 " ' Done/ said Tim Murphy, ' it's a bargain/ 
 And done, said Jack, as he left the house and 
 made the best of his way to Aghadoe church- 
 yard. 
 
 " Though the moon was up, it was a foggy 
 night, so that Jack could scarcely see a dozen 
 yards before him, as he walked whistling along 
 the bohereen or little road we came, which winds 
 up the hill of Aghadoe and passes through the 
 old grave-yard. Scarcely had he got there, when 
 he heard a footstep trotting before him. ' Who 
 goes there ?' said Jack. 
 
 " ' Is that Jack Sheehy V answered a voice 
 which he knew to be Bill Eaton's. 
 
 " ' The very same/ answered Jack, * and at 
 your service. But where would you be going 
 this time of night ? I suppose you're on a bit 
 of a spree, eh ! Billy ?' 
 
 " < Why, then, it's the very thing I'd be after, 
 said Billy ; ' and if you'll lend a hand you'rt 
 welcome ; a bit of a stray sheep is no bad thing 
 in a poor man's way; and Shaune an Uckrus 
 has a few fat ones up yonder there : besides, 
 
AGHADOE. 107 
 
 where's the harm in taking it from the likes 
 of him ? and nobody'll be the wiser of it but 
 ourselves/ 
 
 " ' By de Hokey, an 'tis I that will/ said Jack; 
 ' for sure it was all along of him that I and my 
 poor little bit of a family was turned out of our 
 snug cabin and praty garden. I know well enough 
 he wanted it for a poor relation of his own ; for 
 the never a dacent fellow he has belonging to 
 him, though he sets up for a gentleman, with his 
 ' dis' and his i dat' and his big words, that no one 
 can make out the understanding of. Oh, 'tis he, 
 and the likes of him, is after destroying the 
 country with his bad advices to the ould ancient 
 gentlemen; driving the poor people, and count- 
 ing the very eggs on them. 
 
 " ' Tis the good truth for you/ says Bill ; < but 
 may a body just have the bouldness to ax where 
 you was going yourself, Jack ; sure it wasn't on a 
 spree you was, like myself?' 
 
 " i Indeed, then, it wasn't/ said Jack : and 
 then he told him all about Paddy Byrne, the 
 bag of nuts, and the wager. 
 
 " < Well, then/ said Bill, ' do you stay here 
 and get the bag of nuts, while I go for the mut- 
 ton :' so away he went. Left to himself, Jack 
 Sheehy made direct to Paddy Byrne's tomb, and, 
 removing the stone from its mouth easily enough, 
 for there was no mortar ready to close it up, pos- 
 sessed himself of the bag of nuts. And, as he 
 had promised to wait for Billy and the sheep, he 
 thought it no harm in the meantime to crack a 
 few. Now it happened that there was a little boy 
 herding cows in the next field to the grave-yard, 
 who, when he heard the cracking of the nuts go- 
 ing on, didn't know what to make of it ; so he 
 
108 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 had the courage to steal softly along the ditch, 
 'till he came opposite the place where he heard 
 the work, and there, half seen through the fog, he 
 perceived the figure of a man sitting on Paddy 
 Byrne's tomb, with a bag in his hand. 
 
 " The little boy immediately concluded it to be 
 no other than Paddy Byrne himself; so away he 
 ran, in a great fright, to tell his master, who lived 
 within a few fields of the place. Mick Finegane 
 was his master's name, and, when he heard the 
 little boy's story, he did not feel a bit inclined to 
 venture out to look at Paddy Byrne's ghost ; but 
 his old bedridden mother-in-law, who lay in a 
 little room on one side of the chimney, heard also 
 what the boy said. 
 
 " A whimsical old hag she was, and used often 
 to annoy Mick with her fancies ; but Mick bore them 
 all patiently enough, for she had a good purse in 
 the toe of an old stocking, and Mick, (like a pru- 
 dent man, had an eye to the main chance. But 
 of all the whims she ever took into her head, her 
 present one was the oddest, and the most annoy- 
 ing to poor Mick ; for, calling him to the bedside, 
 she vowed never to leave him as much as a penny 
 piece, if he didn't take her on his back to the old 
 grave-yard, to see Paddy Byrne's ghost. What 
 her motive was is more than I can tell ; but, I 
 suppose, as she was a woman, it must have been 
 curiosity. Now, though Mick had no great good- 
 will towards the lady's freak, yet he thought it 
 a pity to lose the purse after waiting for it so long. 
 
 " So, taking her on his back, with many an 
 inward curse, away he went. But when he arrived 
 at the grave-yard, and heard the cracking of the 
 nuts going on, horror almost overpowered all other 
 feelings. 
 
AGHADOE. 109 
 
 " ' Is she fat ?' said Jack Sheehy, who was still 
 seated on the tomb, and, in the dim light, very 
 naturally mistook Mick and his mother for Bill 
 Eaton and the sheep, ' is she fat ?' This was too 
 much entirely for Mick's nerves ; so, throwing the 
 old woman down, he roared out, ' fat or lean, 
 there's she for you, Mister Byrne/ And away he 
 scampered as fast as his legs could carry him. 
 What became of the old woman I never heard, or 
 whether, after this, Jack waited for his share of the 
 mutton, is more than I can say : but 'tis certain 
 he won his wager ; for the next morning it was 
 reported all over Killarney, that Paddy Byrne was 
 seen cracking his nuts in the grave-yard ; and, to 
 this day, many people believe that the ghost of 
 the Nut-cracker still appears in the old church- 
 yard, on the hill of Aghadoe." 
 
110 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE GAP. 
 
 " THERE'S the green gates of O'Connell, sir/* 
 said Spillane, as we passed the entrance to 
 Grenagh. 
 
 " The patriotic colour truly these O'Connells 
 seem to be great fellows in this part of the 
 world." 
 
 " Great ! and why wouldn't they be great ?" 
 interposed Picket, " ar'n't they the ould ancient 
 stock ? and isn't James O'Connell married to the 
 Madam's daughter* down at Lakefield there ? and 
 isn't the Counsellor doing great good for ould 
 Ireland ? sure he'll make the nation our own yet, 
 and bring back the parlimint in spite of govern- 
 ment, though that same government is a strong 
 man, they say. And isn't John O'Connell, of 
 Grenagh here, a great sportsman, and a justice 
 of the pace ; and doesn't he keep the hounds, and 
 give the stag-hunts, and traverse the roads, and see 
 the whole county justified at the 'sizes ? Sure 'tis 
 they that ought to be great, and why wouldn't 
 they ?" 
 
 * Speaking of Charles (VDonoghue, Esq. the present 
 representative of the ancient chiefs of Glanflesk, Mr. 
 Wright, in his Guide Book, says. " his mother, who 
 resides in the village of Killarney, is universally distin- 
 guished by the appellation of i The Madam/ as a mark of 
 respect to the matron of the family." p. 18. 
 
THE GAP. Ill 
 
 Shortly after passing the green gates of O'Con- 
 nell, we came to Laun, or, as it is sometimes 
 called, Beaufort Bridge. The morning sun illu- 
 minated the fantastic points of Macgillicuddy's 
 Reeks, and the broad heathy side of the gigantic 
 Toomies, while the noble river Laun, checquered 
 with a beautiful interchange of light and shadow, 
 not far from where it emerges out of the Lower 
 Lake, swept by the darkening woods of Beaufort, 
 which descended to its bank, and passed, rapid, 
 broad, and full, beneath the bridge of many arches, 
 on which I paused to contemplate the scene. 
 
 " What a lovely landscape how beautiful is 
 this river!" I exclaimed aloud, forgetful at the 
 moment of the presence of others, till roused from 
 my reverie by the sound of a female voice. 
 
 " Why, then, that's no more than the good 
 truth your honour has said. Tis a beautiful river 
 sure enough, God bless it ; and sure one ought 
 always to say God bless it, or may be it would be 
 as bad with them as it was with the ould hermit 
 that lived here long ago." 
 
 I turned to gaze on the speaker she was a tall 
 elderly woman ; her head was covered by a white 
 handkerchief, the ends of which passed round her 
 neck, and tied behind ; from beneath this covering 
 some stray grisly locks escaped, and hung in wild 
 disorder on her high and wrinkled forehead. She 
 wore a green quilted gown and check apron, and 
 on her shoulders was a large showy cotton shawl ; 
 black worsted stockings, and a pair of brogues, 
 completed her attire. Over her right arm was 
 thrown a blue frieze cloak, decorated by a massive 
 silver clasp, and on her left she carried a basket 
 of gingerbread, with which, I soon learned, she 
 was proceeding to the fair of Killoroglin. 
 
112 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 The brown and weather-beaten face of this 
 woman, her long hooked nose, ajid expressive 
 black eyes, seemed perfectly familiar to me, and 
 yet I could not recollect where I had before 
 seen her. 
 
 " Ah, then, sir," said she, " 'twas what your 
 good honour, may the Lord reward you for the 
 same, gave me on Monday evening last, up at 
 Clough na Cuddy, that helped me to buy this 
 small trifle of gingerbread that's in the basket." 
 
 This speech completed my recognition of the 
 speaker. " Well, my good woman," said 1, " as 
 we are travelling the same road, and you seem to 
 be acquainted with the old stories of the place, 
 I should be glad to hear about the hermit you 
 were speaking of, if you have no objection." 
 
 " Wisha, then, no objection in life, your 
 honour," replied my companion : " Why would 
 I ? for sure it isn't for the likes of me, to say 
 agin a jintleman." And, without further preface , 
 she proceeded. 
 
 " Your honour then must know, that in the 
 good ould times the country was full of holy men, 
 hermits, and friars, who did nothin at all, but pray 
 day and night ; and their prayers brought a blessin 
 on the country, not to speak of the salvation of 
 their own sowls. But the holiest of all the blessed 
 men of those times was the hermit of Sgarrive a 
 Kuilleen ; for Sgarrive a Kuilleen is the name of 
 the bridge we were standing on a little while ago, 
 and the English of it is Holly Ford ; for in those 
 days there were no bridges at all, and the people 
 were content to walk bare-foot through the water, 
 whenever it came in their way. But if they hadn't 
 bridges, they had plenty of holy men, and plenti- 
 ful times, and good honest hearts ; which is more 
 
THE GAP. ]f 3 
 
 than can be said for the people in our days ; 
 though, to be sure, they're a great deal cliverer 
 with their inventions, and all that; but the simple 
 ould folks were the best of all. 
 
 " Well, your honour, as I was sayin, the hermit 
 of Sgarrive a Kuilleen was a blessed man, and he 
 lived in a little hut on the banks of the river, not 
 far from the ford, where the bridge is now ; and 
 there was a great resort of people from far and 
 near to him, to get gospels and orations, and be 
 cured of all sorts of sickness and blasts from the 
 good "people : for he was a very holy man, and in 
 such favour with God, that he was fed by the 
 blessed angels, who brought him bread from 
 heaven. 
 
 " Well, your honour, that was all well and 
 good, till one stormy night he happened, as bad 
 luck would have it, to be looking out of his hut. 
 * Tis a desperate night/ says he/ and never a 
 word more ; for he was very sleepy, and so he 
 forgot to say ' Glory be to God/ which was a 
 greater sin for him, than the killing of a man 
 would be in the likes of us. But, if he forgot to 
 say Glory be to God, the angels forgot to bring 
 him any bread in the morning. So that he was 
 very sorrowful, for he knew that he must have done 
 somethin wrong; though, for the life of him, he 
 couldn't recollect what it was. At last, he bethought 
 himself of how he looked out at the storm, and 
 that he said it was a desperate night, without 
 saying Glory be to God ; and, so when he thought 
 of this, and what a mortal sin it was for him, 
 that was reckoned such a holy man, he got quite 
 in despair, and began to think what penance he 
 should do for his sin. At last, he caught hould 
 of a holly stick, which, he used to carry in his 
 I 
 
114 KILLARKEY LEGENDS. 
 
 hand, whenever he went out to walk, and away 
 he ran, like mad, down into the middle of the 
 river, and planted his stick in it, and made a vow 
 never to lave that spot, till his stick should begin 
 to grow. 
 
 " Well, sir, he wasn't there long, till a noted 
 thief came driving some cattle over the ford, and 
 he wondered to see the hermit standing in the 
 river, before him. So, he just made bould to 
 ax him, what in the world he was doing there? 
 so with that, the hermit up and tould him, how 
 he was looking out at the storm, and ho v w he 
 said it was a desperate night, and how he for- 
 got to say, Glory be to God, and how he made 
 a vow never to lave that spot, till his holly stick 
 would begin to grow. 
 
 " When the thief heard the whole story, just 
 as it happened, he was struck with a great sor- 
 row for his sins ; for he thought, if it was so bad 
 with such a holy man, it must be a great deal 
 worse with himself: so he resolved to make res- 
 titution of all he ever stole ; and, determining to 
 follow the hermit's example, he cut a holly stick, 
 and ran into the river alongside of him, and made 
 a vow never to stir till the stick would begin 
 to grow. 
 
 " Well, your honour, if he went into the water, 
 he wasn't there long ; for sure enough, his stick 
 began to grow in a minute, and send out the most 
 beautiful green sprouts ; and so he knew that his 
 sins were forgiven, and went up out of the water 
 with a heart as light as a feather. But, if it was 
 easy with him, it wasn't so with the hermit ; for 
 he was thinking more of the bread from heaven, 
 and the loss of his character with the people, than 
 he was of his sin ; till at last, a big flood came in 
 
THE GAP. 115 
 
 the river, and then he was sorry for his sin in good 
 earnest ; and so he was forgiven, for his stick be- 
 gan to grow ; but that didn't prevent the flood 
 from whipping him away, and so he was drownded. 
 But, if he was, it was the happy death for him ; 
 for the thief, that was standing on the bank, heard 
 the most beautiful music, and saw something white 
 going up into the sky; which, without doubt, 
 was the holy angels carrying the hermit's sowl to 
 heaven. And so, your honour, the place is known 
 ever since, by the name of Sgarrive a Kuilleen, 
 and I never passes it, without saying (as a good 
 right I have) God bless it, or, Glory be to God." 
 
 Such is the legend of Sgarrive a Kuilleen,* as 
 told by the old woman, with whom I parted at 
 the cross leading to Killoroglin, after thanking her 
 for the story, and gladdening her heart by another 
 small gift. 
 
 " There are some verses, sir," said Spillane, 
 " about a Killarney Hermit ; composed to an 
 old Irish air, by the Right Honourable George 
 Ogle. Although I can't take upon me to say, 
 whether it was the hermit of Sgarrive a Kuilleen, 
 or not." 
 
 " What, the Ogle who wrote the song of ' Molly 
 Asthore V 
 
 1 As down by Banna's banks I stray'd 
 One evening in the spring ' 
 
 If you recollect the verses of which you have 
 spoken, Spillane, I should be obliged by your 
 repeating them for me." 
 
 " I think I do, sir, and, moreover, three or four 
 additional verses by Mr. Ogle, which have not 
 been printed. 
 
 * Sgarbh, a Ford, and Cuileam, the Holly-tree. 
 i2 
 
116 KILL ARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " As on Killarney's bank I stood, near to her crystal wave, 
 I saw a holy hermit retired within his cave : 
 His eyes he often turn'd to heaven, and thus exclaimed he : 
 Adieu, adieu, thou faithless world thou wert not made 
 for me, 
 
 " His bed was strew'd with rushes, which grew along the 
 
 shore, 
 
 And o'er his limbs emaciate, a sackcloth shirt he wore ; 
 His hoary beard and matted hair, hung listless to his knee : 
 Adieu, adieu, thou faithless world thou wert not made 
 
 for me. 
 
 " I thought his heart had broken, so heavy were his sighs, 
 I thought his tears had dried up the fountains of his eyes, 
 Oh 'twas a grievous thing to hear, a piteous sight to see : 
 Adieu, adieu, thou faithless world thou wert not made 
 for niOi 
 
 " His sorrows pierced my bosom, in all I took my share, 
 My sighs his sighs re-echoed, I gave him tear for tear ; 
 I had no comfort left to give, it might intrusive be : 
 Adieu, adieu, thou faithless world thou wert not made 
 for me. 
 
 " Awhile he ceased his mourning, and looked in thought 
 
 profound, 
 
 But anguish soon returning, he started from the ground ; 
 With feeble rage he smote his breast, and thus exclaimed he : 
 Adieu, adieu, thou faithless world thou wert not made 
 
 for me. 
 
 " How weak are foolish mortals, who sigh for pomp and 
 
 state, 
 
 They little know the dangers, that on high station wait ; 
 They little know the various ills, that follow high degree : 
 Adieu, adieu, thou faithless world thou wert not made 
 
 for me, 
 
 " Ambition's but a bubble, a circle in the sea, 
 Extending o'er the surface, and ne'er can ended be ; 
 Till in itself, itself is lost, the breath of vanity : 
 Adieu, adieu, thou faithless world thou wert not made 
 for me. 
 
THE GAP. 117 
 
 c Why did I trust to honour, I reckoned by my own ? 
 Why did I trust to virtue, when she to heaven was flown ? 
 Alas ! too late, I now lament my fond credulity : 
 Adieu, adieu, thou faithless world thou wert not made 
 for me. 
 
 *' I thought that there was friendship, but that's a gem 
 
 most rare ; 
 
 I thought that love was sacred, and beauty was sincere ; 
 But these are visions all like dreams, which with the 
 
 morning flee : 
 Adieu, adieu, thou faithless world thou wert not made 
 
 for me. 
 
 " Oh, had I been a shepherd upon the mountain's brow, 
 I ne'er had known those feelings, which I experience now ; 
 My flocks had been my only care, from every other free : 
 Adieu, adieu, thou faithless world thou wert not made 
 for me. 
 
 " Those toils will soon be over, my pilgrimage is past ; 
 The gates of heaven are open'd, redemption smiles at 
 
 last; 
 
 May all my enemies be blest, my wrongs forgiven be : 
 Adieu, adieu, thou faithless world thou wert not made 
 
 for me. 
 
 " He laid him down upon his bed, the threads of life were 
 
 broke, 
 His eyes seemed closed in death's dim shade, I thought 
 
 he ne'er had spoke ; 
 
 Again, with faltering voice he said, 'twas life's last agony, 
 Adieu, adieu, thou faithless world thou wert not made 
 
 for me." 
 
 " Thank you, Spillane yours must be an ex- 
 cellent memory; but all old ballads, or, even their 
 modern imitations, sink deeply into the heart. 
 
 " Pray, who does Beaufort belong to ?" said I, 
 as we journeyed en towards the Gap. 
 
 " Why, then/' replied Picket, " the right owner 
 is Mr. Day, only he sould it to Parson Mulling, 
 
118 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 Lord Ventry's brother, and left the country, 
 because the priest wouldn't let the childer go to 
 his school, and larn to read the protestant bible. 
 Sorry enough the people was, when he went away ; 
 for he was a good gentleman, only he had no 
 bisness to meddle with their religion ; and sure 
 the priest had no less than rason at his side, for 
 wasn't he bound to keep the craturs in the right 
 way. But see, your honour, there's Dunloh 
 Castle, and John O'Connell's house opposite it> 
 at the other side of the river." 
 
 Dunloh Castle is about a mile from the Lake, 
 seated on a steep bank, rising immediately above 
 the river, which forms some beautiful pools shaded 
 by fine trees. This bank is closely covered with 
 wood, and the meadows which surround it are 
 also richly wooded. The castle commands a 
 noble view of the Lower Lake, and of the singular 
 pass, called the Gap of Dunloh, of the lofty and 
 pointed Reeks, and of the still more lofty and 
 pointed Gheran Tuel.* 
 
 From Dunloh Castle we proceeded to the Gap, 
 a deep, narrow, wild, and irregular valley between 
 the Reeks and the Purple Mountain. The want 
 of correspondence in the sides of this Gap is very 
 striking, and it is the abode of several small lakes. 
 The Purple Mountain is very lofty, though inferior 
 to the Reeks. Weld has said, that the hue from 
 which it receives its name, arises from a plant, 
 
 * Or Carran Tual, i. e. according to Mr. Wright, " the 
 inverted reaping-hook, which the outline of the summit 
 strongly resembles." Wright states, that " the late mea- 
 surements of Mr. Nimmo (Mr. Porter, I believe, he should 
 have said) have shown Carran Tual to be three thousand 
 four hundred and ten feet above the level of the sea, while 
 Mangerton (formerly considered the higher) is only two 
 thousand five hundred and fifty." 
 
THE GAP. 119 
 
 with which it is covered ; but this assertion appears 
 founded in mistake, as the colour is entirely owing 
 to a purple stratum of slaty rock, whose shivered 
 fragments cover the upper parts of the mountain. 
 Glena and Toomies are branches of this mountain ; 
 and the former is more particularly remark- 
 able, for what, in some degree, characterizes the 
 whole mountain namely, the lap-like form of 
 its parts. Glena, when viewed from the lake, 
 exhibits a series of concave lines from top to 
 bottom. 
 
 Some of the crags in the Gap are very lofty, 
 and almost perpendicular; and the whole is an 
 exceedingly romantic scene. 
 
 TootytooteTootytoo 16" 
 
 " A tolerable echo that, Spillane ; Hark! how 
 it rings through the mountains ! What a wild 
 spot this dark lake, with its surrounding hills ! 
 See, how its black waves roll against the shore, 
 and break upon the rocks with an angry growl. 
 It seems the very abode of melancholy; and I 
 should not wonder, if there was some wild story 
 connected with the place." 
 
 " By the bye, sir," said Spillane, " I believe 
 there is a story, something about a great serpent, 
 I think do you know any thing of it, Picket ?" 
 
 " The serpent, is it ?" said Picket, in reply. 
 " Sure, every body has hard tell of the blessed 
 Saint Patrick, and how he druve the sarpints and 
 all manner of venemous things out of Ireland. 
 How he * bothered all the varmint/ entirely. But 
 for all that, there was one ould sarpint left, who 
 was too cunning to be talked out of the country, 
 and made to drown himself. Saint Patrick didn't 
 well know how to manage this fellow, who was 
 doing great havoc ; till, at long last he bethought 
 
120 KILLARNEY LEGEND^ 
 
 himself, and got a strong iron chest made, with 
 nine boults upon it. 
 
 "So, one fine morning, he takes a walk to 
 where the sarpint used to keep ; and the sarpint, 
 who didn't like the saint in the least, and small 
 blame to him for that, began to hiss and show 
 his teeth at him like any thing. ' Oh/ says* 
 Saint Patrick, says he, * where's the use of making 
 such a piece of work, about a gentleman like my- 
 self coming to see you. 'Tis a nice house I have 
 got made for you, agin the winter ; for I'm going 
 to civilize the whole country, man and beast/ 
 says he, ' and you can come and look at it when- 
 ever you please, and 'tis myself will be glad to 
 see you/ 
 
 " The sarpint hearing such smooth words, 
 thought that though Saint Patrick had druve all 
 the rest of the sarpints into the- sea, he meant no 
 harm to himself; so the sarpint walks fair and 
 easy up to see him, and the house he was speaking 
 about. But when the sarpint saw the nine great 
 boults upon the chest, he thought he was sould, 
 (betrayed,) and was for making off with himself 
 as fast as ever he could. 
 
 " ' 'Tis a nice warm house, you see/ says 
 Saint Patrick, ' and 'tis a good friend I am to 
 you/ 
 
 " * I thank you kindly, Saint Patrick, for your 
 civility/ says the sarpint, * but I think it's too 
 small it is for me' meaning it for an excuse, and 
 away he was going. 
 
 " ( Too small!' says Saint Patrick, 'stop, if 
 you please/ says he, ' you're out in that, my boy, 
 any how I am sure 'twill fit you completely ; 
 and, I'll tell you what/ says he, ' I'll bet you a 
 gallon of porter/ says he, * that if you'll only 
 
THE GAP. 121 
 
 try and get in, there'll be plenty of room for 
 you.' 
 
 " The sarpint was as thirsty as could be with 
 his walk, and 'twas great joy to him the thoughts 
 of doing Saint Patrick out of the gallon of porter; 
 so, swelling himself up as big as he could, in he 
 got to the chest, all but a little bit of his tail. 
 * There, now,' says he, ' I've won the gallon, for 
 you see the house is too small for me, for I can't 
 get in my tail/ When, what does Saint Patrick 
 do, but he comes behind the great heavy lid of 
 the chest, and, putting his two hands to it, down 
 he slaps it, with a bang like thunder. When the 
 rogue of a sarpint saw the lid coming down, in 
 went his tail, like a shot, for fear of being whipped 
 off him, and Saint Patrick began at once to boult 
 the nine iron boults. 
 
 " * Oh, murder! won't you let me out, 
 Saint Patrick?' says the sarpint ' I've lost the 
 bet fairly; and I'll pay you the gallon like a 
 man/ 
 
 " * Let you out, my darling/ says Saint 
 Patrick, ' to be sure I will by all manner of 
 means but, you see, I haven't time now, so you 
 must wait till to-morrow/ And so he took the 
 iron chest, with the sarpint in it, and pitches it 
 into the lake here, where it is to this hour for 
 certain; and 'tis the sarpint struggling down 
 at the bottom that makes the waves upon it. 
 Many is the living man," continued Picket, 
 " besides myself, has hard the sarpint crying out, 
 from within the chest under the water, ' Is it 
 to-morrow yet ? Is it to-morrow yet ?' which, 
 to be sure, it never can be : and that's the 
 way Saint Patrick settled the last of the sar pints, 
 
122 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " Bless me, what a road ! why it's nothing but 
 a heap of loose rocks ! " 
 
 " Yes, sir, as far as this a jingle can come/' 
 said Spillane they have a song in the town about 
 a party coming through the Gap, but I don't know 
 it all/' 
 
 " Well, let me hear what you do know." 
 
 And Spillane commenced : 
 
 " We set off from Killarney one bright sunny morn, 
 With clouds on the mountain that threatened a storm ; 
 In a jingle we go to the Gap of Dunloh, 
 And sometimes drive fast, and sometimes drive slow, 
 
 Singing high row, riot, and wont you be quiet ? 
 
 And can't you sit easy just like a daisy fair and easy ? 
 
 " For the road was not always quite equable there, 
 But sometimes it was rough, and sometimes it was fair ; 
 And the horse he was lame, and the vehicle bad, 
 And the driver a fool, and the passengers mad. 
 
 Singing high row, riot, and won't you be quiet ? 
 
 And can't you sit easy just like a daisy fair and easy ? 
 
 " That's all I can remember, sir." 
 
 " This is really fearful the pass is so narrow, 
 and the mountains look as if they were ready to 
 crush us. I wish we were fairly through; it would 
 be no joke to have the rock where that thought- 
 less goat is cutting a caper fall upon us. Picket, 
 can you tell me who made this road ? " 
 
 " Ah, then, who would it be but myself and the 
 gray major that lives at Dunloh Castle ; for sure 
 'twas he got the presintment, and myself broke 
 the stones, and as a nate jantleman he is, 
 surely, as any in the county 'tis he that keeps 
 the good house, and 'tis he can make the fine 
 speech, for which rason they calls him Tongue 
 Arrigud, which manes the Silver Tongue." 
 
 When clear of the Gap, we began to descend ; 
 
THE GAP. 123 
 
 and Picket conducted me to a little bank on the 
 mountain's side, from whence there is a splendid 
 prospect. The Upper Lake, with all its woods and 
 mountains to the left; immediately beneath, Lord 
 Brandon's demesne, with its round tower peeping 
 above the surrounding trees; and to the right, 
 Cowm Duve or the Black Valley, a deep hollow in 
 the Reeks, with a dark lake at its extremity, and 
 the wall -like mountain, towering above it to an 
 immense height. 
 
 For here, amid his Alpine solitude, 
 The spirit of the mountain sits sublime : 
 
 His arm a cataract, his foot a flood. 
 
 His wide waist girded by the wrecks of time, 
 
 His broad brow bound with wreaths of rolling 1 rime, 
 
 His voice a storm, starts Echo from her cell, 
 Furrows the billow to its bed of slime, 
 
 Raves through the passes of each subject fell, 
 And fitful moans and sighs adown the distant dell. 
 
 Stern is his form, but, in his calmer mood, 
 Mild beauty dallies with his awful crest j 
 
 His storm voice dies along the solitude, 
 As when an infant sings itself to rest ; 
 And his smile burns along the glassy breast 
 
 Of yonder lake, where 
 
 " The boat is waiting, sir," exclaimed my 
 guide. 
 
124 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE UPPER LAKE. 
 
 " HERE'S the gate into Lord Brandon's place," 
 said Picket, " by my own sowl, it's locked it is, 
 and your honour can't get in, for his honourable 
 lordship always takes the key away with him in 
 his breeches pocket. Why, then, isn't it a pro- 
 voking case that his lordship wouldn't be at home 
 before your honour ; I'll be bail, if he was, he'd 
 show you every inch of the place himself; for 
 sure 'tis he's the rale jantleman, and as mild 
 as mother's milk. Tis long till he'd run out with 
 a loaded gun, like some of your musheroon 
 quality, to prevent people from landing on his 
 ground. Och, no, that isn't the kind he is, 
 for sure isn't he a minister, ay, and a good one 
 too; 'tis long till he'd distress the poor people 
 for tithes or church money out at Castle Island 
 there, where he has his living. And, then, when 
 he comes here among the mountains, it isn't to 
 shoot and sport, but to be out of the way of 
 the world, while he's praying and writing sarmints. 
 O, then, isn't it a wonder he is'nt made a bishop 
 of?" 
 
 By this time we had reached the boat, where we 
 were received with a general shout, which went 
 circling round the hills. 
 
THE UPPER LAKE. 125 
 
 " Oh, then/' said Begly, " your honour's as 
 welcome to us as the flowers of May." 
 
 " Oh, then, that he is, that's no lie for you, 
 Begly," said the rest of the crew. 
 
 " Thank you, lads, I'm glad to see you. Plun- 
 ket, give the men some whiskey. " 
 
 " Long life to your honour," said Doolan. 
 
 " It's rale Tommy Walker, sure enough," said 
 Begly. 
 
 " Hand the cup here," said Purty. " Pooh, 
 ho ho, but it's tearin strong." 
 
 " Fakes, then it is the right sort," said big 
 Dinny. " Will I give Barret a drop, your 
 honour ? " 
 
 " Barret ! O by all means, I didn't perceive 
 him before. I am glad to see you, Barret." 
 
 " Thank your honour; I just made bold to 
 come up with the boat, to see if I'd catch a bit 
 of a salmon to roast for your honour's dinner." 
 
 " Will you have it, Barret ? " said big Dinny, 
 at the same time holding up the bottle. 
 
 " Will 1 ? may be I won't ; why," replied Bar- 
 ret, " will a duck swim ? why, Dinny ? " 
 
 As we crossed the Upper Lake, towards Ro- 
 nayne's Island, from Plunket's conversation I ga- 
 thered that Barret, with whom I had made 
 acquaintance at Innis fallen, was by trade a ladies' 
 shoemaker, but by inclination so determined a 
 sportsman, that he seldom exercised the gentle 
 craft. He was what in Killarney is termed a 
 Carrig a fourt man, from a rock of that name 
 on the margin of the Lower Lake, where many 
 a broken tradesman may be seen preparing his 
 fishing tackle to delude the finny tribe ; hence, 
 to say that a man is gone to Carrig a fourt, 
 is equivalent with saying he is a broken mer- 
 
126 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 chant one who is either so idle or so unfor- 
 tunate as to trust to the art of angling for a 
 precarious subsistence. 
 
 I was also given to understand, that Barret 
 was rather an entertaining fellow, and valued 
 himself not a little on his knowledge as an anti- 
 quary ; for he could tell the precise dates when 
 the Abbeys of Mucruss and Innisfallen were 
 founded ; and could beguile the time with many 
 a legendary tale, when the sun was too bright 
 or the wind too high to permit the pursuit of 
 his favourite sport. As long as this sport con- 
 tinued, however, there was no getting a word 
 from him, except a few broken exclamations, such 
 as " Egad, a noble salmon!" " By Jove, I've 
 hitched him !" " There's nothing like an orange 
 fly!" 
 
 On the Upper Lake, all traces of the lower 
 country are completely lost, and the views are 
 confined to its own valley and the surrounding 
 mountains ; but these are so varied and so magni- 
 ficent, the valley so rich in wood, and the lake, 
 with its numerous islands, so beautiful, as to leave 
 nothing in point of scenery to be wished for. 
 It affords the most exquisite fore-grounds and 
 middle distances for the painter, but is not exactly 
 the place in which to study the purple hues ot 
 distance, which are so finely exemplified in the 
 Lower Lake. 
 
 " This is Ronayne's Island, sir," said Plunket, 
 as the boat struck against the landing-place, 
 " there's a fine prospect from the top of it; Bar- 
 ret will show you the path." 
 
 From the verge of the water, Ronayne's Island 
 rises steep and rocky, possessing but one little 
 green nook, which serves as a landing-place, and 
 
THE UPPER LAKE. 127 
 
 on which are the remains of a cottage. The island 
 is covered with wood, and has a double crown, 
 each of which points commands a pretty view of 
 the lake, and neighbouring islands. 
 
 Behold the winding course of yonder lake, 
 Not broad, but, like a noble river, crown'd 
 
 With many an island green, whose smiles awake 
 
 More lovely, from the shadows cast around, 
 Of those gigantic hills, dark, rugged, and embrown'd. 
 
 " Barret, have you brought the large book from 
 the boat? Here, give it to me Weld says some- 
 thing about this island, I think let me see. 
 Ah, Weld wants an index very much indeed 
 but I have found it." And accordingly I read 
 aloud, as follows : 
 
 " One man, however, there was, upon whose 
 romantic mind a deeper impression was made ; 
 he was an Englishman, of the name of Ronayne. 
 The spot which he selected for his retreat was 
 this small island, which yet retains his name. He 
 avoided all society, and seldom left the island." 
 " Very romantic indeed." 
 
 " Psha ! " said Barret. 
 
 " What are you pshawing about, Barret ? " 
 said I. 
 
 " Why, then, I'll tell you : Did ever any one 
 hear such a story as your honour was reading just 
 now ; what, old Philip Ronayne, an Englishman ? 
 why, sir, he was bred and born in the County 
 Cork, and I don't believe he ever put foot out of 
 ould Ireland. And then such stuff about romantic 
 and Voiding society, psha! Phil Ronayne, sir, 
 was a quare ould fellow, with one eye blue and 
 the other gray, that used to come here sometimes 
 in the sason for shooting and fishing, mighty fond 
 
128 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 he was of the sport; by the same token that ha 
 was mighty near shooting a boatman once, who 
 stole a brace of birds out of his cabin, that he 
 built down by the landing-place there. They say 
 he built the cabin himself; and, for sartin, he 
 was mighty ingenous in making rings for pigs' 
 noses ; and he made a sort of a machine, that he 
 gave Colonel Herbert ; and, as to tying flies, 
 there wasn't a man in the county could come near 
 him ; and then, as to Voiding society, why, bless 
 you, he made as free with the people as any thing, 
 and used often to come into Killarney of an even- 
 ing, and take a tumbler of punch with the ould 
 folk. To be sure, he didn't like to have people 
 come tazing him, and spying about his cabin, and 
 small blame to him for that same ; so at last, 
 when the blackguards were making too great a 
 hand of him entirely, he went away for good an' 
 all." 
 
 " Indeed, Barret, your account is quite dif- 
 ferent from Mr. Weld's ; and you really ought 
 not to have spoiled so pretty and so romantic 
 a story; but we had better descend to the 
 boat/' 
 
 Leaving Ronayne's Island, we glided by several 
 others, named either after some particular person 
 or some natural peculiarity, as Mac Carty's Island, 
 Arbutus Island, the Eagle's Island, &c. ; then, 
 turning to the right, passed a rock called the 
 Giant's Coffin, at the left-hand side, as we entered 
 the river Galway. 
 
 " Do you see that big black rock, sir ?" said 
 Begly; " 'tis called the Giant's Coffin, and for 
 a vary simple rason to be sure, because it looks 
 for all the world like one ; and 'tis so big entirely, 
 that if ever it was a coffin at all, which for cer- 
 
THE UPPER LAKE. 129 
 
 tain it never was, it must have belonged to the 
 giants of ould." 
 
 At the landing-place it was my singular good 
 fortune to recognize an old school- fellow. But 
 it is useless here to detail the circumstances of 
 this extraordinary meeting, after a separation of 
 fifteen years. 
 
 Tempted by the offer of a commission, Mr. 
 Lynch left school a mere boy, and, within a few 
 weeks after, while veterans died of fatigue and 
 exhaustion by his side, he awoke from a sweet 
 and refreshing sleep in the battle of Waterloo ! 
 His military career, however, was as short as it 
 was premature and honourable ; he retired from 
 active service at an age when most men enter 
 upon it, and, with the independent half pay of an 
 ensign, and the glory of a Waterloo medal, 
 established himself in the romantic region of Kil- 
 larney ; a region well suited to his boyish poetical 
 temperament, and enthusiastic feelings. Most 
 readily did I submit myself to his proffered guid- 
 ance ; " and so," Lynch, " which way do we 
 move ?" 
 
 " Plunket," said Mr. Lynch, " do you meet us 
 at the Heading with the boat. And now forward, 
 if you please. 
 
 " What a charming glen ! this is beautiful 
 indeed ! What do you call it ?" 
 
 " This is Derrycunnihy; but you have not seen 
 half its beauties yet. Ah, here is Mr. Hyde, 
 most apropos for us, as he will give us admission, 
 through this rustic gate, to his pretty cottage, 
 from whence we can proceed to the cascade, and 
 then by the new line of road to the Heading 
 but here he comes." 
 
 The Rev. Arthur Hyde, with much politeness, 
 
130 KILLAftNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 conducted us through his shrubbery. His cottage, 
 with its projecting thatched roof and flower- 
 covered trellis, is extremely pretty. It is seated 
 in a garden surrounded by woods, commands 
 a view of the Waterfall, and has the river Gal- 
 way running, or rather brawling, close be- 
 side it. 
 
 Crossing a rustic bridge, we proceeded along 
 the northern bank of the river, and, entering a 
 wood at the other side of Mr. Hyde's carriage 
 road, began to climb the steep side of the Water- 
 fall. 
 
 " Beware of that bramble," said Mr, Lynch, 
 " Now catch hold of this tree, and spring up the 
 rock. Here we are at the top of the fall, where 
 the water gushes between two dark rocks, and 
 tumbles foaming beneath us. Cast your eyes 
 down to the depth of the valley, and observe how 
 invitingly the cottage looks, with its little green 
 lawn, the very image of peace and seclusion 
 then those dark mountains ; these surrounding 
 woods ; and, looking up the stream, that calm 
 home-scene. But you seem fatigued, my friend, 
 therefore suppose we qualify some of this Derry- 
 cunnihy water with a drop of old malt whiskey, 
 and drink to the spirit of the fall. I'm old soldier 
 enough to carry my canteen in my pocket." 
 
 " I have no objection," said I ; " you seem 
 quite inspired, Lynch, however, without the 
 whiskey. 
 
 " Derrycunnihy, I continued, has not a very 
 poetical sound ; let me see what hand I can 
 make of it. 
 
 The man who would see Derrycunnihy fall, 
 Must come with good whiskey, or not come at all ; 
 Singing down, down, down, derry down ; 
 
THE UPPER LAKE. 131 
 
 And a pocket well lined, for minus the money, he 
 May as well stay at home from sweet, sweet Derrycunnihy, 
 * To sing down, down, down, derry down. 
 
 But if cash and if whiskey both come at his call, 
 Oh, then he may see Derrycunnihy fall, 
 
 And sing down, down, down, derry down ; 
 
 And he'll be the boy, like a flower to the honey-bee, 
 For the lads of the lakes, and sweet, sweet Derrycunnihy, 
 Sing down, down, down, derry down. 
 
 I defy ( the grand master' himself to improvisa- 
 torize better ! " 
 
 "A truce to your badinage," said Mr. Lynch, 
 putting on a prodigiously solemn face. " The 
 versification may be smoother; but my verses, 
 I maintain, are not less in character with the 
 scene than yours. 
 
 O here's a sweet glen ! where the foam of the fall 
 O'er the dark frowning rock rushes on to the lake ; 
 
 Where the mountain nymph, Echo, awakes at its call, 
 And the startled deer fearfully fly through the brake ; 
 
 Where the holly and yew throw their shade o'er the brook, 
 As onward it brawls by yon cottage so lone, 
 
 That peacefully smiles from its own flowery nook, 
 As charm'd with the musical voice of its moan. 
 
 Oft, oft, when my heart 'mid the dwellings of men 
 In its gloom may repine, will my spirit recall 
 
 The brightness and calm of this lone little glen, 
 Where rushes thy foam, Derrycunnihy fall. 
 
 " Ah ! you never had a soul for poetry ; there- 
 fore let us descend, take a view of the fall from 
 below, and make the best of our way to the 
 Heading, where by this time the boat must be 
 waiting for us." 
 
 At the infinite hazard of our necks, we de- 
 scended from our elevated situation, and with 
 
 K2 
 
132 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 some difficulty gained a rock in the centre of the 
 stream, at the foot of the fall. 
 
 " Look up observe how wide the water spreads 
 from the first compact fall, encroaching on the 
 woods and rocks at either side, so that the very 
 foliage seems to yield a thousand little tributary 
 streams. See, they unite and again fall fall 
 foam and fall, till lost amid the woods which 
 shadow its course." 
 
 " How snowy-white is the foam, and how great 
 the contrast between it and the jetty tint of the 
 rocks!" 
 
 From hence, proceeding by Mr. Hyde's car- 
 riage road, we gained the new line between 
 Kenmare and Killarney, and, following its course 
 towards the latter place, in a short time reached 
 the Heading, which is an archway or tunnel of 
 some extent, cut through the rock, to permit a 
 passage for the road. 
 
 The road from this spot was worthy of remark, 
 being a platform, cut with great labour, along 
 the base of Cromigleun Mountain. On one side 
 was the mountain, steep, rocky, and wooded, 
 and on the other a precipice overhanging the 
 Bay of Newfoundland, Many a fantastic branch 
 shot athwart the road, while their bare and 
 gnarled roots wound around the rocks, and an- 
 chored in their crevices. Frequently immense 
 rocks were seen standing like a wall at either 
 side of the road, for whose passage they had 
 evidently been forced to make way. 
 
 " Descending from the Heading to the water- 
 side, we found the boat in waiting, and imme- 
 diately embarked. 
 
 " Your honour's welcome to us," said Doolan. 
 " And isn't the Strap an' Gad a fine place ?" 
 
THE UPPER LAKE. 133 
 
 c< What do you mean by Strap an' Gad, 
 Doolan?" 
 
 " Why, then, just the Heading there, your 
 honour ; and the reason they calls it the Strap 
 an* Gad is because there was a famous robber, 
 one Martin Mahony, that used to rob and strip 
 the whole country round, like a thief as he was 
 and whenever he was hunted, he used to run 
 to the big rock, where the Heading is now, and 
 there he had a strap or gad hanging down, which 
 he used to catch a hould of, and make a leap 
 up the rock, and then he'd pull the gad after 
 him, so that there was no one could follow him, 
 and there was no catching him at all." 
 
 Here there was a general pause, 
 
 " Barret," said Mr. Lynch, " I believe that is the 
 Oak Island ; it is also called Russ Bourky, and 
 I want to know whether Oak Island is the literal 
 English for Russ Bourky ? " 
 
 " Russ Bourky is wrong, it should be pro- 
 nounced Russ Buarach ; and the English of it 
 is spansel wood," replied Barret, at the same 
 time assuming a degree of importance, from the 
 supposed superiority of his information. 
 
 " Spansel wood? why there seems to be no sense 
 in this interpretation of yours." 
 
 " You wouldn't say that, sir," replied Barret, 
 " if you knew the story that gave rise to it, for 
 the island, you must know, was enchanted by 
 O'Donoghue; but may be you don't believe in 
 O'Donoghue, for there are many that comes on 
 the lakes only to make fun of him, when may 
 be they'd better let it alone." 
 
 The fact was, that Barret had told his fairy 
 tales so often, that constant repetition had all 
 the efficacy of demonstration in impressing upon 
 
134 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 his mind a firm conviction of the truth of his 
 own stories. It was, therefore, necessary to use 
 a little angling art, in order to hide all appear- 
 ance of unbelief, which would infallibly have 
 put a stop to his loquacity. " Why do you say 
 that, Barret ? I'm sure I have as good a right 
 to believe in O'Donoghue as any one else. Be- 
 sides, I feel confident there must have been such 
 a person, since the voice of thousands, and the 
 testimony of tradition, unite to corroborate the 
 fact ; therefore pray tell me the story, for, I assure 
 you, in my heart [ love a legendary tale/' 
 
 Satisfied, therefore, that I was not an unbe- 
 liever, Barret commenced his story. 
 
 66 Why, then," said he, " I suppose you have 
 heard how O'Donoghue, the great prince that 
 lives in the Lake of Killarney, appears but once 
 in every seven years ; but you are not to sup- 
 pose from that, that he puts on his nightcap, and 
 sleeps away all the rest of his time ; on the con- 
 trary, it is well known that, though invisible, he 
 often walks about the lake, its shores, and its 
 islands, visiting every spot which he loved be- 
 fore the time of his enchantment, while he was 
 yet an inhabitant of this upper world. I have 
 myself often heard, while fishing on the lake, 
 the most beautiful music stealing along the water; 
 and though the lake was quite calm in the im- 
 mediate vicinity of my skiff, I have seen it roll- 
 ing in foam at the distance of only a few yards, 
 and have heard the blast of the whirlwind as 
 O'Donoghue swept on his way. Nevertheless, 
 he does not always please with the sweetness of 
 his music, or awe with the terrors of the tempest, 
 but is known sometimes to descend to less digni- 
 fied amusements; delighting at one time to sur- 
 
THE UPPER LAKE. 136 
 
 prise some bewildered mortal with the magnificence 
 of his palace under the lake, and at other times 
 amusing himself with astonishing the poor moun- 
 taineers by some dexterous deception ; and it 
 is of one of these I am going to tell you. 
 A hem ! 
 
 " You must know, then, that a long time ago, 
 Tim Curtin, a comfortable farmer, resided in 
 Esknarmlcky Glen, a little to the east of this 
 island. He was reckoned the snuggest man 
 among the hills ; for besides a large tract of 
 mountain, where he had plenty of yearlings and 
 ponys and large flocks of goats, he had a great 
 deal of low land on the banks of the little river 
 Galway, which runs through the glen, where 
 there was good tillage, and a fine stock of milch 
 cows. Valuable as these holdings were, he thought 
 little of them all, in comparison with his daughter 
 Peggy, who was the cleanest, tightest, and pret- 
 tiest girl to be seen from Estnamucky to Lime- 
 rick. Whenever she went to fair, pattern, or 
 berrin, she was sure to draw all the bachelors 
 after her ; while the girls could only vent their 
 anger by finding fault with the colour of her 
 new riband, the fit of her gown, or the cock of 
 her cap. Nevertheless, Peggy Curtin was far 
 from being happy, for she had given her heart to 
 a neighbour's son, who, however worthy, wanted 
 the one thing needful; and Tim Curtin, with all 
 his riches, was a miserly old fellow. So he told 
 her ' that it wasn't for the likes of her to be 
 thinking of such a beggarly boy as Tom Sullivan,' 
 (for that was the name of the young man;) and 
 was always trying to make a match for her with 
 some rich miserly scrub like himself; but, as luck 
 would have it, he was always breaking off about a 
 
136 KILLARNEY LEGEKDS. 
 
 cow, or a pig, or a horse, more or less, so that 
 Peggy came off clear, with only the fright. 
 
 " Now Peggy, for all her father's commands, 
 couldn't for the life of her help thinking of Tom 
 Sullivan ; and Tom, somehow or other, was 
 always accidentally in the way, whenever Peggy 
 went down the glen to milk the cows, or whenever 
 the old man happened to be from home. Well, 
 sir, things went on in this way for a long 'time, till 
 at last the old man made up a match for Peggy 
 with the richest man in the country; and, as there 
 was no dispute about pig, horse, or cow, poor 
 Peggy saw no chance of getting off this time. 
 
 " You may be sure it was she was bronach 
 enough when she heard the news; so she sent 
 word to Tom Sullivan to meet her in the island, 
 to consult about what was best to be done. Now, 
 you must know that in the summer time, when 
 the water is low, this island is joined to the glen 
 by a narrow neck of marshy ground ; and it was a 
 beautiful summer evening when Peggy Curtin 
 tripped lightly across it, and entered the wood in 
 search of her lover, who had arrived before her 
 in his little skiff, and, with a thumping heart, 
 was waiting for her coming. 
 
 " ' Och, Tom,' said Peggy, as she came up to 
 her sweetheart, ' Och, Tom, it's all over with us 
 now agrah, for my father has made a match for 
 me, for sure and sartin, and I have no way of 
 preventing it ; so I don't know what to do in life, 
 for 'twill break the heart in me to part with you, 
 but it can't be helped.' ' Arrah, then, Peggy/ 
 said Tom, ' arrah, then, Peggy my jewel, don't be 
 talkin of partin, if you wouldn't be after killing 
 me entirely ; but sure I'll be kilt whether or no, 
 if I see you married to another, and go to the 
 
THE UPPER LAKE. 137 
 
 bad entirely, so I will, and die with fretting.' ' Oh, 
 then/ said he, looking at the lake in the wildness 
 of his grief, ' oh, then, O'Donoghue, if you're alive, 
 as they say you are, wouldn't you take pity on a 
 poor boy, for, sure, it is you that have the riches 
 down in the lake there ; but where's the use 
 in talking, for you can't hear me, and there's an 
 end of the matter, and the more's the pity ?' 
 
 " While Peggy and Tom were thus bemoaning 
 their hard fate, Tim Curtin, with a spansel in his 
 hand, was standing in the bawn looking at his 
 cows milking, and wondering what was become 
 of Peggy, or where she was gone to ; when, as 
 bad luck would have it, who should come into the 
 bawn but the little gossoon that Peggy sent with 
 the message to Tom ; so when he heard the father 
 asking after her, what should he do, but up and 
 tould him all about it. 
 
 " Away ran Tim, as mad as blazes ; but no 
 sooner was he got to the middle of the wood, than 
 he was stopped short by the sight of a large tub full 
 of gold ; to be sure, it was O'Donoghue that put 
 it there on purpose, for he knew well enough what 
 kind of a man he was, and had a mind to befriend 
 the young people. Be that as it may, Tim, who, 
 as rich as he was., had never seen so much gold 
 before in all his life, was ready to go mad with 
 joy, and quite forgot Peggy and Tom, and every 
 thing else, in his desire after so much treasure ; 
 but how to remove it he couldn't think, for two of 
 the strongest men in the country would hardly be 
 able to stir the tub, though often he tried with all 
 his strength. And he was afraid, if he went to 
 look for help, that he wouldn't be able to find the 
 place again. At last he bethought himself of the 
 spansel which he held in his hand ; so he tied it 
 
138 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 to a tree, just to mark the place, (for all the trees 
 in the wood were of the same kind ,) and away he 
 run for help as fast as he could. You may be sure 
 the grass didn't grow much under his feet 'till he 
 came back ; but if he was looking from that day 
 to this, he couldn't find the gold again, for the 
 never a tree in the island but had a spansel tied 
 round it. Tim Curtin was quite distracted with 
 the disappointment, and spent all his time looking 
 after the gold ; and it was many a long day before 
 he came to himself. In the meantime Tom Sulli- 
 van grew suddenly to be the richest man in the 
 parish ; and many people suppose that O'Dono- 
 ghue gave him some of the gold, though Tom 
 would never own to it. 
 
 " When the old fellow recovered the use of his 
 senses, he made no objection to the match, for he 
 saw that Tom was richer than himself. So he was 
 married to Peggy at last, and a great wedding 
 they had of it : and the island is known ever since 
 (as a good right it has) by the name of Russ 
 
 Buarach, or Spansel Wood. Thunder alive, if 
 
 there wasn't a great salmon riz ! " exclaimed Bar- 
 ret, " and the day is getting dark, and a fine curl 
 on the water." 
 
139 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE DESCENT. 
 
 LEAVJNG the Oak Island, the new road, and the 
 Heading, behind us, we passed the Bay of New- 
 foundland, and proceeded towards Coleman's 
 Eye, a narrow pass between two rocks, which 
 gives entrance to the river, connecting the Upper 
 with the Middle and Lower Lakes. This pass is 
 so narrow as to oblige the boatmen to draw in 
 their oars. While going through, which was the 
 work of a moment, one of the boatmen exclaimed, 
 " Look there, your honour, there's the print of 
 Coleman's foot, that he left on the rock when he 
 leaped across" and certainly there was a sin- 
 gular impression on the rock, somewhat in the 
 shape of a gigantic foot. " This is, doubtless, the 
 Coleman," said I, " whose leap, Crowley, the mail 
 coach driver, regards as a family boast he seems 
 to have had a very large foot." 
 
 " O, then, you may give your davy of that," 
 said Doolan, '* and a good right he had to have 
 a big foot of his own, and 'tis he that knew how 
 to handle it any how, after such a leap as that ; 
 for sure he was one of the giants of ould, and he 
 was at war with Fin Mac Cool, who came with his 
 big dog Bran, and all the other giants, to hunt 
 Coleman ; so Coleman was running away from 
 
140 KtT.r.ARNEY LEGEKDS. 
 
 them, as a good right he had ; and then, when he 
 came to the place that's called after him, he made 
 a leap across, and ran round the lake, and hid 
 himself in the Oak Island, near the Coffin Point 
 but Fin Mac Cool was up to him, for he and 
 all his giants swam across the lake, and there 
 they found my lad; and if they didn't slain him 
 there, 'tis a wonder to me. And, sure, isn't his 
 coffin there ? and isn't the place called Coffin 
 Point? and isn't this called Coleman's Eye, in 
 memory of him ? so it must all be true, or how 
 would they come by their names ?" 
 
 While Doolan was telling his story, we were 
 floating in a little basin or bay at the other side of 
 the pass, from whence we proceeded along the 
 various windings of the river, the boatmen occa- 
 sionally pointing out particular rocks, to which 
 they had given fanciful names, such as " the 
 Round of Beef," " the Man of War/' " the Can- 
 non, and Cannon Balls" but, 
 
 Leave we all these, and every varied change 
 
 Of that broad stream, each named and nameless rock, 
 
 The long, vast, stony, dark, descending range 
 Of hills, where rove secure the dun deer flock, 
 
 till we arrive at the extremity of the Long Range, 
 where , the Eagle's Nest towers bold and abrupt 
 above the river, which sweeps suddenly round its 
 base. 
 
 The cliff, called the Eagle's Nest, is famous for 
 its echoes. As Mr. Weld says, " It is scarcely in 
 the power of language to convey an adequate idea 
 of the extraordinary effect of the echoes under 
 this cliff, whether they repeat the dulcet notes of 
 music, or the loud discordant report of cannon" 
 I will not attempt it. Strange to tell, not- 
 
THE DESCENT. 141 
 
 withstanding his assertion, Mr. Weld has taxed 
 the powers of language to the utmost, through 
 two or three pages of his volume, to describe the 
 aforesaid echoes. I mean to be more moderate, 
 and therefore merely request the reader to cast an 
 eye on the opposite page, which contains a musical 
 notation of the effect ; and as for the cannon, 
 here it goes bang ! the mountains seem burst- 
 ing with the crash now it rolls, peal upon peal, 
 through their craggy hollows, till at length, dying 
 away in the distance, all seems over hark ! it 
 rises again, other mountains mimic the thunder, 
 and now it is lost in a low growl among the dis- 
 tant hills. 
 
 " Come, all you brisk and joval swains, 
 What loves to rove the rurial plains, 
 Give ear to me whilst I rehearse, 
 Your pleasing cares give over 
 'Tis of these hills and valleys round, 
 That's all overgrown with roses, 
 To the Eagle's Nest we will travest, 
 And join our notes with tchoris." 
 
 " Tchoris, gentlemen, if you please," shouted 
 Doolan. 
 
 " Whack fol de ri do di do." 
 
 Tis a song I always sings for the gentlemen I 
 brings to the Eagle's Nest," said Doolan, " and 
 'twas for myself 'twas composed it was, by Billy 
 the mule I beg his pardon ten thousand times 
 surely I mean Mr. William Sullivan, the poet of 
 Cloghereen." 
 
 The river on whose stream we floated was some- 
 times broad, deep, and calm, and sometimes inter- 
 rupted by shallows and rapids. Now it wound 
 
142 KILLARtfEY LEGENDS. 
 
 among the hills, widening into little lakes, and 
 now it became so narrow as scarcely to afford a 
 passage for the boat. 
 
 " What are you murmuring to yourself, Lynch?" 
 said I, as we proceeded on our way to Dinis 
 Island. " Are these the verses you always 
 repeat for gentlemen whom you bring to the 
 Eagle's Nest ?" 
 
 " Oh, it's only a foolish stanza from an old 
 poem, which, if you have any desire to hear, I 
 will give you with all my heart. 
 
 Pass we the joys and sorrows boatmen find, 
 The clear calm lake, the opposing river's roar, 
 
 The storm, the rock, the gentle favouring wind, 
 The drooping branch, the weed-entangled oar, 
 The joy for whiskey got, the growl for more, 
 
 The thundering cannon's loud redoubled shock, 
 The bugle's mellow note, when that is o'er, 
 
 Rousing the echoes of the Eagle's Rock, 
 And 
 
 There's a hole in the ballad, for I have forgotten 
 the last line, which however is no great loss, as 
 Doolan, I have no doubt, can make up for the 
 deficiency, by telling us a story about the Eagle's 
 Nest. Come, begin, Doolan, begin/' 
 
 " Why, then, 'tis I would do that same," 
 replied Doolan, " if I knew rightly what to tell 
 your honour. Let me see did your honour ever 
 near how the soldier went to rob the eagle's nest, 
 and take away the young little eagles ? The 
 eagle's nest, as I showed your honour a little 
 while ago, is just on the face of the white rock ; 
 the hole of it is something like an eagle's wing ; 
 and without any doubt a hard job it would be to 
 get at it; but, says the soldier, ' I'll rob it;' says 
 he. ' May be you will why/ says the eagle to 
 
iIIE DFSCENT. 143 
 
 himself, for he heard every word the soldier said, 
 so he just purtended to fly away out of sight, up 
 into the clouds entirely. When the soldier saw 
 that, ' I have you now,' says he; so with that 
 he lets himself down from the top of the cliff 
 by a big rope, till he came opposite the nest, 
 when just as he was going to lay his hand on the 
 young chaps, who should pop down, out of a 
 thundering cloud, but the ould eagle himself. 
 1 Good-morrow, mister soldier/ says the eagle, 
 says he, * and what may your business be with 
 me, that you're after taking so much trouble to 
 call at my lodgings this fine morning ?' < Oh, 
 nothing at all, your honour/ says the soldier, 
 for he was amazed to hear the eagle spake, and 
 a little bit frightened, over and above, at the 
 sight of his two bright eyes, with the hooked 
 bake between them, ' nothing at all, your honour, 
 only to see how all the family is, and pay my 
 respects to the young gentlemen.' 
 
 " ' That's all botheration and blarney/ says the 
 eagle, ' don't think to come the ould soldier over 
 me with that kind of story, for don't I know well 
 enough it was to rob my nest and steal my childer 
 you came, you thief you ? but I'll soon know 
 the ins and outs of it, for I'll just make bold 
 to ax a neighbour of mine, that lives in the 
 rock here Hollo there, Mistress Echo, did this 
 fellow come to rob the eagle's nest ?' 
 
 " ' To rob the eagle's nest/ says Mistress 
 Echo. 
 
 " ' There now, do you hear that, you villain 
 you, what have you to say for yourself now ?' 
 says the eagle in a great pet but the soldier, 
 without waiting to answer him, began to climb 
 \p his rope as fast as he could. 
 
144 KILLAIiNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " * Not so fast, mister soldier/ says the eagle, 
 * not so fast, my fine fellow; as you came to 
 pay me a visit, 'tis only fair I should show you 
 the shortest way home ;' so with that he gave 
 him a clink over the head with one of his wings, 
 and then with a kick of his claw, sent him down 
 into the river in a jifFy it was well for him, it 
 was into the river he fell, or surely he'd be 
 smashed to bits ; and I'll engage neither he nor 
 any one else minded visiting the eagles to rob 
 them of their young ones, from that day to 
 this." 
 
 " What in the world, Lynch, are you laugh- 
 ing at so immoderately? What have you got 
 hold of?" 
 
 " Here," said Mr. Lynch, handing me a scrap of 
 paper, which I perceived had been dropped by 
 Barret, " here, read it." 
 
 His Honur Mr. Trant, Esquire, 
 
 Dr. to James Barret, Shoemaker. 
 
 . s. d. 
 
 To clicking and sowling Miss Clara .... 2 6 
 
 To strapping and welting Miss Biddy .... 1 
 
 To binding and closing Miss Mary 1 6 
 
 5 
 Paid, July 14th, 
 
 James Barret. 
 
 " Look there, your honour, there's Paddy 
 Clane's Leap," exclaimed Begly, at the same 
 time pointing to a rock on the right bank of 
 the river. 
 
THE DESCENT. 145 
 
 " You have had wonderful leapers at Kil- 
 larney, Begly but pray what of Paddy Clane's 
 Leap?" 
 
 " You must know," said Begly, " that Paddy 
 Clane was a quare ould fellow, that kept a public 
 house in Killarney; by the same token, many's 
 the good drop I drank there ; but, as I was 
 saying, Paddy Ciane was a quare fellow, and 
 fond of a joke. So off he sets, of a stag hunt 
 day, from Killarney; and when the boats were 
 all coming up the river, what would they see 
 but Paddy standing on the top of the rock 
 there. c Stop, bys,' says he, * I'm going to 
 leap across/ So, with that, they all stopped to 
 see the big leap, and Paddy kept them there, 
 purtending every minute to leap, then stopping 
 to take off his coat, and then his waistcoat, and 
 so on, making the offer at it ever so often, till 
 the hunt was over, and then he walked away, 
 laughing at the fools and so the place ever 
 since is called Paddy Clane's Leap, though to 
 be sure he didn't leap at all." 
 
 " A pretty cock and bull story that," said 
 Plunket " why don't you tell about yourself 
 and the lady ? ah, there's where you lost your 
 luck, my boy," at the same time pointing to a 
 snug nook on the left bank of the river, u there's 
 where you lost your luck, and sure you ought 
 to be shot through a wran's quill. A lady, my 
 lady ! eh, Begly !" At this allusion the boat- 
 men seemed highly delighted, and continued to 
 tease poor Begly for the remainder of the day, 
 with " a lady, my lady." Now, though I con- 
 fess myself acquainted with the story which gave 
 rise to this allusion, yet, as a lady is concerned, 
 I beg leave to decline repeating * it ; and shall 
 L 
 
146 
 
 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 therefore merely say, as Mr. Weld does on 
 another occasion, that " Those who visit the 
 delightful regions of Killarney may be gratified, 
 if they please, with the recital of this legendary 
 tale/' 
 
 Now we wheel round by Miss Plummer's Island, 
 and now we come in sight of the old Weir Bridge. 
 Spillane, as a warning to the people on Dinis 
 Island, as usual, sounds, 
 
 
 Put down the pot atoes, 
 
 . 
 
 m 
 
 Put down the pot at oes, 
 
 and the boatmen prepare to shoot the bridge, that 
 is, to be hurried down the rapids, from the old 
 Weir Bridge to Dinis Pool. 
 
 " Is all right ? Barret, do you take the boat 
 hook, to keep her off the rock ; now, boys, two 
 or three good strokes to give her way now draw 
 in your oars steady there" and away we go 
 " hurrah! hurrah!" we shoot like an arrow into 
 Dinis Pool. " Very well steered indeed, Mister 
 Plunket." 
 
 From Dinis Pool the river divides one branch, 
 turning to the right, soon enters the Middle Lake ; 
 the other turning to the left, after a longer and 
 more circuitous course between Dinis Island and 
 Glena Mountain, joins the Lower Lake at the 
 beautiful Bay of Glena. 
 
OI.B WEIER 
 
THE DESCENT. 147 
 
 " How are you, Nelly Thompson ?" said Mr. 
 Lynch, as we landed on Dinis Island, to a tall 
 well-looking woman, who, surrounded by her chil- 
 dren, stood on the shore to receive us. 
 
 " Oh, very well, I thank your honour ; your 
 honour is welcome to Dinis." 
 
 " Well, Nelly, do you get dinner ready as fast 
 as you can, and, in the mean time, we'll take a 
 walk round the island." 
 
 " What an enchanting spot! this cottage peep- 
 ing from amid the woods, and commanding so 
 delightful a view of the Middle Lake." We pause 
 for a moment to gaze on Glena, and then the river, 
 rushing under the old Weir Bridge, attracts our 
 notice; hark to its roar amid the rocks how it 
 echoes through the woods of the island ; but, 
 above the roar of the river, and the echoing woods, 
 hark to the welcome notes of Spillane's bugle, 
 warning us to dinner. 
 
 A delicious dining-room this, with its broad 
 window looking out upon Turk Lake but a truce 
 to lakes, islands, and mountains, waterfalls and 
 echoes, while we employ ourselves on the contents 
 of " the Gorham's" budget ; a budget which, un- 
 like the Chancellor of the Exchequer's, will, I have 
 no doubt, satisfy all parties concerned. 
 
 Soon after we had dined, Plunket, our cox- 
 swain, made his appearance, and informed us, that 
 if we did not make haste, it would be too late to 
 see Turk Lake properly; and that the boat had 
 been brought round from the river to the shore 
 facing the cottage, where it was ready for us. 
 
 " Then send Nelly Thompson here," said Mr. 
 Lynch, " till we settle our account with her ; and 
 that done, we will be with you directly." 
 
 L2 
 
148 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE MIDDLE LAKE. 
 
 " WELL, Nelly, what are we to pay you ?" said 
 Mr. Lynch, as Nelly Thompson made her appear- 
 ance. 
 
 " Oh, nothing at all, your honour nothing in 
 life I won't take any thing from your honour, or 
 any one belonging to you, or any one you ever 
 bring to the island." 
 
 " But that won't do, Nelly ; you have supplied 
 the boatmen with potatoes, and we have given you 
 a great deal of trouble here is five shillings will 
 that pay you ?" 
 
 " Oh, then, and sure it will, and long life to 
 your honour," said Nelly, quietly pocketing the 
 money, notwithstanding her assertion that she 
 wouldn't take any thing from his honour. " And 
 sure, then," she continued, " 'tis as good payment 
 as I've had from many a great lord before now. 
 Indeed, then, 'tis myself would as live have a 
 company of tradesmen from the town of Killarney, 
 any day in the year, as some of your poverty- 
 struck quality. Why now, only think, there was 
 the Marquis of Lansdowne came here with a fine 
 band of music and a poet, your honour, that he 
 was taking about the country with him as a show ; 
 for, sure, the people used to run after him where- 
 
THE MIDDLE LAKE. 149 
 
 ever he went, only to see him. By the same 
 token, he was a little bit of a man, with a rosy 
 face upon him, and an eye that was never quiet 
 in his head an instant, but kept always going 
 going going, and looking now as sharp at you 
 as a hawk, and then as soft as buttermilk. Well, 
 the marquis comes here, and, indeed, down he 
 and the marchioness walk to the kitchen, and her 
 marchioness-ship sets herself by the fireside, and 
 began sprigging a piece of cambric muslin, while 
 he got a handful of praties, and put them between 
 a cloth to steam them for himself. And, after all, 
 what do you think, sir? 'tis no matter; but, in- 
 deed, he didn't give me a five-pound note, which 
 would only be the proper reach to a poor woman 
 from the likes of a prince, as surely the marquis 
 is, for he ouns half Kerry. I'd rather have a 
 tinker from Cloghereen, if he'd pay better, than 
 any of your lords." 
 
 " Tootytootc too too too." 
 " Come, come, there's Spillane calling us," 
 said Mr. Lynch ; and we were soon gliding over 
 the unruffled surface of the Middle or Turk Lake. 
 As our boat proceeded eastward from the island, 
 the mighty mountain Turk rose on our right, 
 wooded nearly to its pointed summit, and de- 
 scending sheer and abrupt to the water's edge ; 
 while on the other hand we had the rocky and 
 richly variegated peninsula of Mucruss ; behind 
 us lay the wooded islands of Brickeen and Dinis, 
 with its peeping cottage, backed by Glena and the 
 Eagle's Nest ; and before us might be seen the 
 broad brow of Mangerton, with part of the culti- 
 vated demesne of Mucruss, the Green hills, Turk 
 Cottage, and the Devil's Island, rising abruptly 
 between us and the Bay of Dundag. The gentle 
 
150 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 lake lay outstretched like a broad mirror, reflect- 
 ing the varied tints of a beautiful summer's even- 
 ing sky, and those of the wild and noble forms of 
 its surrounding shores. 
 
 u Look over there," exclaimed Doolan, resting 
 on his oar, and pointing towards Turk Mountain ; 
 " look over there, that's the deepest part of all 
 the lake, where they say the corabuncle is." 
 
 " Pray, Doolan, what is that you said ?" 
 
 " About the carbuncle ?" added Mr. Lynch. 
 
 " Only just that that's the deepest part of the 
 lake," replied Doolan, and that 'tis there the 
 corabuncle is down at the bottom, and, without 
 any doubt, it may be sometimes seen shining up 
 through the water, like a cat's eyes under a bed. 
 Ould Ned Williams dived for it, one day he was 
 out with the ould Lord Kenmare ; but if he did, 
 he was frightened out of his life, with a great big 
 greyhound, that threw out of his mouth flames of 
 fire, and blue blazes, at him under the water ; so 
 that when he came up again, the ould lord, no, 
 nor all the lords in the world, wouldn't get him 
 to go down again." 
 
 I could not suppress a smile " Very wonder- 
 ful, indeed, Doolan." 
 
 " May be you don't believe in it," said Doolan, 
 " and may be, you would'nt believe in what hap- 
 pened to myself and Ned Moriarty, of a day 
 when we were little gossoons in West Mucruss 
 over there." 
 
 " And what was that, Doolan ?" 
 
 " Oh, then, I'll tell you that Does your honour 
 see the rocks over there, near the ould copper- 
 mine ? well that's O'Donoghue's wine-cellar 
 Ned and myself was down there, one day, look 
 ing for round shtones to make marvels (marbles) 
 
THE MIDDLE LAKE. 151 
 
 of. ' Ubbubboo, look there/ says Ned, ' sure 
 the wine-cellar, doesn't look the same way it did 
 ever and always.' Up I looks, and sure enough, 
 there was a doorway like one of the ould arches 
 in Mucruss Abbey. ' Let's go in,' says I ; so in 
 we went, and what should we see, but a great 
 cellar full of barrels, on golden stillons ; * Let us 
 take a drop out of one of the barrels/ says Ned ; 
 * To be sure we will/ says I, 'but just as he was 
 going to turn the cock, we hard a nise in the off 
 part of the cellar ; so away we legged, as fast as 
 our ten toes could carry us. When we recovered 
 the fright a bit, we thought it was mighty foolish 
 not to bring something away with us, for a token, 
 if 'twas nothing else ; so we said we'd go back 
 again ; but we lost our luck, for if we was look- 
 ing from that day to this, we couldn't find the 
 ould arch in the rock, nor the big barrels with 
 their golden stillons under them/ " 
 
 Preparations were now made to land at a little 
 orchard, at the foot of Turk Mountain ; through 
 which orchard, we passed on our way, to examine 
 Turk Cottage, with its garden and shrubbery. 
 From thence, returning to our boat, we followed 
 the eastern shore of Mucruss, till we arrived at 
 the Bay of Dundag, and then, turning to the west, 
 proceeded along the coast of the Peninsula. 
 
 " There, sir, is the Devil's Island/' said Plun- 
 ket, at the same time calling my notice to a large 
 mass of insulated rock ; between which, and the 
 shore, we were at that moment passing. 
 
 "The Devil's Island?" said I; "his Satanic 
 majesty, it would seem has a pretty estate in the 
 kingdom of Kerry, for there's the l Devil's Punch- 
 bowl/ * the Devil's Island/ the Devil's Glen/ 
 
152 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " The Cliff of Damnation/' said Mr. Lynch. 
 
 " But why is this island called the Devil's 
 Island ? do you know the reason, Doolan V 
 
 66 Wisha fakes then, I don't," said Doolan, who 
 was seldom at a loss for a reply, " if it wouldn't 
 be because it belonged to the devil himself and 
 sure enough, now I thinks of it, that's the very 
 rason, for they say it wasn't an island always, but 
 that the devil tore it away from the shore, and 
 threw it out there, into the lake, one day, that 
 some of the ould monks from Mucruss were teaz- 
 ing him, and trying to drive him out of the coun- 
 try ; for he thought, as they wouldn't let him live 
 in pace and quietness, when he was on the shore, 
 that he'd have a little island of his own, where he 
 could stay in spite of all the monks in the world; 
 and so he had, and so he did for a long time, 
 playing all sorts of tricks upon them ; till, at last, 
 they got the better of him, and drove him away 
 entirely." 
 
 " There," said Begly, pointing to some wave- 
 worn rocks, " there is the wine-cellar Doolan was 
 telling your honour about." 
 
 " And here," said Plunket, " is the marble 
 quarry, and Mucruss mine ; perhaps your honour 
 would like to land, and take a view of Doolagh." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, let us land," said Mr. Lynch ; 
 " and do you, Plunket, go on with the boat we 
 will meet you at Brickeen bridge." 
 
 Upon our arrival at Doolagh, I found it was the 
 very lake which I had before seen from the Green 
 hills, and which Roche called Lough-na-brach 
 darrig. It is a beautiful retired pool, in the cen- 
 tre of the peninsula, surrounded by woods, rocks, 
 and gently swelling lawns ; indeed, the Penin- 
 sula is rich in varied beauties. 
 
THE MIDDLE LAKE. 153 
 
 For here, whate'er boon nature could impart, 
 
 Sublime, or beautiful, is scatter'd round ; 
 
 As if to show her triumph over art, 
 
 The goddess plann'd this favoured spot of ground.* 
 
 Now hills ascend, now valleys sink profound, 
 
 Here gleams the near, and there the distant lake, 
 
 And gentle slopes, and wildwood shaws abound, 
 
 For ever changing in the forms they take, 
 
 While mingling music steals from vocal bush and brake. 
 
 From Doolagh, there is a carriage-road, which 
 runs from Mucruss house, through the whole 
 length of the Peninsula. Sometimes, as we 
 walked onwards through the woods, we caught a 
 glimpse of either lake, sometimes could only hear 
 the murmur of the water, and were occasionally 
 surprised by the sudden appearance of a secluded 
 rock-surrounded bay : our path, now winding 
 among rocks, from whose clefts sprung the arbu- 
 tus, the holly, and the oak ; now ascending, now 
 descending, and (to the shame of those who have 
 charge of Mucruss be it spoken,) sometimes inter- 
 rupted by a marsh ; one in particular, called 
 Lochawn Sloch, or the dirty pool, would have 
 obliged us to turn back, if we had not sent our 
 boat on : thus, being under a necessity of ventur- 
 ing forward, we with some difficulty effected a 
 crossing, and shortly after, emerging from the 
 woods, we stood on Brickeen bridge, which con- 
 
 * " It was, indeed, a handsome compliment," says Smith, 
 in his history of Kerry, " which was paid to this place, 
 by a late Right Reverend Prelate (Dr. Berkeley, Bishop 
 of Cloyne,) whose high taste, in the beauties of art and 
 nature, as well as goodness of heart, and solid learning, 
 all the world equally admired and acknowledged ; who, 
 being asked what he thought of this seat, immediately 
 answered, that the French monarch might possibly be 
 able to erect another Versailles, but could not, with all 
 his revenues, lay out another Mucrus." 
 
154 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 nects the extremity of the Peninsala, with Brickecn 
 Island. On one side was the Lower Lake, and 
 we were particularly struck with the contrast be- 
 tween its agitated waters, and the calmness of 
 Turk or the Middle Lake, which lay on the other 
 side of the bridge. 
 
 On either hand a spreading lake doth lie, 
 
 Each beautiful, I ween, though not the same ; 
 
 For one beneath the kisses of the sky, 
 
 Serenely rests in joy, like matron dame, 
 
 And one, like virgin coy, seems ruffled o'er with shame. 
 
 Descending from the bridge, we re-embarked, 
 and, passing under its Gothic arch, found ourselves 
 on the Lower Lake, which we began to cross 
 towards Ross Island mine. 
 
 " Do you recollect Sir Walter Scott's visit to 
 the lakes ?" said I to Plunket. 
 
 " O then, and sure I ought, for sure it was my- 
 self that steered his lordship. There was a lady, 
 and a couple of gentlemen, with him. The lady 
 was one Miss Edgeworth, and I hard say as how 
 she was a fine writer too entirely, and first came 
 to be thought so through the means of rack rents. 
 But I know this well enough, that 'tis the rack 
 rents are ruining and bedeviling the country com- 
 pletely. A fine vice (voice) she had with her any 
 way, for sure she was singing a song about the 
 big gentleman, 
 
 ' Row, your sowls, row, for the pride of the highlands/ "I 
 
 " Oh, you're out there," said Doolan, " 'tis 
 myself can tell the very words of it 
 
 ' Row, my boys, row, for the pride of the islands/ 
 them were the very words, 
 
 1 Stretch to your oars for the evergreen pine !' 
 
THE MIDDLE LAKE. 155 
 
 And every time the lady would come to ' Row, 
 my boys, row/ then the gentleman, with the long 
 nose and the short chin one Mister Knockhard, 
 I think they called him, would make us all stretch 
 out, and pull away like so many racehorses." 
 
 " And is this all you recollect, Doolan, about 
 the celebrated Sir Walter Scott, the accomplished 
 Miss Edge worth, and the amiable editor of the 
 Quarterly Review ?" 
 
 " The never a much more, sir, only the part of 
 the lake Sir Walter liked the best, was the river 
 under Dinis there ; but, sure, he didn't stay half 
 long enough to see any thing worth spaking about; 
 and they say he's no friend to ould Ireland or the 
 Cat'lics, and that's the reason, I suppose, John 
 O'Connell did'nt give him a stag hunt. But 
 'twas quite another thing when Moore was here 
 there was great doings for him." 
 
 Here Doolan was interrupted by Plunket, with 
 " You may say that, Doolan ; and only think, sir, 
 he went with my Lord Kenmare in his lordship's 
 own boat, and of course myself was there, seeing 
 I am his lordship's own coxswain. That same 
 Mr. Moore, they say, was a great writer of songs 
 and 'twas her ladyship called him ' the muses' 
 own little darling Irish nightingale/ " 
 
 " 'Twasn't her ladyship called him so, 'twas 
 the other lady," said Doolan, interrupting Plun- 
 ket in his turn " 'twas her ladyship called him 
 the great 'steric* poet, whatever she meant by it." 
 
 " Hould your tongue, Doolan, and have some 
 manners with you, will you ?" cried Plunket ; 
 then, looking at me, he continued, " Mr. Moore, 
 sir, was a great writer of songs, and, sure enough, 
 Spillane played some of them for him at. the 
 e, Lyric ? Printer's devil. 
 
156 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 Eagle's Nest ; and he said that it made him quite 
 proud like, and that he'd write a song all about 
 it, and so he did." 
 
 " And 'tis I that have the very song by heart," 
 said Doolan, whom Plunket's reproof had failed 
 to silence, " for, sure, I got it from a jantleman 
 that was out with us on the lakes one day last 
 summer. 
 
 " Oh, to hear Spillane play on his bugle so nate, 
 To the sowl of the bard is a wonderful trate ; 
 But when his own song bids the echoes awake, 
 Och, with pride then his heart is quite ready to brake. 
 
 " For surely that song shall still dwell in the stone, 
 And by strangers be woke, when the bard's dead and gone. 
 And Echo, when axed, by the stranger, who made it, 
 'Will answer, ' Tom Moore,' for Spillane only play'd it." 
 
 " I suspect, Doolan, the gentleman was a wag 
 who gave you this silly stuff for Mr. Moore's 
 exquisite poem, which I remember perfectly, and 
 Will repeat, to prove that you have been most im- 
 pudently imposed on. 
 
 *' 'Twas one of those dreams that by music are brought, 
 Like a light summer breeze, o'er the poet's warm thought, 
 When, lost in the future, his soul wanders on, 
 And all of this life, but its sweetness, is gone. 
 
 " The wild notes he heard o'er the water, were those 
 To which he had sung Erin's bondage and woes ; 
 And the breath of the bugle now wafted them o'er 
 From Dinis' green isle to Glena's wooded shore. 
 
 " He listened, while, high o'er the Eagle's rude Nest. 
 The lingering sounds on their way loved to rest, 
 And the echoes sung back, from the full mountain choir, 
 As if loath to let song so enchanting expire. 
 
 " It seem'd as if every sweet note that died here, 
 Was again brought to life in some airier sphere, 
 Some heaven in those hills, where the soul of the strain, 
 That had ceased upon earth, was awaking again ! 
 
THE MIDDLE LAKE. 157 
 
 " Oh, forgive, if while listening to music, whose breath 
 Seem'd to circle his name with a charm against death, 
 He should feel a proud spirit within him proclaim, 
 4 Even so shalt thou live in the echoes of Fame. 
 
 " ' Even so, though thy memory should now die away, 
 'Twill be caught up again in some happier day, 
 And the hearts and the voices of Erin prolong, 
 Through the answering future, thy name and thy song !"* 
 
 By this time we had reached a rude stairs in 
 the embankment, thrown up by the miners on 
 Ross Island, where we landed ; and while I was 
 engaged in looking at the works, Mr. Lynch, in a 
 solemn tone, thus commenced : 
 
 " My friend," said he, " this was a favourite 
 retreat of mine, before ^the speculating genius of 
 commerce had invaded its solitude. At that time 
 there was indeed the remains of a mine to be 
 seen, but it was a neglected grass-grown spot, 
 full of deep pits, the ancient shafts of the work, 
 whose watery depths appeared to have been, as 
 was traditionally said, unexplored since the days 
 of the Dane. The few ruined buildings which 
 surrounded them served but to give the place a 
 more deserted and melancholy aspect. Here 
 have I sat for hours, gazing on the wide expanse 
 of that beautiful lake, which lay stretched out in 
 all its glory between me and the opposite shores 
 of Mucruss and Glena ; their fantastic caves and 
 wooded crags backed by that noble amphitheatre 
 of mountains. No sounds then disturbed the 
 silence, but the murmur of the waves, or the dis- 
 tant notes of a bugle ; but now all is changed, 
 and I seldom visit this spot since speculation has 
 once more peopled its solitude and re-edified its 
 
 * These verses are reprinted from the Ninth Number 
 of the Irish Melodies, by permission of Mr. James Power* 
 
158 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 ruined habitations. It is now by far too noisy a 
 spot for me its quiet character has given place 
 to the roar of engines, the din of hammers, and 
 the thunder of explosions." 
 
 " Very fine, indeed. Lynch is in rather a 
 morbid mood of mind this evening," thought I 
 to myself, but I said nothing, and so we quitted 
 the mine and entered Lord Kenmare's nursery 
 grounds. Through this nursery we walked, then 
 stopped to gaze for a few minutes on its pretty 
 little cottage, and then proceeded to Ross Castle, 
 where we mounted one of Gorham's jingles. 
 " Gee up there" Away we go the driver sing- 
 ing. 
 
 " Arrah, Neddy, my darling, and where are you jogging, 
 Sure, would you leave Judy, who gave you a noggin 
 Of real Irish whiskey, and offered herself too 
 With thirty thirteens in good English white pelf too ? 
 Arrah, what will I do in this doldrum, och, bother ! 
 If Neddy won't have me, I'll look for another. 
 Sing whillilu, smalilu, Judy, don't pother, 
 If Neddy won't have you, why, look for another." 
 
 As we approached the town of Killarney, the 
 driver again burst out into song. 
 
 " If ever I marry again, 
 I'll marry an inn-keeper's daughter ; 
 I'll sit in the bar all the day, 
 
 Drinking nothing but whiskey and water. 
 Sing tally heigh ho, you know, 
 
 Sing tally heigh ho the grinder, 
 And if ever a woman says no, 
 
 'Tis you are the fool if you mind her." 
 
 And here we are, safely arrived at the door of 
 Gorham's Hotel. 
 
MANGERTON. 159 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MANGERTON. 
 
 " MANGERTON Mangerton what's the matter?" 
 I muttered, as, starting from my sleep, I beheld 
 Mr. Lynch at my bedside. 
 
 " Mangerton Mangerton," said he, " a fine 
 morning for Mangerton, you have not a moment 
 to lose ; the climate is so uncertain, that though 
 the mountain is clear now, it may be in a short 
 time covered with a huge cloudy nightcap so up 
 and away." 
 
 Dressing myself in all haste, I bustled down 
 stairs, contrived to bustle through a tolerable 
 breakfast, ordered horses, and was about to bustle 
 off with Mr. Lynch for the mountain, when two or 
 three inn-runners stood before us, with rather 
 more imposing appearance than that of appari- 
 tions, generally speaking, and began to contend 
 for the appointment of " guide to his honour's 
 honour." 
 
 " I'm his honour's guide," said Leahy; " didn't 
 his honour promise to take me to Mangerton with 
 him, and sure 'tisn't back of his word you'd have 
 the gentleman be going ?" 
 
 " Tis me his honour will have," said Picket, 
 " so you may just as well not be bothering the 
 gentleman, long life to him." 
 
160 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " Fakes, then, and indeed he won't do no 
 such thing," said Mountain Mahony ; " his ho- 
 nour knows well enough it was I bespoke Man- 
 gerton, the very first day his honour came to 
 Killarney; and sure 'tis I that have, as I ought, 
 the best right to the mountain any how." 
 
 " Picket," said I, " you know that I promised 
 to take Leahy ; therefore, Leahy, forward if you 
 please." 
 
 " Well," said Mountain Mahony, heaving a 
 deep sigh as we moved on, " well, did you ever 
 know the likes of that, and I, after waiting so 
 long for him ?" 
 
 After leaving the village of Cloghereen, we 
 turned to the left, and pursued a narrow road 
 which, passing close to the mill-pond, led up 
 the base of the mountain ; this road, however, 
 we soon abandoned for a mountain path that 
 struck off to the right, and shortly brought us 
 to the foot of the steep ascent, up which our 
 horses managed to climb by a sort of rude track 
 that ran along the bank of a ravine, which had 
 been the bed of a torrent, almost until we ar- 
 rived at the Devil's Punchbowl. 
 
 On our ascent, and his descent, we met one 
 of that class of peasants, termed in the country 
 " Kerry dragoons," who, seated in a most extra- 
 ordinary manner between his baskets, which each 
 contained a firkin of butter, galloped fearlessly 
 down the mountain, without seeming to have the 
 smallest apprehension for his neck. 
 
 I have stated that each basket contained a 
 firkin of butter; and, upon this subject, Mr. 
 Weld says, he " was informed by a friend, that 
 when he first visited Kerry, at which period im- 
 provement and civilization were in their infancy, 
 
MANGERTOX. 161 
 
 it was very usual to see a cask of butter on 
 one side, and a large stone on the other to ba- 
 lance it; but it has since been discovered that 
 one cask is the best counterpoise to another, and 
 every horse is now doubly laden." Very true, 
 indeed ! but did Mr. Weld think of asking how 
 people were to manage who had only one cask 
 to take to market ? 
 
 Dismounting from our horses, we gave them in 
 charge to a mountaineer, of whom several had 
 followed us in the expectation of reward for any 
 accidental employment, each assuring us that he, 
 and he alone, was the true " man of the moun- 
 tain." We then proceeded to examine the Devil's 
 Punchbowl, a mountain lake, remarkable only for 
 its depth, the coldness of its water, and a cer- 
 tain small but tremulous echo. Climbing the 
 southern side of " the bowl," which is the highest 
 part of Mangerton, we passed by a spot where 
 hones are dug for and found, and from thence 
 advanced, by the summit of the mountain, to the 
 eastern verge of the lake. 
 
 "Here's a scene for description?" said Mr. 
 Lynch " Look to the south, and tell me if here 
 is not a noble prospect ? the river Kenmare, that 
 huge arm of the ocean, stretching itself for miles 
 and miles between those blue hills that rush down 
 to its very edge, as if they meant to kick it out 
 of its channel. See how its waves glitter in 
 the bright sun -beams, which have struggled 
 through that heavy cloud ; and do but observe 
 those islands which dot its broad bosom, like the 
 beauty spots on your fair lady's cheek. 
 
 " Look to the west," continued Mr. Lynch, 
 mimicking the voice and action of a show-man, 
 * and behold Ireland's boast, and Kerry's wonder 
 
 M 
 
162 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 the beautiful Lakes of Killarney mark that 
 river winding its course among the mountains, 
 from lake to lake, and uniting the wide-spread 
 grandeur of the one with the compressed charms 
 of the other. And there behold Lord Brandon's 
 round tower, at the head of the Upper Lake. Be- 
 hold the sea of mountains rolling their rugged 
 waves to the east and to the west. One might 
 really fancy that the country which we view had 
 been a stormy sea, struck by the mighty wand of 
 a magician, and fixed for ever. And then the 
 little mountain lakes, how they sparkle over this 
 waste, like stars in the gloomy firmament." 
 
 Here Mr. Lynch paused, and then resumed, 
 " I have taken the trouble to ascend Mangerton 
 this morning to be show-man to your honour, but 
 one sentence more must finish my description. 
 Look to the north, and behold the white smoke of 
 the town of Killarney, with a green hill behind it, 
 and the blue distant mountains of Tralee shutting 
 up the scene with their vast, cloudy, and qim- 
 discovered forms." 
 
 " Thank you very much, Lynch. We now 
 stand on the ridge which forms the eastern verge 
 of the Devil's Punchbowl : pray what is this glen 
 beneath us called? Though a work of danger, 
 I should like to descend." 
 
 "It is called Cowm na Coppul or the Glen of 
 the Horse," replied Mr. Lynch ; " but before we 
 proceed to explore it, let me recommend a sand- 
 wich, after which I will detain you five minutes to 
 listen to a story, the scene of which being placed 
 in the Horse's Glen, may, perhaps, render your 
 visit more interesting." 
 
 To both these proposals I readily assented ; a 
 few sandwiches were produced, we sat down, and, 
 
MANGERTON 163 
 
 after their disappearance, Mr. Lynch commenced 
 as follows : 
 
 " There was once a poor man who rented a few 
 stony acres on a little hill at the foot of Manger- 
 ton "Mountain, in the kingdom of Kerry. Now 
 the kingdom of Kerry, and the great mountain of 
 Mangerton, with the Devil's Punchbowl on the top 
 of it, are as well known as any other wonder in 
 the world ; but the wonderful adventures of Billy 
 Thompson, (for this was the name of the poor man 
 I have mentioned,) and his cow, being as little 
 known as if they never had occurred, I will proceed 
 to relate them, to the confusion of all who are so 
 hardy as to doubt the power of the good people. 
 
 " You must know then, that Billy was a little 
 fellow, about five feet nothing high, and as smart 
 and as tight a boy was he as any man of his 
 inches, no matter who the other is. And what 
 was better than all this, Billy was a very indus- 
 trious, hard - working lad ; and, by the same 
 token, a very good proof he gave of it, for his 
 bit of ground, when he got it, was powdered all 
 over with huge stones, so that a weasel could hardly 
 thrust his snout between them ; and over these 
 again there was a thick coat of furze, so that the 
 whole place looked for all the world like a great 
 green hedgehog. But Billy had a long lease and 
 a short rent, so he went to work with all his might 
 and main, and burned the furze, and made fences 
 of the stones, and built himself a cabin on the top 
 of the hill, and a mighty bleak place it was to 
 build it on. However, Billy didn't much mind 
 that, for if he had a little body, he had a great 
 soul, and scorned to be looked down upon by any 
 one ; besides, he was fond of a prospect, and, if he 
 was, he had it to his heart's content. 
 M 2 
 
164 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " No sooner had Billy Thompson his bit of 
 land cleared, his potatoes sown, and his cabin 
 built, than he began to think it was high time 
 to look for a wife. Before long he was married 
 to Judy Donoghue of Glanflesk, who got a good 
 fortune from her father, it being no less than a 
 feather bed, six rush-bottomed chairs, an iron pot, 
 a settle-bed, a collop of sheep, a Maol cow, and a 
 pig, though there was great huxtering about this 
 last matter, and the match was broken off at least 
 six times on account of it ; but Billy stood out 
 stoutly for the pig, till the old man gave in at last, 
 and so they were married. 
 
 " It's an old saying, and a true one, that ' there 
 are more married than keep good houses/ as Billy 
 soon found to his cost; for Judy was very prolific, 
 presenting him occasionally with two youngsters at 
 a time, till at last it was said of Billy, as of the 
 wren, ' although he's little, his family's great/ 
 Now it happened unfortunately for Billy, that 
 while Judy was increasing his family, one mis- 
 fortune after another was decreasing his stock ; 
 his sheep died of the rot, and his pig got the 
 measles, so that he was obliged to sell it for 
 little or nothing. * Well,' said Billy, who was 
 a good-humoured fellow, and wished to make 
 the best of every thing; ' Well, it can't be helped, 
 so there's no use in breaking one's heart, and 
 any how, we can't want the drop of milk to our 
 praties as long as the Maol cow's left to com- 
 fort us.' The words were hardly out of his 
 mouth, when Paddy Glissane came running up 
 to tell him that the Maol cow was clifted in the 
 Horses' Glen ; for Billy, you must know, had 
 sent his cow that very morning to graze on the 
 mountain. 
 
MANGERTON. . 165 
 
 " < Och ! Ullagone ! ' cried Bill, * what'll we do 
 now at all, we're ruined for ever and a day. Och, 
 Maol ! how could you be such a cruel unnatural 
 baste, as to clift yourself, you that I tought was 
 as cunning as a Christian, when you knowed as 
 well as myself that we couldn't do without you 
 at all ; for sure enough the childer will be crying 
 for the drop of milk to their praties ; and Judy '11 
 leech the life out of me for sending you to the 
 mountain, and she agin it all along.' 
 
 " Such was Bill Thompson's lament, as, with a 
 sorrowful heart, he made the best of his way to 
 the Horses' Glen, intending to get the hide of his 
 clifted cow, and conceal the carcase under some 
 rock, until he could borrow a horse to bring it 
 home; for, thought he, ' 'tis better to have some- 
 thing than nothing, and there'll be a good price 
 got for the skin surely, and the mate'll make fine 
 broth for the grawls (children) any how.' 
 
 " The sun was riding high by the time he got 
 into the Glen, and then it took him some time 
 before he could find where the poor beast was 
 lying, but at last he did find her, all smashed to 
 pieces at the foot of a big rock. ' Worse, and 
 worse ! there'll be hardly any thing got for the 
 skin, and the mate's scarcely worth a thraneen (a 
 straw,) but where is the use to make bad worse '?' 
 said Bill ; and he began to skin the cow as fast 
 as he could, but having no one to lend him a 
 hand, by the time the job was finished, the sun 
 had gone down. A faint light, however, still 
 streaked the top of the mountain, while the hollow 
 of Cown na Coppul was thrown into deep shadow 
 by the rocky precipices which enclosed it ; a low 
 wind murmured along the dark breast of the 
 fathomless pool, which lay in the bottom of this 
 
166 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 mountain valley, and its waters answered to the 
 night breeze with a deep and hollow growl, as the 
 black waves rolled sluggishly against their bounds. 
 From the south-eastern verge of the water, the 
 mountain rose steep and abrupt, but made a some- 
 what wider sweep to the west ; so that in this place 
 there was a marshy plain between the pool, and the 
 wall-like hill, which towered above it ; this plain 
 was strewed all over with huge gray rocks, that 
 looked in the dim twilight like so many spectres. 
 
 " Now, Billy Thompson was so intent on his 
 job, that he did not perceive the lapse of time ; 
 but, when his work was finished, he raised his 
 head, and, looking about, was surprised at the 
 lateness of the hour ; and when he heard the 
 murmuring wind, mingled with the hoarse reply 
 of the dark and sluggish pool, multiplied as these 
 sounds were by a thousand hill-born echoes, his 
 heart failed him, for his imagination converted 
 these sounds into the aerial whisperings of the 
 fanciful beings, with which his fears had already 
 peopled the recesses of the gray and shadowy 
 rocks which surrounded him. All the tales he 
 had ever heard, of the Pooka, the Banshee, and 
 the little red-cap'd mischievous fairy, floated 
 through his mind ; when, by an effort expecting 
 to end his fears, he suddenly snatched a tuft of 
 grass, wiped his knife, and seized hold of the 
 reeking hide, intending to make the best of his 
 way out of the Glen. 
 
 " It is well known, that a four-leaved sham- 
 rock has the power to open a man's eyes to all 
 sorts of enchantment, and it so happened, that 
 there was one in the little tuft of grass, with 
 which Billy had wiped his knife. Whether from 
 grief, or fear, or from both together, I know not ; 
 
MANGERTON. 167 
 
 Dut instead of throwing it away, he put the 
 grass into his pocket along with the knife ; and 
 when he turned to take a last lingering look 
 at the carcase of his cow, he beheld, instead of 
 his poor Maol, a little old curmudgeon sitting 
 bolt upright, and looking as if he had just been 
 flayed alive. If Billy was frightened at the sight, 
 it was still worse with him, when the little fel- 
 low called after him in a shrill squeaking voice, 
 * Bill Thompson ! Bill Thompson ! you spalpeen, 
 you'd better come back with my skin ; a pretty 
 time of day we're come to, when a gentleman 
 like me can't take a bit of a sleep, but an 
 Ounshaugh of a fellow must come and strip the 
 hide off him ; but you'd better bring it back 
 Bill Thompson, or I'll make you remember how 
 you have dared to skin me, you spalpeen.' 
 
 " Now, Billy Thompson, though he was greatly 
 frightened at first, had a stout heart of his own 
 in him ; so he began to muster up his courage, 
 for he saw it was a clear case, that his Maol 
 cow was carried away by the good people, and 
 he thought if he was stiff with the little cur- 
 mudgeon, he might, may be, get her back again ; 
 besides, if the worst came to the worst, he thought 
 he could safely defy him, as he had a black-handled 
 knife in his pocket; and whoever has that, 'tis said, 
 may look all the ghosts and fairies in the world full 
 in the face, without quaking. Billy Thompson, 
 therefore, took heart, and, seeing there was a civil 
 distance between them, he began to discourse the 
 little fellow; at the same time, however, keeping 
 his hand on the black-handled knife, for fear of 
 accidents. 
 
 " ' Why then, your honour, if it's the skin you're 
 after wanting, you must know it's the skin of my 
 
168 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 poor Maol cow, that was clifted yonder there; 
 the Lord rest her sowl, for a better baste never 
 walked on four legs, 'tis a long day till I see 
 the likes of her again; and sore and sorrowful 
 the childer will be for the want of her little drop 
 of milk; but it can't be helped, and there's no 
 use in talking ; so God be wid your honour, 
 any how ;' said Billy, as he pretended to take his 
 departure. 
 
 " i Why then, is that what you'd be after, Billy 
 ma boughill' (my boy ;) said the little imp, at the 
 same time jumping before him with the speed 
 of a greyhound ; * do you think I'm such a go- 
 mal as to let you walk off with my skin, with- 
 out so much as * by your lave.' But I'll tell 
 you what it is ; if you don't drop it in the turn 
 of a hand, you'll sup sorrow, may be.' 
 . " ' Badershin !' said Billy, at the same time, 
 drawing out his black-handled knife, and putting 
 himself in a posture of defence ; ' may be you 
 will, but the never a one of me will give you 
 the skin, till you give me back my Maol cow; 
 for don't I know well enough that she wasn't 
 clifted at all, at all, and that you, and the breed 
 of you, have got hould of her.' 
 
 " ' You'd better keep a civil tongue in your 
 head any how/ said the little fellow, who seemed 
 to get quite soft at the sight of the knife, ' and 
 how do you know but I'd befriend you, for you're 
 a stout fellow, Bill Thompson, and I've taken a 
 fancy to you ; so if you'd just be after giving 
 me the skin, I don't say but I might get you the 
 cow again.' 
 
 " ' Thankee kindly for the loan of your pickaxe/ 
 said Billy, winking slily ; * give me the cow first, 
 and. then I will.' 
 
MANGERTOtf. 169 
 
 " * Well, there she's for you, you unbelieving 
 hound !' said the little imp. And for certain what 
 would he hear, but his Maol cow screeching behind 
 him for the bare life ; for he knew the screech of 
 her among a thousand ; and when he looked be- 
 hind, what should he see but his cow, sure enough, 
 running over the rocks and stones, with a long 
 spansel hanging to one of her legs, and four 
 little fellows with red caps on them, hunting 
 her as fast as they could. 
 
 " There'll be a bit of a battle for her, Billy, 
 said the little curmudgeon, there'll be a bit of 
 a battle for her; two of the boys that are after 
 her, belong to another faction ; so, do you see, 
 while, they are fighting about her, you can drive 
 her away fair and easy, and no one will be a bit 
 the wiser of it, barring myself but I'll be no hin- 
 derance to you, and that's more than you deserve 
 from me, Billy Thompson.' 
 
 " * My jewel you are!' said Billy, quite de- 
 lighted with the hope of getting his cow again, 
 though he was half afraid the little fellow in- 
 tended playing him false, and he didn't much 
 believe what he said. Nevertheless, it was all 
 true enough, for no sooner did the four little 
 chaps with the red caps come up with one an- 
 other, than they began to fight. In the mean 
 time, the Maol cow, finding herself at liberty, 
 .ran towards Billy, who lost not a moment, but, 
 throwing the skin on the ground, seized the cow 
 by the tail, and began to drive her away as fast as 
 he could. 
 
 " * Not so fast, Billy/ said the little imp, who 
 stuck close by his side ; < not so fast, Billy, for 
 though I gave you the cow, I didn't give you the 
 spansel that's hanging to her leg/ 
 
170 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 see 
 
 ' I'll just be after calling the boys that are fight- 
 ing below there, and five to one will be more than a 
 match for you, Billy Thompson, as cunning as you 
 think yourself with that black-handled knife. But 
 I don't want to be too hard on you, so if you have 
 a mind for the spansel, I'll give you it for the little 
 tuft of grass you have in your pocket/ 
 
 " " < It's done,' said Billy, who by this time had 
 got to the top of a cliff, from whence he could see 
 his own farm, in the distance, shining in the clear 
 moonlight, while directly beneath him lay the 
 deep hollow of Cown na Coppul, where the four 
 red-capped fairies were fighting away as fierce as 
 ever the Black hens and Magpies fought. Now 
 Billy Thompson was fond of a bit of a skirmish, 
 and was sure to be seen at the head of his faction 
 on a fair day, when he often flourished his stick 
 in triumph. So finding himself at a safe distance, 
 he thought it no harm to stop a bit, just to see 
 how the good people handled a blackthorn. 
 
 " If he loved a real battle, there was one that 
 matched him completely, for the glen resounded 
 again with the shouts of the fairies, and the clash 
 of their sticks. But there was one of the little 
 fellows who fought ten times better than all the 
 rest, striking double-handed blows right and left ; 
 till Billy, in the delight of his heart, quite forget- 
 ting his cow and the necessity of silence, shouted 
 as loud as he could, ' Well done, redcap ! Here's 
 a Thompson ! here's a Thompson for redcap ! ' 
 The glen echoed with the deep tones of his 
 voice, and the astonished combatants, looking 
 up, perceived the cause of their contention 
 
MANGERTON. 171 
 
 was gone, and set off at full speed to recover 
 the cow. 
 
 " * You're done for now, Billy Thompson,' said 
 the little imp, who stood near him, ' but lose no 
 time in giving me the tuft of grass, and I'll lend 
 you a lift/ < There, take it/ said Billy.' No 
 sooner was it out of his hand, than he received a 
 blow, which in a moment dashed him to the 
 ground with such force, that he was quite stunned. 
 When he came to himself, the sun was shining ; 
 and where should he be but lying near the bounds 
 ditch of his own farm, with his Maol cow grazing 
 beside him ; and to be sure he would never have 
 got her again, or have come off so well, if it wasn't 
 for the four-leaved shamrock and the black - 
 handled knife. 
 
 " Billy Thompson could hardly believe his eyes, 
 and thought it was all a dream, till he saw the 
 spansel hanging to his cow's leg ; and that was 
 the lucky spansel to him, for, from that day out, 
 his cow gave more milk than any six cows in the 
 parish ; and Billy began to look up in the world, 
 and take farms, and purchase cattle, till at last 
 he became as rich as Darner ; but the world 
 would never after get him to go to the Horses' 
 Glen. And he never passes a fort, or hears a 
 blast of wind, without taking off his hat, with a 
 'God save ye, gentlemen,' in compliment to the 
 good people ; and 'tis only right for him so to do, 
 if there be any truth in Moll Bardin, who told me 
 the whole story just as she says it happened, and 
 as I have related it." 
 
 " As we intend returning through the Glen of 
 the Horse," said Mr. Lynch, " we had better 
 despatch a messenger with orders to have our 
 steeds taken to the foot of the mountain and 
 now for our perilous descent." 
 
172 KILLARNET LEGENDS. 
 
 This we accomplished by sitting and sliding down 
 into the hollow of Cown na Coppul, of which it 
 becomes unnecessary for me to say any thing 
 further, in the way of description, after Mr. 
 Lynch's story. 
 
 A toilsome walk brought us to the foot of the 
 mountain, where, finding our horses, we rode 
 towards the village of Cloghereen. 
 
 Here I may be permitted to remark, that who* 
 ever undertakes to ascend Man^erton, should be 
 provided with a well-stored basket of prog ; since 
 there a man can get nothing to eat but stones, 
 which are rather indigestible; and nothing to 
 drink, but a drop out of the Devil's Punch-bowl 
 cold, comfortless stuff it is ! Now, though we 
 we were not quite so foolish as to ascend Man- 
 gerton without any supply, yet the keenness of 
 the mountain air was such, that our small stock 
 of provisions soon proved rather an insufficient 
 offering to the cravings of the inward man ; 
 your little trifling sandwiches are not the thing ; 
 and unless the reader takes some more substan- 
 tial food with him, when he proceeds on a similar 
 excursion, I stake my reputation as a traveller, on 
 the fact, that he will make as much haste to the 
 next inn, as we did to Paddy Glissane's public- 
 house in the village of Cloghereen. 
 
THE STAG HUNT. 173 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE STAG HUNT. 
 
 THE first beams of the rising sun had just crept in 
 lines of brilliant light through the crevices of my 
 window shutter, when I awoke from a profound 
 and dreamless sleep : with a few yawns I suc- 
 ceeded in attaining a consciousness of existence ; 
 in other words, I was wide awake, and sensible of 
 some unusual stir and bustle in the Inn. Listen- 
 ing for some time to catch a stray w r ord, which 
 might discover the cause of this confusion, I at 
 length plainly distinguished the rough voice of 
 Doolan O'Donoghue in high dispute with the 
 waiter. 
 
 " Thunder an' tear an' ouns," said he, " is it to 
 have his honour lose the stag hunt, and he so 
 lucky to have one, when it wasn't expected at all? 
 and how should his honour expect it when he 
 wasn't here at the races' week, when there's 
 always sure to be a couple of them ? but since his 
 honour has the luck to have a stag hunt, all as 
 one as if it was given out on purpose for him, I'll 
 take care he shan't lose it ; so I say there is no 
 use in argufying, you must wake his honour, and 
 tell him that Doolan is waiting to know if he'll 
 h'lve his ould crew." 
 
174 KILLARtfEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " I tell you I won't do no such thing" said the 
 waiter ; " for didn't the gentleman bid me not to 
 wake him, because why ? he was mortal tired after 
 going up Mangerton." 
 
 O, ho ! a stag hunt, thought I, Doolan is in the 
 right, it would never do to lose a stag hunt. So 
 hastily jumping out of my bed, I threw open the 
 shutters, and having partially dressed myself, rung 
 the bell, which immediately put an end to the dis- 
 pute, by bringing the waiter to my door, whom I 
 ordered to procure my old boat and crew, and to 
 have every thing in readiness for the stag hunt. 
 I hastened down to breakfast, in order to be 
 early in the field ; for, on looking out, 1 perceived 
 Killarney was already sending forth its hundreds, 
 all anxiously hurrying to enjoy the sport. A stag 
 hunt creates quite a sensation in Killarney; on 
 such occasions the town pours forth almost its 
 whole population, even many of the old women 
 disdaining to be left behind. It was all life and 
 animation ; the whole place was in commotion 
 with the rattling of carriages and jaunting cars, 
 crowded with " beardies and brushes" (so, in Kil- 
 larney phrase, are dandies and artists termed,) 
 lakers and their ladies : and well corded to each 
 vehicle appeared huge baskets of provisions. 
 Blue-jacketed boatmen were seen running to and 
 fro, in all the spirit-stirring energy of business ; 
 in fact, 
 
 It was the morning of a glorious day ; 
 At dawn the trackers of the deer were out, 
 And mann'd each pass above Glena's lone bay, 
 To keep the red deer down with frequent shout. 
 The merry town pour'd forth its giddy rout, 
 Down to the quay of Ross they rush amain 
 
 And not only to the quay of Ross did they rush, 
 
THE STAG HUKT. 175 
 
 but, seeing it was impossible to procure boats for 
 such a multitude, hundreds, rather than lose the 
 sport, determined to walk round by the new line 
 of road ; and not a few set out mounted on their 
 own good steeds, while their wives and daughters, 
 crowding jingle and jaunting car, passed swiftly 
 by the more humble cart, with its usual accom- 
 paniment of bed and quilt, for the accommodation 
 of less wealthy or less aspiring folk. 
 
 The important business of breakfast despatched, 
 and having been joined by my friend Mr. Lynch, 
 we proceeded to mingle with the crowd who were 
 hurrying towards the place of embarkation, on the 
 Island of Ross. 
 
 Arrived at Ross, we found a wide-spreading 
 fleet, of all sorts and sizes of boats, from the eight- 
 oared barge to the light skiff and paddled canoe. 
 The band of the Kerry militia occupied a large 
 boat, as this was a fete given in honour of the 
 accomplished Countess Kenmare, for whom, and 
 for " John O'Connell" (so I was informed,) the 
 fleet were then waiting ; Mr. O'Connell generally 
 on such occasions being commander-in-chief. In 
 a few minutes his six-oared barge was seen ap- 
 proaching; indeed, it would have been impossible 
 to mistake it, for the green flag of Ireland flut- 
 tered at its stern, upon which might be discovered, 
 embroidered in large characters, ERIN GO BRAGIJ, 
 Then the barge itself was green, ornamented with a 
 stripe of virgin white and a running wreath of 
 shamrocks, with which also the oars were deco- 
 rated from top to bottom. 
 
 The portly form of Mr. O'Connell himself, as 
 he stood most majestically steering his patriotic 
 barge, was soon recognised. He was greeted, as 
 rnay be supposed, with a mighty shout, after which 
 
176 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 he issued a general order that no boat should go 
 ahead of the Earl of Kenmare's, which just then 
 made its appearance, and immediately proceeded 
 to lead on the fleet. 
 
 Lo, off they push with shout and music's swell, 
 . A fairy fleet upon an island sea, 
 Wide flash'd the water as the light oars fell, 
 Answer'd the boatman's song, the buoyant glee 
 Of hearts full set on mirth and revelry ; 
 And many a streamer gay is floating there, 
 With rainbow colours and embroidery, 
 Wide waving on the gently breathing air, 
 That seemM in love to fan a scene so bright and fair. 
 
 As we glided by the wild and rocky shores of 
 Ross, several sail-boats started from the nooks 
 and corners where they had harboured, and, un- 
 furling their white wings to the wind, flew swiftly 
 on before the breeze, adding greatly to the beauty 
 and effect of the scene ; the waves sparkling be- 
 fore their prows, their sails now glancing in the 
 sun, and now beautifully contrasting their snowy 
 hue with the darkness and majesty of some frown- 
 ing rock or hill. 
 
 Thus did the little fleet pass gaily on till we 
 came to the entrance of the river between Brickeen 
 and Glena ; here the sail-boats were abandoned, 
 and here commenced struggle and confusion, boat 
 thwarting boat in the windings of the river ; now 
 an oar entangled 'mid the weeds, and now a boat 
 run aground, until we gained Dinis' Pool, where 
 the company were landed on the Glena bank, 
 while the boats were being hauled up the rapids 
 under the old Weir Bridge. 
 
 It was an animated sight, when standing on the 
 bridge, to view the efforts of the boatmen dragging 
 their respective barges against the stream ; and 
 
THE STAG HUNT. 177 
 
 then to behold the gay groups, each after the 
 other, emerging from the covert of rock and wood, 
 and approaching that part of the river where they 
 were to re-embark, and where boat after boat, as 
 it surmounted the rapids, took in its company, and 
 proceeded up the river. The whole fleet being 
 assembled under the Eagle's Nest, the hills man- 
 ned to keep the deer down to the river, and the 
 hounds and huntsmen up in the hollow between 
 Glena and the Eagle's Nest, where the deer lay 
 which they had tracked for some days before, 
 silence reigned around, every one anxiously wait- 
 ing the signal shot. Those who had walked or 
 rode, now covered every rock and height on the 
 banks of the river, and many even had forsaken 
 their boats in order to have a better view from 
 the shore. 
 
 Behold the congregated rocks, whose groups, 
 Like islands, stand along the river's side, 
 
 Are covered o'er with gay expectant troops 
 
 Of youths, and dainty dames in flaunting pride. 
 
 But beside these there were many who joined 
 business with pleasure. There was the fruit girl 
 with her basket of apples ; and as it is not in the 
 nature of things that at an Irish merry-making the 
 all important whiskey should be forgotten, many 
 women might be seen handing the " cruiskeen 
 lawn" among the crowd, while the huxter, with 
 her sieve full of dillisk, bread, and biscuits, was 
 all as ready to appease the cravings of hunger. 
 Sundry old ladies were there, who had been pru- 
 dent enough to bring their own stores, and might 
 be seen in many a snug spot drawing forth the home- 
 baked loaf and pocket bottle, glancing in the sun, 
 to regale both herself and crony. And now all is 
 ready. 
 
178 KILLAHNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 Hark to the signal shot ! the mountain's roar ! 
 
 The burst of that brave pack ! the frequent shout 
 
 The watchers on the hills begin to pour, 
 
 As bursts the red deer from the wild woods out ! 
 
 Lo ! down he dashes through that giddy rout, 
 
 With glancing eye and antlers' branchy pride, 
 
 While fast the big round tears begin to spout ; 
 
 One moment stands he by that river's side, 
 
 Looks, lingering, up the hills, then plunges in the tide. 
 
 After the first burst, every eye was strained to 
 get a view of the stag. " There he is" " No"- 
 " Whisht, ye'll see him in a minute" " Hark, 
 that's O'Sullivan's cry ringing through the hills" 
 " There GeofTry Lynch makes his appearance"- 
 " And now John O'Connell's huntsman," were the 
 various exclamations from every side. 
 
 Sometimes the stag makes his escape up the 
 mountains, leading hound and hunter a long and 
 weary chase. On this occasion, however, matters 
 were better managed ; for the stag, after several 
 vain attempts to ascend, made his appearance, and 
 ran along the river's side for nearly a mile, in full 
 view of the boats and those on the shore, till, find- 
 ing himself too closely pressed by the hounds, he 
 plunged into the river. Then came the struggle, 
 the chase, and the race, for the honour of taking 
 him, which was at length done by Mr. O'Connell. 
 A handkerchief was bound round the poor animal's 
 eyes, his legs tied, and, thus secured, he was lifted 
 into the boat. The boat then put in to the shore, 
 in order to allow every one a peep at the stag; 
 to obtain which, the fleet gathered round, and 
 all hurried towards one point on the shore, where 
 soon stood nobility and mobility, huntsman and 
 peasant, indiscriminately grouped together. 
 
 Close to Mr. O'Connell's barge was that of the 
 Earl Kenmare, into which stepped the round, 
 
THE STAG HUNT. 179 
 
 rosy, and reverend Lord Brandon, at the same 
 time, apparently, addressing some courtly compli- 
 ments to the Lady Kenmare then there was the 
 good Lord Headley with his famous piper, and my 
 worthy friend Gandsey. The Herberts of Caher- 
 nane, with the union jack, in despite of the admi- 
 ralty regulation, floating at their stern. And 
 around these, and other first rates, crowded the 
 small fry, anxious to catch the looks and the 
 words of their superiors. Amidst the confused 
 murmur of this strange assembly, a distinguished 
 orator arose to present Lady Kenmare with the 
 tip of the stag's ear, which he did, accompany- 
 ing the action with a speech, that fully entitled 
 him to his popular appellative of " the silver 
 tongued." 
 
 " I feel," said he, " I feel" and there was a 
 general shout " this to be the proudest most 
 glorious moment of my existence ; indeed, words 
 can never sufficiently express the intense depth of 
 my happiness in thus having the honour to pre- 
 sent the wild monarch of the hills to the beautiful, 
 all-accomplished, most lovely, and superlative 
 lady of our lakes." Here the speaker placed his 
 right hand on his left breast, waved a white cam- 
 bric handkerchief, looked around for applause, and 
 then performed a graceful bow. The fleet now 
 began to drop down the river, as the stag was to 
 be released in Glena Bay, from whence they were 
 to proceed to Innisfallen, where the evening was 
 to be closed with feast and dance. 
 
 A lively scene ensued on the arrival of the fleet 
 at the old Weir Bridge. Dinis and the shores 
 were covered with people, waiting to behold the 
 boats shoot the bridge ; and, as we were nearly 
 the first to perform this feat, we had an opportu- 
 N 2 
 
180 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 nity of seeing the others descend. Down came 
 boat after boat ; some striking against the rocks, 
 and nearly overset ; others steering clear of all 
 obstructions ; among which number was my friend 
 Plunket, who, being coxswain to the Earl Ken- 
 mare, had been obliged to leave me, in order to 
 pilot his lordship. I had, however, no cause to 
 complain, so well did honest Tim Lyne supply 
 Plunket's place. As each boat descended, the 
 crew gave a shout, which was answered from the 
 shores ; and then all proceeded on to Glena Bay, 
 where being ranged at each side of Mr. O'Con- 
 nell's barge, the stag was freed. 
 
 The gallant stag is ta'en, the chase is o'er 
 The sturdy rowers urge the flying boat 
 
 Within Glena's lone fairy bay once more 
 That joyous fleet doth in its glory float, 
 As calm as skiff upon some castle's moat : 
 
 And there they set the antler'd monarch free, 
 With shout, and loud halloo, and bugle note ; 
 
 Proudly he stems the wave, right glad to see 
 
 His native wilds once more, and be at liberty. 
 
 Shortly after freeing the stag, the whole fleet 
 put into Innisfallen, with colours flying, and the 
 band playing. Upon landing, the different par- 
 ties dispersed about the island, where they formed 
 themselves in little groups, to partake of the col- 
 lations they had brought with them. Dinner 
 over, some perambulated the walks, others seated 
 on the shore, enjoyed the scenery, and listened to 
 the distant notes of music ; while by far the 
 greater part amused themselves with dancing on 
 the green turf near the banqueting-house, where 
 the Kerry band were stationed, and not a few of 
 the young men displayed their skill in a rowing 
 match around the island. 
 
THE STAG HUNT. 181 
 
 " Glanced many a light caique along the foam, 
 Danced on the shore the daughters of the land/' 
 
 Upon this scene the moon arose broad and 
 bright. 
 
 " That's fortunate for you," said Mr. Lynch ; 
 " for it would be a sad thing to go away, without 
 a moonlight row on the lake ; suppose I order 
 the men to pull us to Glena Bay, and from 
 thence back to Ross." 
 
 Departing for Glena, we glided gently across 
 the moonlit waters. If I were writing a novel, 
 here would be the place for pictorial sentiment ; 
 but as I am not, and as Mr. Weld has given a 
 wondrous description of Glena as seen by moon- 
 light, I shall merely say that Glena, always 
 romantic and beautiful, is rendered doubly so 
 by moonlight and music. 
 
 Oh then, at such an hour to sail along 
 The silver'd waters by some mountain's side, 
 
 Whose trees shall rustle overhead a song 
 Bassed by the murmur of the chafing tide, 
 By the breeze brought, and echo multiplied 
 
 Oh then, at such an hour amid such sounds, 
 To sail with her, your own your gentle bride 
 
 But truce to such dreams they are over. 
 
 On our return homewards, Thady Begly com- 
 menced whistling the exquisite old melody of 
 Aileen a roon. Although no air is more fami- 
 liar to me, in my mood of mind at the instant 
 I felt charmed with its wild simplicity ; the 
 sound ,of every note went directly to my heart ; 
 till Doolan suddenly checked my enjoyment by 
 placing his hand on Begly 's mouth. 
 
 " Why then," said he, " don't be after going 
 to whistle that diabolical tune, for sure and sartin 
 there's something diabolical in it ; and 'twill be 
 
182 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 many a long day till you whistle it again, when 
 you hear the whole story about it. 
 
 " You must know then, that Father Phill Clan- 
 cey happened one day to be in Killarney about a 
 little business of his own, and was kept by one 
 thing or another, till the night came on ; a des- 
 perate dark night it was ; so as there was no use in 
 attempting to go home, he was obliged to content 
 himself with a snug lodging, and a smoking 
 tumbler of whiskey punch. Well, just as he was 
 mixing the second tumbler, word was brought 
 him, that Moll Barry of Claunteens was at the 
 last gasp, and that she couldn't leave the world in 
 pace, if Father Phill didn't give her the blessed 
 sacrament. Now, Father Phill didn't like to 
 leave his warm tumbler of punch and snug room, 
 and small blame to him for that ; but if it was a 
 Turk, how could he refuse him, and he at the last 
 gasp ? let alone Moll Barry, who was a relation 
 of his own, and a good Christian. So seeing 
 there was no help for it, up he gets on his bit of a 
 pony, and away he gallops along the Castle 
 Island road, as fast as the dark would let him. 
 It wasn't long till he passed the park-gate, and 
 the little bridge over the Dinah, and, to make a 
 long story short, he got on well enough till he 
 came to the ould fort at Knockeen Dubh a 
 lonesome place it is, and they say the good people 
 live in it ; and sure enough there's a sort of a 
 cave covered over with smooth flags in the middle 
 of it. But be that as it may, 'tis sartin that when 
 Father Phill came to the fort, he heard the most 
 beautifullest music in the world, so that he 
 couldn't, for the life of him, help standing to listen ; 
 well, all at once, the music stopped, and two of 
 the finest voices that was ever hard before 01 
 
THE STAG HUNT. 183 
 
 since, begun to tune up Aileen a roon in prime 
 style. If Father Phill was pleased with the music, 
 he was much better pleased with the song; so, 
 after listening for some time, he thought he'd just 
 ride into the fort, and see who it was that was 
 singing so beautiful entirely. Well, fakes if he 
 did, the moment he got into the fort what should 
 he see but two great mastiffs of bull-dogs, sitting 
 overright one another, and singing for the bare 
 life ; and no sooner did his reverence make the 
 sign of the cross, than away they flew in a flame 
 of fire, and Father Phill, setting spurs to his 
 pony, galloped on as fast as he could. It wasn't 
 long till he came to the house at Claunteens ; but 
 he was the day after the fair, for poor Moll Barry 
 was dead and gone; and then he knew well 
 enough that it was the devil himself (the Lord 
 presarve us !) that stopped him at the ould fort, 
 to prevent his giving the poor woman the blessed 
 sacrament. So you see it's no wonder that I don't 
 like to hear a Christian whistling the devil's tune. 
 For 'tis as true a story, as that you are sitting 
 there ; and didn't I hear it word for word out of 
 Father Phill's own mouth ? and sure I wouldn't 
 go to belie him, now that he's dead and gone, for 
 'tis not my way, you see." 
 
 As Doolan concluded his story, we had reached 
 Ross Quay, where we found numbers, who like 
 ourselves had just landed, and were hastening 
 home to Killarney. Indeed, the rattle of jingles 
 and coaches was to the full as great as it had 
 been in the morning ; and we, not to be behind- 
 hand with the rest, contributed our share, by 
 mounting one of Gorham's vehicles, and jingling 
 it away to the town; Spillane all the time playing 
 on his bugle, with might and main. 
 
184 K1LLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " You had better stop, Spillane," said Mr. 
 Lynch, as we approached Killarney ; " you know, 
 we have some very antimusical magistrates." 
 
 " I believe," replied Spillane, " they'll let musi- 
 cians alone again, as long as they live ; for wasn't 
 there Mr. Dumass, more strength to his elbow, 
 and more wind in his bellows ! and didn't Mo- 
 riarty, for the same reason, prosecute Blake, the 
 captain of the Peelers, and make him pay the 
 piper, with a vengeance ? it was a dear song to 
 him, any how/' 
 
 Scarcely had we entered the town, when our 
 ears were assailed by a most tremendous uproar. 
 " Here's a Barry' 7 " Here's a Leary" " Five 
 pounds for a Barry's head" " Ten pounds for a 
 Leary" " Here's up-street for Barry" " Here's 
 down-street for a Leary" resounded through the 
 town. 
 
 " Spillane, what's all this uproar about ? the 
 stag-hunt whiskey seems to be stirring among the 
 good people of Killarney." 
 
 " O sir, it's only a bit of a skirmish between 
 up-street and down-street, and the faction of the 
 Barrys and Learys ; it's nothing to what they used 
 to have long ago, when one part of the town 
 fought against the other, with old scythes and 
 swords and stones ; and the women used to come 
 behind a man, with a parcel of stones in an old 
 stocking, and knock him as dead as a herring." 
 Presently there came a cry of " The Peelers" 
 " The Peelers" and immediately three or four 
 green-coated, black-belted horsemen, with a fiery 
 magistrate at their head, dashed into the thick of 
 the crowd ; and after some time, succeeded in 
 putting an end to the fray. 
 
 " Why then," said a gigantic countryman, who 
 
THE STAG HUNT. 185 
 
 stood near me ; " why then, isn't it a mortal 
 shame for Mr. Galway to drive among the people 
 at that rate ? how does he know, but he'd kill the 
 poor craters, and they as thick as midges ? 'tis 
 long till Mr. Cashell would do the likes, any 
 how." 
 
 "And who is this Mr. Cashell?" said I, to 
 Spillane. " He's a good gentleman, and a magis- 
 trate, sir; and has a beautiful good lady to his 
 wife ; her own name is Wilson ; she came from 
 Scotland, and has a brother that is a great writer, 
 and a fine poet." 
 
 " Oh, then, she is sister to the ingenous Pro- 
 fessor of that name." 
 
 Once more I enter Gorham's Hotel, where a 
 comfortable bed, and sound sleep, soon rendered 
 me alike insensible to the fatigues or pleasures of 
 the day. 
 
186 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE LAKE OF KILLBRAN. 
 
 Now I have breakfasted, what's to be done ? I'll 
 see what the Gorham advises. 
 
 " Waiter, if Mr. Gorham is not particularly 
 engaged, I should be glad to speak to him." 
 
 " He's just gone to look after the eagles in the 
 yard, sir, but I'll go and tell him." 
 
 " No stop, I'll go myself I should like much 
 to have a look at his pets I remember Doolan 
 mentioned them to me." 
 
 On my return I found Mr. Lynch lolling upon 
 the sofa in my room. The usual greetings over, 
 he anticipated my question of what's to be done, 
 by commencing as follows: " You are now," said 
 he, " pretty well acquainted with the wonders of Kil- 
 larney, and I suppose you intend shortly to take your 
 departure ; nevertheless, if not restricted by time, 
 there are one or two rambles which I wish to lead 
 you ; and though they may not be, perhaps, so 
 interesting as those which you have already en- 
 joyed, I think you are just that sort of person who 
 wishes to see every thing, good and bad, as the Irish 
 phrase runs, before you depart for the chalky cliffs 
 of happy England. For instance, you have not 
 seen the park, in which there is a very pretty glen 
 there's the wild country too beyond the park, 
 
THE LAKE OF KILLBRAN. 187 
 
 with the little Lake of Killbran, about which I 
 have a story the Glen of Ahahunnig the Druidi- 
 cal Circle and Labig Owen, or Owen's Bed, at 
 Philadown, in Glanflesk." 
 
 " All which I am determined to see," said I, 
 te if you will undertake the office of guide." 
 
 " That office I will readily undertake, said Mr. 
 Lynch, and so I think we had better proceed at 
 once." 
 
 " With all my heart horsed shall be at the 
 door directly." 
 
 " Horses ! what do you want horses for? No, 
 no, you must make use of your legs to-day." 
 
 " Be it as you will," said I. And away we 
 went along the Main street, till we reached its 
 extremity ; then turning to the right, we entered 
 upon the Castle Island road. 
 
 " What deplorable cabins !" I exclaimed, as we 
 passed a row of the most miserable dwellings I 
 had ever beheld, and which stood a disgrace to 
 Killarney. 
 
 " I wonder at you," said Mr. Lynch, with a 
 smile, " to speak thus of Mrs. Falvey's freeholds. 
 I assure you the fair owner is very partial to this 
 property, having, I understand, rejected several 
 very good offers made to her by Lord Kenmare, 
 if she would only let these deplorable cabins, as 
 you call them, be pulled down. But, no, it would 
 never do to destroy so many comfortable habita- 
 tions ; besides, what would become of Killarney, 
 if the inmates of these hovels were obliged to 
 emigrate ; alas, if that were the case, there would 
 be a lamentable want of beggars in the town ; for 
 here dwell those kind-hearted people who were the 
 first to hail your arrival, and who will anxiously 
 crowd to witness your departure." 
 
188 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 Leaving Mrs. Falvey's freeholds and the hos- 
 pital behind, we in a short time reached the 
 entrance to Lord Kenmare's park, distant about 
 half a mile from Killarney. The park is situated 
 on one of the hills which rise behind the town, 
 and is agreeably broken. It is richly wooded 
 with ancient oaks; but its chief attraction is a 
 romantic glen, through which rushes the Dinah, 
 now cascading over dark rocky ledges, now 
 brawling along its pebbly bed, and not unfre- 
 quentiy dimpling into little pools ; while the 
 woods at each side overhang, and frequently 
 overarch the stream, which in some places ap- 
 pears to gush from their very branches. At each 
 side of the stream there is a commodious walk, 
 sometimes running close to the water, sometimes 
 rising high above it. And from the bridge there 
 is an agreeable view ; for on looking down you 
 behold the stream brawling along till completely 
 lost amid the woods. I was informed that this 
 spot was formerly a place much resorted to by 
 the towns-people ; at that time there were rustic 
 chairs and pavilions scattered through the glen, 
 which was frequented by evening parties, who 
 would here sip their tea and keep up the merry 
 dance, to the astonishment of the startled deer, 
 even until the moon rose upon their revels. But 
 the place is now neglected ; the walks are over- 
 grown with grass and weeds, the seats, the pavi- 
 lion, and even a wooden bridge, which once 
 served for ornament and use, have disappeared 
 nay, the very deer have been banished, and the 
 park is now undergoing a course of tillage. 
 
 From the glen, which is in the northern part of 
 the park, we walked to the hill on the opposite side, 
 at the summit of which we found a gate, dividing 
 
THE LAKE OF KILLBRAN. 189 
 
 Mr. Cronin's portion of the park from that kept 
 by Lord Kenmare in his own hands. We then 
 strolled leisurely towards Mr. Cronin's, or, as it is 
 usually called, the Park house. 
 
 Passing out of the park by the back gate, near 
 Mr. Cronin's house, we found ourselves on the old 
 road leading to Kanturk, and along this we pro- 
 ceeded, in order to reach the Lake of Killbran. 
 There was nothing attractive in the country on 
 either side, which consisted of wild stony farms, 
 that seemed to promise but a poor recompense to 
 the hand of industry. After walking about a mile 
 we turned off to the left, into a by-road, at a 
 place were I remarked a rude stone-capped well, 
 called the Spa of Tullig. About half a mile fur- 
 ther, we passed a little wooded glen, or rather 
 hollow, on the left-hand side of the road, and 
 shortly after reached the Lake of Killbran. This 
 is a small lake, situated on a green height, from 
 whence there is a wild prospect of a broken 
 country, interspersed with bogs and valleys, till 
 bounded to the north by the mountains, in the 
 neighbourhood of Tralee. The land was remark- 
 ably barren and destitute of wood, except here 
 and there a few trees scattered about the cabins 
 of the peasantry, or where the plantations of Gleun 
 a Heelah and Farm Lodge appeared but these 
 were as specks, compared with the extent of the 
 landscape, and could therefore little affect the 
 general character of barrenness. 
 
 " And is this," said I, " what you have brought 
 me to see ? truly, I think we have had a most un- 
 profitable journey." 
 
 " Come, that's not fair," returned Mr. Lynch, 
 " 1 told you that you must take the good and the 
 bad together ; it was not for the sake of the 
 
190 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 prospect I brought you here, but merely because 
 it is the scene of a legend with which I am 
 acquainted. I believe that every lake in Ireland 
 has some story attached to it ; but the first notice 
 I received of this, was that there lived a big worm, 
 as big as a colt, in Loch Bran. Having little else 
 to do, I made a journey hither, to inquire into the 
 matter, and, accosting the first countryman I met, 
 asked him if there had not been a < big worm' seen 
 in the lake. 
 
 " ' Oh then, sure enough there is one/ said he, 
 ' as big as a coult, with a great bushy tail, that 
 comes up out of the water sometimes ; by the 
 same token, that Jerry Finigan was near being kilt 
 by him ; for he went for his coult in the gray of 
 the morning, and was just putting the bridle on 
 the big worm, when he broke away and ran into 
 the lake. And of another time he was near kill- 
 ing a man, a cousin of my own one Moriarty, 
 who was ploughing near the lake a quare lake it 
 is any how, and couldn't have been a lake always, 
 for when the water is low you may see the remains 
 of an ould ditch running across the bottom of it ; 
 and there was a big piece of timber found in it, 
 with an auger hole bored through it ; so I suppose 
 there was people living there, till the flood came 
 and drownded them.' 
 
 " Having made inquiries of this kind in various 
 quarters, I at length succeeded in obtaining the 
 best information which can be procured relative 
 to the Lake of Killbran, and which I here beg 
 leave to present you with. 
 
 " In the good old times there existed in Ireland 
 a race of mortals, who, under the denomination of 
 6 poor scholars/ used to travel from parish to 
 parish, and county to county, in order to increase 
 
THE LAKE OF KILLBRAX. 191 
 
 their stock of knowledge. These poor scholars 
 were, for the most part, men of from twenty to 
 five- and- twenty years of age ; and as they were 
 also agreeable, social fellows, who during their 
 peregrinations had acquired a fund of anecdote, 
 could tell a good story, and never refused to lend 
 a helping hand in any business that was going for- 
 ward, they were received with a caed mille faultha* 
 at every farmer's house throughout the country, 
 where they were welcome to stay as long as they 
 pleased. 
 
 " It happened one evening in the month of 
 July, that one of these peripatetics, a stout, plat- 
 ter-faced mortal, by name Darby O'Reily (the 
 very same it was who invented the famous stone 
 soup,) made his appearance at the house of the 
 widow Fleming, who dwelt not far from the old 
 church of Kilcummin. Now, the widow Fleming, 
 who since her husband's death had taken the 
 entire management of a large farm upon herself, 
 was very glad to see Darby O'Reily for a variety 
 of reasons. In the first place, it was the hay har- 
 vest, and Darby would lend a helping hand, and 
 keep the men in good humour at their work with 
 his merry stories ; then he could teach the chil- 
 dren great A. B. C. of an evening, and then she 
 was a lone woman, and Darby was a pleasant com- 
 panion, and an old acquaintance moreover. Whe- 
 ther this last idea was of deeper root than the 
 others, is not for me to say, but certain it is that 
 Darby received on the present occasion more than 
 a common welcome from the widow Fleming. 
 After having partaken of the good cheer which the 
 widow set before him in the greatest profusion, 
 and having renewed his acquaintance with the 
 * A hundred thousand welcomes. 
 
192 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 inmates of the house, even to Darby the dog, that 
 was called after him, and the cat ; he proposed to 
 step down to the parish jighouse, just to shuffle 
 the brogue with his old sweethearts, hear the news 
 and see how the neighbours were getting on, for it 
 was near a twelvemonth since he had been in that 
 part of the country. Now, whether it was the 
 mention of sweethearts that disagreed with the 
 widow, or whatever else might have been the cause, 
 it is certain that she was much against Darby's 
 going to the jighouse; but seeing that she could 
 not with any decency or effect gainsay his inten- 
 tions, she was obliged to assent, at the same time, 
 however, warning him to be back early, and not 
 to keep up the house. Away he went to the jig- 
 house, where he found himself quite at home, and 
 as welcome as the flowers of May. Fine fun he 
 had of it, for the pipes played merrily up, while 
 he footed it bravely with the prettiest girls and 
 best moneen jiggers in all the Barony. To speak 
 the truth, he wasn't a bad hand at a jig himself, 
 for there were few could equal him in the ' heel 
 and toe' step, and then he put such life and spirit 
 into his motions, that he made the house ring 
 again with his grinding and merry snap of his 
 fingers. But your dancing is droughty work, 
 at least Darby O'Reily was of that opinion, although 
 there was no fear of his dying for the want of a 
 drop to drink ; as he had news for the old, and 
 stories for the young, till at last it was Darby here, 
 and Darby there, and who but Darby ? The soul 
 of merriment, and the prince of good fellows, 
 every one striving who should be the first to treat 
 him, Darby soon became as comfortable as any 
 gentleman could wish to be. 
 
 But while Darby was drinking, and dancing, 
 
THE LAKE OF KILLBRAtf. 193 
 
 and making merry, he never remembered it was 
 time to go home, or bestowed a single thought 
 upon the widow Fleming's good advice, which 
 was very ungrateful of him, considering the 
 civil way she had behaved to him, and that she 
 was even then herself sitting up waiting his 
 return. 
 
 " The longest day will have an end, and the 
 greatest merriment must at length give way to 
 repose, as Darby found to his sorrow, when the 
 party broke up, and he had to stagger away as 
 well as he could. He was so much i in the wind,' 
 that he didn't well know which way he was going, 
 and, as bad luck would have it, he went every way 
 but the right; for instead of keeping the straight 
 road, by way of making a short cut, he turned off 
 through the fields, and, after wandering about for 
 as good as an hour, where should he find himself 
 but in the old fort at Clauteens. A bad place it 
 is to get into at the dead hour of the night, when 
 the good people are going their rounds, and mak- 
 ing merry, as Darby soon found ; for though it 
 was easy enough to get into the fort, he couldn't 
 get out again for the life of him ; it even appeared 
 to him as if the fort had increased its dimensions 
 to a boundless extent. He wandered up and down 
 and round about for a long time without ever be- 
 ing able to get out, and was obliged at last to con- 
 tent himself where he was, so down he sat on a 
 stone. * There's small fun sitting on a could stone 
 in the moonshine,' muttered Darby; ' and sure it's 
 a pitiful case to be bewitched by the fairies the 
 good people I mean, and stuck fast in the middle 
 of an ould fort ; but there's no help for it, so what 
 can't be cured must be endured/ No sooner had 
 he come to this very wise conclusion, than he 
 o 
 
194 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 heard a most tremendous hammering under the 
 very stone he was sitting on. 
 
 " * O Darby !' cried he, < what'll become of you 
 now?' 
 
 " Plucking up his courage, he boldly took a 
 peep beneath the stone, when, what should he 
 see, but a Cluricaune sitting under a projecting 
 ledge of what had been his seat, and hammer- 
 ing as hard as he could at the heel of an old 
 shoe. Although Darby was very much afraid of 
 the fairies, he wasn't a bit in dread of a Cluri- 
 caune; for they say if you catch a Cluricaune 
 and keep him fast, he'll shew you where his 
 purse is hid, and make a rich man of you. But 
 it wasn't thinking of purses Darby was, for he'd 
 rather be out of the fort than to get all the 
 purses in the world. So when he saw the Cluri- 
 caune, it came into his head, that may be he'd 
 lend him a helping hand, for they say the little 
 fellow is fond of a drop himself. ' Success to 
 you, my boy, you are a good hand at a shoe 
 any how/ said Darby, addressing himself to the 
 Cluricaune. 
 
 " ' Ah ! Darby, my jolly buck, is that you ? ' 
 said the Cluricaune, getting up from his work, 
 and looking him full in the face. 
 
 " ' The very same, at your honour's sarvice/ 
 answered Darby. 
 
 " ' What brought you here ? ' said the Cluri- 
 caune, ' I'm thinking you've got yourself into 
 a bit of a scrape.' 
 
 " ' Fakes then, your honour, I'm thinking the 
 very same,' said Darby, * if your honour doesn't 
 lend me a helping hand.' So he told him how 
 he stopped at the widow Fleming's, how he went 
 down to the jighouse, and being a little over- 
 
THE LAKE OF KILLBRAN. 195 
 
 taken in liquor, how he wandered through the 
 fields until he found himself in the old fort, and 
 wasn't able to make his way out again. 
 
 " < You're in a bad case, Darby,' said the Cluri- 
 caune, ' for the good people will be here directly, 
 and if they find you before them, Darby, they'll 
 play the puck with you/ 
 
 " ' Oh, murder ! ' cried Darby, < I throw my life 
 upon the heel of your honour's shoe.' 
 
 " ' Well/ said the Cluricaune, * you're a rol- 
 locking lad as ever tipped a can, and it's a pity 
 any harm should ever come of taking a drop of 
 good drink. So give me your hand, and I'll save 
 you. And as you never did any hurt to me or 
 mine, I'll do more than that for you, Darby. 
 Here, take this charm, and you are made for ever, 
 my man.' 
 
 " ' And what's the nathur of it ?' said Darby, at 
 the same time putting it into his right hand 
 breeches pocket, and buttoning it up tight. 
 
 " < I'll tell you that,' said the Cluricaune; ' if 
 you only pin it to the petticoat of the first woman 
 in the land, she'll follow you the wide world over; 
 and that's no bad thing for a poor scholar.' So 
 saying, the Cluricaune took him out of the fort, 
 put him on the straight road, and, wishing him 
 success with the charm, burst into a fit of laughter, 
 and disappeared. 
 
 " ' Good riddance of you any how, but 'tis an 
 ugly laugh you have with you,' said Darby, as he 
 made the best of his way to the widow Fleming's, 
 who was in no great humour ; and no wonder, to 
 be kept up so late by such a drunken bletherum 
 as Darby. Now, when he saw the widow in a bit 
 of a fret, * Ho ! by my sowl,' said he, < I've the 
 cure in my breeches pocket/ So with that he outs 
 o2 
 
196 KILLARtfEY LEGENDS. 
 
 with the charm, and pinned it slyly to the widow's 
 gown. * I've charmed her now,' says Darby, ' if 
 there's any truth in that little chap of a Cluri- 
 caune.' And certainly there was soon a wonder- 
 ful change in the widow, who, from being as gluni 
 as a misty morning, became as soft as butter. So 
 very careful was she of Darby, that, late as it was, 
 she made down a good fire, lest he should be cold 
 after the night, brought him a supper of the best 
 the house could afford, and had as much cooram 
 about him as if he was lord of the land. Darby 
 grinned with delight at the success of his charm ; 
 but he was soon made to grin at wrong side of his 
 mouth, for the widow in the midst of her love 
 chanced to discover the charm that was pinned to 
 the tail of her gown. 
 
 " ' What's this you've pinned to my gown, you 
 rogue you ?' said she, at the same time flinging it 
 into the fire. 
 
 " ' Botheration/ roared Darby, ' I'm settled for 
 now ;' and no wonder he should roar, for the 
 charm took instant effect ; and the fire jumped 
 holus-bolus after Darby, who made for the door, 
 and away he went as fast as his legs could carry 
 him. But if he did, the fire came after him, 
 roaring and blazing, as if there were a thousand 
 tar-barrels in the middle of it. Away he ran 
 for the bare life, across the country, over hedge 
 and ditch, for as good as two miles ; neither 
 stopping nor staying till he came to a deep well 
 on a high farm, between Tullig and Gleun a 
 Heelah, when who should he meet but his old 
 friend the Cluricaune. ' Arrah Darby !' says the 
 little fellow, * you seem to be in a wonderful 
 hurry; where are you going so fast, man, that you 
 wouldn't stop to spake to an old acquaintance ?' 
 
THE LAKE OF KILLBRAN. 197 
 
 " ' Bad luck to you, you deceitful hop of my 
 thumb/ said Darby ; ' for sure it's all along of 
 you and your charm that I'm in the neat way I am 
 this blessed night.' 
 
 " ' And that's my thanks for saving you from 
 the good people/ says the Cluricaune. ' Very 
 well, Mister Darby, there's the fire at your heels, 
 and who's to save you now ?' 
 
 " ' O ! thunder alive ! sure you wouldn't be 
 after sarving Darby that way.* 
 
 " ' Well/ said the Cluricaune, ' I'll take com- 
 passion on you this once ; so here's my advrce, 
 leap into the well, and you'll be safe/ 
 
 " ( Is it into the well you mane/ says Darby, 
 ' why then do you take me for a fool entirely ?' 
 
 " ' O ! you're a very wise man to be sure, see- 
 ing you're a scholar, Darby ; so you may take 
 your own way if you like, and welcome. Good- 
 night to you, Darby O'Reily/ said the spiteful 
 little fellow, slapping his cocked hat on his head, 
 and walking off with a most malicious grin, 
 * Good-night to you, Darby O'Reily/ 
 
 " * Murder ! murder !' shouted Darby, for by 
 this time the fire had come so near that it began 
 to scorch him ; when seeing there was no alterna- 
 tive, and thinking it better to be drownded than 
 burned, he made a desperate plunge into the well. 
 
 " Souse he went into the well, and souse went 
 the fire after him. Immediately the water bub- 
 bled, sparkled, growled, and rose above the verge 
 of the well, filling with the velocity of lightning 
 all the adjacent hollow ground, until it formed 
 one of those little sparkling lakes which are so 
 numerous in this hilly country. 
 
 " Darby was borne with the speed of a whirl- 
 wind on the top of a curling billow, and cast 
 
198 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 senseless on the shore. The first thing he saw on 
 awaking from his trance was the sun shining over 
 him; the first voice he heard was that of the 
 widow Fleming, who had travelled far and near in 
 search of him ; and the first word Darby uttered, 
 upon thoroughly recovering himself, was, ' Bad 
 luck to the good people, for sure 'tis they that 
 have been playing tricks upon me all the night/ 
 Then he up and told the widow Fleming and the 
 neighbours the whole history of his night's adven- 
 ture. 
 
 " ' It's drunk you were, Darby, and you know 
 it/ said the widow ; ' you're a bad boy, Darby.' 
 
 " But whatever was the cause, whether Darby 
 got the charm from the Cluricaune or not, it is 
 certain that the widow Fleming not long after 
 became Mrs. O'Reily, and that Loch Bran or the 
 Lake of the burning Cole, is to be seen to this 
 day." 
 
AHAHUNKIG. 199 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AHAHUNNIG. 
 
 THE road from Kilbran to Killarney is a continued 
 descent ; on our return, we stopped for a few 
 minutes at the Spa of Tullig, which, as I have 
 before said, is a little stone-capped, neglected, 
 mineral spring, situated on the side of the road, 
 and having a rough furze-clad hill rising imme- 
 diately behind it. Leaving the Spa, we crossed a 
 little stream near it, regained the Kanturk road, 
 and, turning to the right, entered a pass or hollow 
 in the road formed by two hills which descended 
 on either side. These hills were wild, heathy, 
 and covered with furze ; a few naked rocks were 
 scattered through the hollow, and not unfre- 
 quently a patriarchal goat showed his reverend 
 beard as he stood looking down in apparently 
 philosophical contemplation on the travellers 
 below. 
 
 As we continued our course through the pass, 
 we had a fine view of the mountains, the Lower 
 Lake reposing at their base, with a broken coun- 
 try, and the rich oak woods of the park, forming 
 a beautiful foreground. On our descent we gra- 
 dually lost sight of the lake, and, arrived at Tier- 
 nabowl, we could only see the tops of the woods 
 and mountains, save where to the left Coltsman's 
 Castle presented itself to view, backed by the 
 
200 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 mighty Mangerton, and the mountains of Loch 
 Kittane and Glanflesk. 
 
 Tiernabowl is the name given to this district 
 generally. Tierna signifies a lord or chief; bowl, 
 according to the country people's translation, a 
 spot or place. Hence Tiernabowl appears to im- 
 ply the chieftain's seat. It was formerly a lord- 
 ship of the Mac Sweenys, and is still inhabited 
 by many of that name ; but a few miserable 
 cabins by the road-side, with some sheltering 
 trees, are all that Tiernabowl can now boast of. 
 
 Instead of pursuing the road to Killarney, we 
 turned off by a pathway to the left, for we had 
 seen, from Tiernabowl, a hollow or glen which 
 appeared worthy of being explored. Following 
 this path, we had immediately beneath us a stony 
 ravine, and bounding the eastern horizon appeared 
 those singularly shaped mountains called the Paps. 
 On reaching a farmhouse, we descended into the 
 Glen of Ahahunnig, and lost sight of every thing, 
 except the hills which immediately enclosed us. 
 
 The part of the glen into which we had de- 
 scended was rugged and uncultivated, having only 
 an unequal covering of furze mingled with grey 
 stones, which lay scattered about the bottom, and 
 are traditionally said to have been the relics of fairy 
 warfare. There was also here a want of corre-^ 
 epondence in the sides of the glen ; the one sloping 
 down, while the other fell suddenly to the verge 
 of the brawling stream, and exhibited a white 
 gravelly surface, as if the soil had gradually 
 crumbled away, and left it bare and abrupt. 
 
 Pursuing the course of the stream, or rather its 
 bed f r ? like most hill-born streams, it is nearly 
 dry in summer we entered the wooded part of the 
 gleu. Near the commencement of the wood, 
 
AHAHUNNIG. 201 
 
 which is of oak, sweeping at either side down to 
 the stream, we observed one tree of a particular 
 formation, and close to it a large stone bearing 
 the following nearly obliterated inscription : 
 
 " M SWY (M* Sweeny) TOOK ME FROM MY PLACE 
 
 MAY HE, LIKE ME, MEET DUE DISGRACE." 
 
 " That singular tree," said Mr. Lynch, " and 
 the inscription, remain in remembrance of rather a 
 melancholy story." 
 
 " I should like to hear a melancholy story," 
 said I, u above all things pray make it as dismal 
 as you can, for I see you are inventing." 
 
 " No ! I give you my word," replied Mr. 
 Lynch, " I am not inventing, at least upon the 
 present occasion. It was a long time before I 
 could learn any thing concerning this tree and 
 inscribed stone, although I had made repeated 
 inquiries, till chance threw me in the way of an 
 old man who related the tradition, which tradi- 
 tion, together with the narrator, have since nearly 
 passed away from the memory of man. The Mac 
 Sweenys were originally inhabitants of the north 
 of Ireland. There were three chiefs of that name, 
 all descended from the O'Neils viz. Mac Sweeny 
 Fclnaide, Mac Sweeny Bddhuine, and Mac Sweeny 
 na-dtuadh, or Mac Sweeny of the battle-axes. 
 These chiefs were all of the same family. In the 
 thirteenth century, a party, headed by the two 
 latter, made an adventuring excursion into Mun- 
 ster, where they joined in the feuds of the south, 
 and, becoming auxiliaries to the Mac Carthys of 
 Muskerry and Carberry, acquired some disputed 
 ground under the chiefs whom they served. 
 From him of the battle-axes the Mac Sweenys of 
 Tiernabowl are descended." 
 
202 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " You are as good a genealogist^ Lynch, as 
 Ulster himself/* 
 
 " There is now no chieftain," continued Mr. 
 Lynch, " of the name in Kerry. The last chief of 
 the Mac Sweenys, many years ago, inhabited a 
 thatched farmhouse in the neighbourhood of Tier- 
 nabowl. A proud man he was of his descent, and 
 though he had lost the greater part of his estates 
 in the revolution of 1688, and was outlawed before 
 the surrender of Limerick, he still managed to 
 to keep up the style and consequence of an Irish 
 chief. The bard and the jester haunted his fire- 
 side ; and crowds of idle followers, who knew no 
 restraint but their lord's will, were ready to obey 
 him. In fact, under the command of Mac Sweeny, 
 a formidable gang of freebooters, termed Rap- 
 parees from the half pikes or short sticks which 
 they carried, sprung up, who devastated the country 
 for miles around. And although plundering both 
 the partisans of James and William, the security 
 afforded by the woods, as well as the strength of 
 Mac Sweeny's mountain fastnesses, rendered pursuit 
 from either side after cattle or goods an idle task. 
 
 " One evening, in the stormy month of Novem- 
 ber, the desperate dwellers in Tiernabowl were 
 collected around a blazing turf-fire, anxious for 
 the return of their chief, who had gone the pre* 
 ceding night on some secret expedition, when 
 suddenly above the sighing of the rising wind 
 was heard the tramp of a horse. 
 
 " < 'Tis the coppul duve," exclaimed Gilla-roo, 
 who was Mac Sweeny's confidential man, and who 
 received his name from the long, matted, red locks 
 which overshadowed his weather-beaten counte- 
 nance ; * 'tis the coppul duve, and here's the Mac 
 Sw e eny coming, surely.' 
 
AHAHUNNIG. 203 
 
 " A shrill and well-known whistle verified Gilla- 
 roo's assertion, and instantly out rushed the clans- 
 men, each bearing in his hand a blazing torch of 
 the dry and splintered bog deal. Great, however, 
 was their wonder at perceiving, seated on his dark 
 horse before the chieftain, the fair form of a 
 maiden, who was consigned with few words to the 
 rough guardianship of Gilla-roo. 
 
 " ' Keep her safely," said Mac Sweeny ; ' when 
 I was the lord of unproclaimed lands, the proud 
 Margaret Barry rejected my suit Now that I am 
 a poor outlaw, with no ground but what I stand 
 on, my own, she shall be mine/ 
 
 " Before daybreak the following morning, Mac 
 Sweeny departed from Tiernabowl at the head of 
 his retainers, on a plundering excursion. It was 
 his last, and few who accompanied him ever re- 
 turned. Gilla-roo alone, much to his dissatis- 
 faction, was left behind to guard the fair captive 
 slight guard did so delicate and drooping a girl 
 seem to require. Gilla-roo was kind to her in his 
 own rough way ; he procured for her every com- 
 fort in his power, and permitted her to range the 
 glen. Fatal permission! the second morning after 
 the chieftain's departure she was found suspended 
 from this very tree, after having carved her male- 
 diction on the rock. 
 
 66 It is said that, on the eve of this event, the 
 form of the ill-fated Margaret is seen flitting 
 through the glen, and her voice has been heard, 
 not after the wailing manner of the Banshee, but in 
 shouts of triumphant laughter, which quicken the 
 breath and curdle the blood of the hearer. 
 
 " Years have passed away more than a cen- 
 tury has elapsed, and the story is nearly forgotten. 
 This tree and this stone alone remain as memo- 
 
204 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 rials of deeds, and of days, which the peasant no 
 longer remembers, save when, perhaps during the 
 darkness of the night, he traverses the Glen of 
 Ahahunnig, and, piously crossing himself, mutters 
 a prayer for the repose of < the White Maiden of 
 Tiernabowl/ although in ignorance of her name 
 and unfortunate history.'* 
 
 When Mr. Lynch had concluded his story, we 
 arose to pursue our way through the glen, and 
 though the golden light of a setting sun made 
 its way through the interstices of the branches, 
 and shot athwart our path, I almost expected 
 to see the form of the White Maiden emerge from 
 some of the recesses of the wood. Issuing from 
 the glen, we found ourselves close to the bridge of 
 Ballycasheen on the Cork road. 
 
 " Suppose," said Mr. Lynch, as we stood on 
 the bridge, " that, instead of going direct to Kil- 
 larney, we visit the Druids' Circle ; it is not far 
 from this, and there is yet sufficient daylight." 
 
 " With all my heart," said I ; " my object is to 
 see every thing." 
 
 From the bridge we ascended part of the hill, and, 
 turning into a field on the left-hand side of the road, 
 in a short time reached our object. 
 
 The Druids' Circle consists of a circular embank- 
 ment, resembling those commonly called in Ireland 
 Danish Forts ; within which are placed seven rude 
 upright stones. These stones are about three and 
 a half feet in height, are distant from each other 
 about four feet and a half, and from the embank- 
 ment twenty-five. The circumference of the area 
 within the embankment is about one hundred and 
 three feet. Thirty-six feet distant from the em- 
 bankment on the southern side, and seven feet 
 from each other, stand two upright stones, of much 
 
AHAHUNNIG. 205 
 
 larger dimensions than those within the circle. 
 They are about twelve feet in circumference, and 
 seven in height. 
 
 While Mr. Lynch and I were busily engaged in 
 measuring this ancient monument, a countryman 
 returning from his day's work, prompted 1 doubt 
 not by curiosity, approached us. 
 
 " Deus Mieregud (God and the Virgin save 
 you)," said he. 
 
 Deus Miragud agus Espadriy (God and the 
 Virgin, and St. Patrick save you)," replied Mr. 
 Lynch, which is more than many other conscien- 
 tious Protestants would have said ; for, abhorring 
 all such idolatrous invocations, they usually an- 
 swer the common salutation of " Deus miragud* 
 with " Ge moo Dea lat" that is, God be with you. 
 Mr. Lynch, however, was not quite so scrupulous, 
 and his reply was the more agreeable to our visitor, 
 who quickly began to talk without restraint. 
 
 " Why then," said he, " them are quare stones 
 sure enough, and it's a wonder how they came 
 here ; they must have been very strong men that 
 could lift them any how." 
 
 " That's very true, indeed," said Mr. Lynch, 
 " but did you ever hear any old story about them? 
 I suppose it must have been the giants, who lived 
 in Ireland long ago, that brought them here." 
 
 " Why then that's the very thing that's said 
 about them, surely ; but myself believes they were 
 rale people, who was enchanted by Donald Egee- 
 lagh, that lives in Loch-lane." 
 
 " Indeed ! and how was that ?" said I. 
 
 " Your honour must know then, that, a long 
 time ago, there was two giants you see, and 
 they had seven sons, and these two big stones 
 are the giants, and the seven little ones are their 
 
206 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 childer, and they thought to conquer the country 
 and bate all before them, so they made war upon 
 Donald Egeelagh (Daniel of the lake,) who lived 
 down at Ross there a mighty great prince he 
 was, and a great enchanter ; so when he couldn't 
 get the better of the giants and their seven sons 
 by fair fighting, he went to his enchantments, 
 and turned them into stones, and here they are 
 from that day to this. It's myself wouldn't be- 
 lieve a word of it, if it wasn't that Tim Mulcahy 
 swore (and sure he wouldn't sware to a lie,) that 
 as he was passing by late at night of a May 
 eve, what should he see but the two big stones 
 turned into giants again, and the seven little 
 ones, that are their childer, dancing like any thing 
 round and round in the middle of the fort. And 
 sure there's something quare in the looks of them, 
 for stones? there was a jantleman once came 
 axing myself about them, and when I showed 
 them to him, he said they were the very things 
 he wanted, for he saw them all the ways from the 
 top of a big church in the city of Room, and sure 
 how could he do that if there wasn't enchantment 
 upon them ?" 
 
 " Very fair reasoning certainly," said Mr. Lynch ; 
 " but as it is growing late, we must bid you good 
 by stay, here's a trifle to drink our healths." 
 
 " Och, by the powers, and it's I'll do that 
 same cleverly, and success to your honour; and 
 may you and yours never want by night or by 
 day, but have all sorts of luck and fortin." 
 
 The last red streak of light was fading away 
 from the western sky, as we entered the town of 
 Killarney ; and that had again given place to the 
 sober grey of twilight, as we re-established our- 
 selves in Gorham's comfortable parlour. 
 
AHAHUNNIG. 207 
 
 No lamps, as in London, arose twinkling along 
 the street, each after each giving its gaseous star 
 to view, at the magical touch of the lamplighter. 
 The only lamps Killarney can boast of are the 
 two which grace the rival inns. They indeed shine 
 unrivalled; and by their light, as we looked from 
 the parlour window, might be discovered various 
 groups of boatmen and others, recounting the 
 toils, the gains, and the adventures of the day: 
 by the rays of Gorham's lamp, I observed my 
 old crew in close consultation. 
 
 " I wonder what the fellows are at !" said I 
 to Mr. Lynch, u no good, I am certain." But 
 all wonder was soon put an end to by Doolan, 
 who, perceiving us at the window, approached 
 hat in hand, with " Thunder alive! your honour, 
 only think of the mistake we made in not chris- 
 tening a rock for your honour, that it might ever 
 and always have your honour's name upon it. 
 Why, then, that was a mistake and a half sure 
 enough; but it's no matter, for better late than 
 never; and there's Murphy (Father Murphy they 
 calls him, for 'tis he christens the islands) says it 
 will do as well now, and that he'll engage to 
 christen a rock after your honour." 
 
 "As to a rock being christened after me, 
 Doolan, my honour is really very indifferent about 
 that honour; Crofton Croker Island being already 
 quietly established in the north channel of Lake 
 Huron, thanks to my worthy friend Captain Bay- 
 field. But I understand your application all 
 christenings are accompanied by merry-making, 
 so here's a crown towards the purchasing whiskey. 
 And now I have a right to ask how the ceremony 
 is performed." 
 
 " Why, then, I'll tell you that, sir but, sure 
 
208 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 wherever else you may have an island, you have 
 not one at Killarney, where, above all places in 
 the wide world, you ought; so the next time we 
 go out on the lake, you see, we'll take Murphy 
 with us, because why he'll be the priest ; and when 
 we come to the rock or island that's to have your 
 honour's name upon it, then Father Murphy will 
 stand up, and say, * In nomine Occuli mei, atque 
 Betty Martini occuli, I call you Croker's Island ;' 
 with that he'll throw a bottle of whiskey agin 
 it, then a shot will be fired, and we'll all give 
 three shouts for Croker's Island ; then we'll land, 
 and drink your honour's health; and that's the 
 way we christens the islands." * 
 
 * I cannot resist making a long extract from "poor 
 Anne Plumptre's" Tour in Ireland, that lady having been 
 actually present at a Killarney christening. " Several 
 islands/' writes Miss Plumptre, " were pointed out to 
 me by the names which they bore, some others were not 
 particularized ; and, inquiring what their names were, I 
 was told they had none. * How happens that?' I asked. 
 They did not know ; the others had been named by dif- 
 ferent parties visiting the lakes, and nobody had had the 
 fancy to give them names ; if I had no objection, they 
 should like very much to name one after me : then point- 
 ing to a rock very near us, they said, that had no name, 
 we might land and christen it. I would not, however, 
 permit my name to be given : as the habit of the world has 
 been ever to pronounce it as if it were a plum-tree, I was 
 sure that the island would never be called any thing but 
 Plum-tree Island ; and a tradition would soon be affixed 
 to it, that it was once covered with plum-trees. I there- 
 fore declined being godmother, at least so far as giving my 
 own name to it was concerned ; but the men seemed to 
 have a great desire that it should be christened, and beg- 
 ged that I would give it some name, any that I fancied. 
 * Very well,' I said; 'it shall be called Kean's Island, 
 after Mr. Kean, the great actor/ Oh they had often heard 
 of him ; they should like that name exceedingly ; they 
 : wished he would come to Killarney. We landed then j it 
 
AHAHUNN1G. 209 
 
 " And a very good way it is, Doolan wishing 
 you much pleasure at the christening, I now wish 
 you good night." 
 
 " And a very good night to your own honour," 
 returned Doolan, " and long life to you." 
 
 " He forgot to tell you," said Mr. Lynch, who 
 had remained silent during this audience, " that 
 there is one rock in the Upper Lake which has been 
 christened a thousand times after as many peo- 
 ple ; so, you see, you are not very likely to establish 
 your name among the rocks of Loch Lane. Miss 
 Plummer was far more fortunate." 
 
 " Miss Plummer," said I, " should be, I fancy, 
 Miss Plumptre to be sure, there is no use in 
 arguing against popular names, yet allow me to 
 tell you my reasons for venturing this conjecture. 
 If you have read that lady's quarto" 
 
 was a pretty rock, with some arbutuses and other shrubs 
 and plants growing upon it ; the people were all ranged 
 in a circle, in the midst of which the bugle horn-player, 
 who I found was the established clergyman upon these 
 occasions, came forward in the proper formulary, in a jar- 
 gon of English, Irish, and Latin, perfectly unintelligible 
 to me ; then applying to me as godmother, I gave the name, 
 which he repeated with the addition of a little more jar- 
 gon ; and the ceremony was concluded with throwing 
 down upon the rock a bottle of whiskey, which was dashed 
 to pieces. This part, I own, surprised me not a little ; 
 I should never have expected to see a bottle of whiskey 
 thus disposed of; but the island they all said would not 
 have been regularly christened without it. Now, they 
 added, it could never have any other name than Kean's 
 Island, and as such it would be pointed out to all future 
 navigators on the lake. I should like much to know 
 whether it ever has been so to one. The conclusion was, 
 a hope that the crew might have a bowl of punch, when 
 they got home in the evening, to drink the godmother's 
 health. I then perfectly understood the general eagerness 
 for the christening." 
 
 p 
 
210 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " I never read quartos/' said Mr. Lynch. 
 
 " Well, I, who have read it, can inform you that 
 Miss Plumptre gives an account of the naming of 
 an island or rock after Mr. Kean." 
 
 " And what of that ,?" 
 
 " Now I am coming to the point for which 
 said Miss Plumptre most good-naturally paid the 
 piper, by treating the boat's crew. I have no 
 doubt this was done in a liberal manner, and that 
 the island in question has gone by her name, mis- 
 pronounced Plummer, instead of Mr. Kean's. I 
 am further confirmed in my conjecture, from not 
 finding Miss Plummer's enumerated in any list of 
 the islands which had been published before the 
 appearance of Miss Plumptre's book look, for 
 instance, at that in the Postchaise Companion 
 through Ireland, where it is not." 
 
 " All this is very important ;" said Mr. Lynchj 
 but it is growing late, and I must depart remem^ 
 ber that to-morrow we set out for Loch Kittane 
 and Philadown, and shall probably spend a night 
 in the glens/' 
 
LOCH KITTANE. 211 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 LOCH KITTANE. 
 
 Iy pursuance of our intention of visiting Loch 
 Kittane and Philadown, having furnished our- 
 selves with every thing necessary, we left Gor- 
 ham's on foot early in the morning, and took the 
 road which leads to Mucruss. As this route has 
 already been sufficiently described, I shall merely 
 say that the road to Loch Kittane turns off to the 
 left, exactly opposite the abbey gate, having a 
 farm-house on the left, and on the right the hill of 
 Killagy, easily recognized by the little tower which 
 rises from the burial-ground on its summit. 
 
 We, however, did not proceed so far as the 
 abbey gate, but, a short way beyond the carriage 
 entrance to Castle Lough, turned off by an old 
 neglected road, termed a Bohereen. In this 
 matter I merely followed the guidance of Mr. 
 Lynch, and I have no reason to regret my passive- 
 ness on the occasion, as by so doing I had a mag- 
 nificent view of the Lower Lake. This was 
 obtained by leaving the road and gaining a hill, 
 a movement, to use the military phrase, accom- 
 plished without the loss of ground. Immediately 
 beneath us lay Castle Lough Bay, with the wide 
 stretch of water extending from thence to the 
 opposite mountain of Glena. To the south was 
 p2 
 
212 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 the wooded and varied peninsula of Mucruss, 
 behind which towered the pointed Turk, stretch- 
 ing away to the Eagle's Nest, with here and 
 there a glimpse of the Middle Lake at its base. 
 And in the distance appeared Macgillicuddy's 
 Reeks and the Giant mountains of the Upper 
 Lake. To the north was seen the woods of 
 Castle Lough, Cahirnane, and Ross Island. The 
 western portion of the lake did not from this 
 point of view present so wide a sheet of water 
 as the eastern, because Innisfallen and the Brown 
 Island, appearing like a continuation of Ross, 
 stretched far into the lake, narrowing its waters, 
 and giving this division rather the appearance 
 of a large winding river than part of a wide- 
 spreading lake. On the northern shore might be 
 discerned Grenagh and Lakefield, backed by the 
 woods of Mieniska, the hill of Aghadoe, and 
 the distant mountains of Castlemain and T ralee, 
 which, from the haze of an autumnal day, it 
 required a keen eye to discover. The whole 
 formed, as prospect hunters would say, as fine 
 a view as can well be imagined. 
 
 Extent is somehow always confounded with 
 picturesque beauty, when applied to the land- 
 scape by writers who are not artists. I know 
 just sufficient of art to save me from making 
 the assertion ; but I will be equally candid, and 
 confess that the woods, the mountains, and the 
 works on Ross Island the contrast between 
 rude nature and green cultivated fields the lake, 
 now broad and unbroken, save by a few gem-like 
 islands, and now narrowed to the dimensions of a 
 river now sweeping into magnificent bays, and 
 now presenting a long unbroken line of richly 
 wooded coast while over the whole was shed 
 
LOCH KITTANE. 213 
 
 -the cloudy effects of autumn now a tender 
 streak of light glancing along the waters the 
 waves now leaping in dazzling brightness, and 
 now rippling down into darkness and repose. 
 Ail these varied objects and effects gave me so 
 much delight, that I felt little regret at the slight 
 progress I had made in the knowledge of art if 
 art indeed could make me look without admiration 
 on a scene like this. 
 
 Turning to the east, we had before us a wild 
 country, and close to us, in a hollow of the hill, 
 a little heart-shaped lake, called Lough Ardagh, 
 remarkable only for the profusion of camomile 
 which grew on its borders. 
 
 Descending the southern side of the hill, we 
 gained the road to Loch Kittane, which we had 
 not long pursued before our attention was arrested 
 by a busy hum, proceeding from a cabin on the 
 road-side ; and we soon discovered it to be what 
 is commonly called a hedge school, or Kerry 
 college. 
 
 The road leading to Loch Kittane runs along 
 the base of Mangerton, having that mountain on 
 the right, with the Devil's Punchbowl and the 
 Glen of the Horse. The foreground is composed 
 of rock and heath, and was covered with numer- 
 ous flocks of goats. The country to the left of 
 the road consists of dreary bogs and extensive 
 heaths ; here and there, indeed, an attempt at 
 cultivation appears ; and in such places the 
 wretched fields are surrounded by walls of the 
 loose grey stones which had been collected from 
 the surface, while frequently a considerable por- 
 tion of the fields themselves were occupied by 
 large heaps of the same kind. Sometimes, how- 
 ever, a round cultivated swell, and a secluded 
 
214 KILLARtfEY LEGENDS. 
 
 green hollow, would show themselves amid the un- 
 profitable waste by which they were surrounded. 
 The road, nevertheless, was tolerably romantic ; 
 and, with the assistance of Mr. Lynch's conversa- 
 tion, I found sufficient to amuse and interest me, 
 until we reached the shore of Loch Kittane, at 
 that point where the river, emerging from its 
 north-western extremity, proceeds to join the 
 Flesk, which, after many a winding, and receiving 
 many tributary streams in its course, discharges 
 its waters into the Lower Lake of Killarney. 
 
 Loch Kittane, at the distance of about four or 
 five miles to the south-east of Killarney, is situ- 
 ated in a nook formed by the mountains of Man- 
 gerton and Crohane. In size it is nearly the 
 same as the Middle Lake of Killarney, that is, if 
 the various bays and indentations of the latter 
 are left out of the account. Loch Kittane can 
 boast of but one small island, and its greatest 
 sweep of water seems to run from south-east to 
 north-west. Its northern shore consists almost 
 entirely of bog, but it is a bog which might easily 
 be improved ; in the north-eastern corner, on 
 rising ground, is a cultivated farm, which, though 
 in any other situation it would hardly be noticed, 
 yet here, from the contrast between it and the 
 surrounding shores, has an agreeable effect. The 
 western shore is also a cultivated hill, but the 
 eastern and southern boundaries are entirely 
 rocky and precipitous mountains, except to the 
 south-east, where a rugged glen, called Kip- 
 poch, runs for a short distance between the moun- 
 tains of Crohane and Mangerton ; this hollow is 
 partially cultivated, and contains a few cabins, 
 but the irregular outlines of the mountains 
 which back it are highly picturesque. 
 
LOCH KITTANE. 215 
 
 In the course of our ramble round the lake, 
 we entered a cabin in Kippoch, in search of 
 legendary lore, and here we found only a little 
 boy ; his father and mother he said were gone to 
 Killarney, and from the extreme caution of his 
 answers, and the difficulty of extracting any infor- 
 mation from him, I verily believe that he took us 
 for tithe proctors, collectors of church rates, or 
 excisemen. 
 
 " Is the ground good here ?" inquired Mr. 
 Lynch. 
 
 " I don't know," was the reply : certainly the 
 question was rather a suspicious one. 
 
 " Do you keep many cows ?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Are there any blackberries here ?" (we had 
 observed a great profusion of them.) 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Have you a head on your shoulders ?" 
 
 " Eagh !" 
 
 " Did you ever hear of a big worm in tha 
 lake ?" 
 
 This question seemed to rouse the boy a little ; 
 I suppose from the natural desire we all feel to 
 deal in the marvellous. 
 
 " The worm is it? fakes then, sure enough there 
 is a big worm in the lake." 
 
 " How large is it ?" 
 
 " Why then, it's as big as a horse, and has a 
 great big mane upon it, so it has." 
 
 " Did you ever see it ?" 
 
 " No, myself never seed the sarpint, but it's all 
 one, for sure Padrig-a-Fineen did." 
 
 " And where does Mister Fineen live ?" 
 
 " Beyond there, in Kippoch, where the trees 
 are." 
 
216 K1LLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 On this intelligence, we set off for M ; ster 
 Fineen's dwelling, to which the trees were a sure 
 guide, as there were no others in the neighbour- 
 hood, and even these did not muster to more 
 than half a dozen, in the immediate neighbour- 
 hood of a couple of cabins. 
 
 Arrived at Mr. Fineen's, we found two smoky 
 cabins, inhabited by as many families ; a parcel 
 of children were playing in the dirt before the 
 door of one of them, and the youngest of the 
 group was rolling about among the pigs on some 
 wet litter, in a state of nature. 
 
 Mister Fineen was absent, but his better half, 
 a fresh-looking country wench, informed us that 
 he had never seen any such thing as a worm or 
 sarpint, but that once upon a time, and a very 
 good time it was, he thought he saw something 
 like a dog or a quare baste rolling in the water. 
 
 Disappointed in our expectations, we were 
 about to retire, when the owner of the next 
 cabin stepped forward and and what? (I sup- 
 pose the reader thinks and told us a story :) he 
 did no such thing. 
 
 What then ? he stepped forward, and most 
 hospitably offered us potatoes, and butter, and 
 eggs, and milk; which invitation, let me tell you, 
 among the classic mountains of Kerry, is not to 
 be refused. 
 
 The appearance of Loch Kittane, from its prox- 
 imity to the mountains, is in general dark ; and 
 not unfrequently the mountain breeze lashes its 
 waters into foam, and sends them in thundering 
 waves againsjt the shores. Like all lakes, it is 
 sometimes calm and bright, but, whether cairn or 
 stormy, it is a romantic spot, and wants but the 
 fostering hand of man to render it delightful, 
 
LOCH KITTASE. 217 
 
 For the tasteful angler, Loch Kittane has many 
 attractions, being, in addition to its situation, 
 well stored with excellent trout. Its chief fault 
 is the total absence of wood on its banks ; if trees 
 were added, Loch Kittane would be highly roman- 
 tic ; for during our circumambulation, we dis- 
 covered many a fairy nook, where Mr. Lynch 
 would fain have built a picturesque cottage, and 
 have taken up his abode. On this subject he 
 grew quite poetical, as the following verses will 
 testify. 
 
 Loch Kittane ! Loch Kittane ! amid dark mountains pil- 
 
 low'd, 
 
 Where Mangerton meets with the hill of Crohane, 
 Whether sleeping in peace, or by mountain breeze bil- 
 
 low'd, 
 Still dear to my heart is the lone Loch Kittane. 
 
 For oft by its shores have I wander'd alone, 
 
 Or reclined 'mid the heather, bright springing around, 
 
 Where the hum of the wild-bee came joined with the tone 
 Of streamlet and wave, in one musical sound. 
 
 Then magical fancy has framed me a bower, 
 Far down in the hollow of rocky Kippoch, 
 
 A home of the heart ! where no storm-cloud should lower, 
 Save that which pass'd over the breast of the Loch 
 
 But the calmer to leave, and more peacefully clear 
 
 The ripples that circle its one little isle, 
 As though the storm frown'd but the more to endear 
 
 The peace and the sunshine which light up its smile. 
 
 More bright and more beauteous a spot there may be, 
 Than the wild lake where Mangerton meets with Cro- 
 hane ; 
 
 But none that are brighter or dearer to me, 
 Than the rock-pillow'd wave of the lone Loch Kittane. 
 
218 
 
 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 PHILADOWN. 
 
 " GLEN a valley, a vale, space between two 
 hills," so says the dictionary. Now, whether the 
 aforesaid sage authority be right or wrong, I care 
 not a jot : whether a valley, a vale, and a space 
 between two hills, are one and the same ; whether 
 a glen is a valley, a valley a vale, or a space 
 between two hills both valley, vale, and glen ; or 
 whether a space between two mountains may 
 signify the same as a space between two hills, are 
 points which I leave to the decision of quibbling 
 and word-ferreting critics. 
 
 But one thing is certain, and that is, that at 
 present I have nothing to do with any word but 
 glen. From this, however, arises the question as 
 to what are the ideas attached to, or conveyed by, 
 the aforesaid word ? Does not the reader feel a 
 thousand, nay, ten thousand romantic ideas float- 
 ing through his brain at the very sound of the 
 word glen ? Are there not immediately torrents 
 foaming, mountains ascending, green knolls smil- 
 ing, and dark woods waving ? to say nothing of 
 verdant hollows, terrific chasms, deep recesses, 
 frowning cliffs, murmuring rivulets, sheltered 
 farms, and flower-covered cottages. Are not all 
 these pretty words mingling in glorious confusion 
 
PHILADOWff. 219 
 
 floating and flitting before your mind's eye at the 
 mention of a glen ? besides sundry ideas of peace, 
 sunshine, rusticity, love, and poverty, with other 
 things, or ideas of things, too tedious at present 
 for particular mention. If this is not the case 
 with you, " gentle reader," as Mr. Lynch would 
 say, I envy not your poetical powers. But as I 
 have nothing whatever to do with poetry at pre- 
 sent, I may as well proceed at once to the glen of 
 the river Flesk, commonly called Glanflesk, in 
 which is situated the cliff of Philadown, contain- 
 ing the famous Labig Owen, or Owen's bed. 
 
 Commencing, therefore, as I ought to have 
 done before, with the conclusion of the last chap- 
 ter ; I must acquaint those, who are desirous of 
 further information, that before Mr. Lynch had 
 finished his rhymes, we had left their subject Loch 
 Kittane behind us, and were proceeding at a good 
 pace towards Philadown. 
 
 After pursuing for some time a hilly road along 
 the base of the mountains, commanding to the 
 left a view of a coarse broken country, such as 
 might be expected in a land of hills, we came in 
 sight of the ruins of Killaha castle, built by one 
 of the O'Donoghues, the ancient chiefs of Glan- 
 flesk. Passing this castle, of which I shall have 
 occasion to speak hereafter, we descended to the 
 lower or main road leading from Killarney to 
 Glanflesk. Until the new line by the Upper 
 Lake was made, this was the only road by which 
 a carriage could proceed from Killarney to Ken- 
 mare, a distance of about twenty-four miles. The 
 new line now supersedes the old road, so far as 
 Kenmare is concerned ; but, nevertheless, the latter 
 promises to be much travelled, as a cross-road is 
 making from Glanflesk to Macroom, which will 
 
220 KILLARNEY L KG ENDS. 
 
 shorten the distance from Killarney to Cork about 
 seven miles. Be this as it may, turning to the 
 right we began to enter the glen, and had not 
 advanced far, before we met a smart, olive-com- 
 plexioned little man, dressed in a black coat, blue 
 trowsers, and an oilskin covered hat, vulgarly 
 termed " a glazier." 
 
 " How do you, doctor V 9 said Mr. Lynch. 
 
 " Quite well, I thank you, and how is every 
 inch of yourself ? is it to Philadown you're go- 
 ing?" 
 
 " The very place, doctor ; you'd guess eggs, if 
 you saw but the shells. Will you accompany us 
 to Labig Owen ?" 
 
 " I have no objection/ 1 
 
 " That's well said, my little doctor, for as you 
 are potent in the glens, your friendly aid and 
 countenance may be of service to us." 
 
 The doctor proved a very entertaining com- 
 panion, possessing the free and easy manners of 
 an un travelled Irish gentleman, and making but 
 little professional display, except when now and 
 then as we advanced up the glen, he would dis- 
 cover his knowledge of simples, by adverting to 
 the plants which we met on our way, especially if 
 any of the natives happened to be present. Doubt- 
 less the doctor had often relieved the inhabitants 
 of the glen from the effects of shilelagh and whis- 
 key, and they, in return, evidently regarded him 
 as a second Galen. Certain it is, that we were 
 indebted for a great deal of attention to the re- 
 spect our companion was held in by the country 
 people. 
 
 We had not proceeded far, before our notice 
 was attracted by a pair of shelties, saddled and 
 bridled, standing before the door of a wretched 
 
PHILADOWN. 221 
 
 hovel, from the eave of which were suspended the 
 neck of a broken bottle, and a sod of turf; the one 
 intended to inform the traveller that here he might 
 regale himself with a draught of Irish nectar, and 
 the other that he might also be accommodated 
 with that fragrant plant commonly called tobacco. 
 
 " What say you, doctor, to some mountain dew ?" 
 inquired Mr. Lynch. 
 
 " Faith, I'm not particular," replied the doctor, 
 " But I think a drop may not be amiss to your 
 friend. May I prescribe for you, sir?" said he, 
 bringing a very good-humoured smile to bear full 
 upon me. 
 
 I stammered out something, I really forget what, 
 or whether it was meant for yes or no, but while 
 we were debating the matter, a tall middle-aged 
 man, with a sun-burnt visage, stepped forth from 
 the hut, and stood erect before us. He had evi- 
 dently been sacrificing to the rosy god, and, like 
 the generality of his countrymen, in proportion as 
 his head became confused by whiskey, his heart 
 dilated with love and friendship. 
 
 No sooner did he spy the doctor, who had been 
 making sundry movements to avoid the recogni- 
 tion, than with three gigantic strides, such as 
 would not have disgraced O'Donoghue himself, 
 he at once enclosed him in a firm embrace. 
 
 " Arrah then, docture, is it yourself? 'tis myself 
 then that is right glad to see you up the glen. 
 May be you'd be going to Philadown now but 
 you'll be after stepping into the Cabra and taking 
 a drop first, and then 'tis I'll go with you myself, 
 and get you a ladder, and show it all to the jan- 
 tlemen sure." 
 
 In vain did we protest against accompanying 
 him into the hut. " Sure I'm an O'Donoghue," 
 
222 K1LLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 was the reply, " and my foot is in the glen." 
 There was no resisting this speech ; at least we 
 thought so, and submitted quietly. 
 
 If the outside of this hovel wore a miserable 
 appearance, the interior was much worse, afford- 
 ing, between its low, damp, mud walls, just room 
 enough for three or four wassailers, and the 
 withered, smoke-dried beldam, who superintended 
 their orgies, and dealt out the inspiring potion. 
 The hearth displayed just fire sufficient to light a 
 pipe, and fill the hut with smoke, which, after 
 gracefully curling about the heads of those within, 
 found vent through the door and a hole in the 
 roof, for chimney was there none. 
 
 " In Ireland so frisky, with sweet love and whiskey, 
 We manage to keep care and sorrow aloof ; 
 
 At our whirligig revels, make all the clue devils 
 
 Creep out with the smoke through a hole in the roof." 
 
 The love and friendship of Mister Daniel 
 O'Donoghue, which would have overwhelmed us 
 with whiskey, being in some degree appeased, we 
 departed, but not before the said O'Donoghue had 
 insisted on our mounting the shelties we had seen 
 at the door. 
 
 It was fortunate for us that we did not linger, 
 for scarcely were we out of sight of the hut, when 
 such discordant shouts and yells rent the air, that, 
 to speak classically the furies appeared to have 
 broken loose. 
 
 " What can this mean ?" said I to Mr. Lynch, 
 " these shouts hark ! they approach us some- 
 thing desperate is going forward." 
 
 We pulled up unable to assign any satisfac- 
 tory cause for the fearful sounds which assailed 
 our ears, and seemed to proceed from the peace- 
 
PHILADOWN. 223 
 
 ful spot which we had left but a few moments 
 before. 
 
 " The robbing thieves of the world," muttered 
 O'Donoghue. " Well, we are out of the matter 
 quietly thank goodness/' said the doctor. 
 
 " The spillers of decent men's drink the 
 ruinaters of the country ; never welcome them, 
 among us," continued O'Donoghue : " but 'tis 
 the boys of the glen that have a heart and a j 
 hand, and that knows how to sarve such like fel- 
 lows out any day of the year, Huroo, here they -, 
 come, or they'll catch it." 
 
 " Silence !" exclaimed the doctor, as two un- 
 fortunate excisemen, with old cavalry sabres clat- 
 tering at their sides, appeared in full view, riding 
 for their lives from a shower of stones, the car- 
 cases of dead animals, and even pitchforks, which 
 were hurled after them by an infuriated crowd of 
 peasants. 
 
 On perceiving us, instead of coming towards 
 where we stood, being perhaps uncertain whether 
 we were friends or foes, the poor hunted excise- 
 men turned off the road, and were soon out of 
 sight as well as their pursuers, who, perceiving 
 they could not overtake them, cut across by a 
 mountain path, with the view of intercepting their 
 retreat from the glen. 
 
 " What business have the likes of them in 
 the glen at all ? " said O'Donoghue. " Sure 
 then 'tis quare laws that won't let the poor 
 lone widow sell her drop of potteen in pace 
 and quietness. But 'tis the boys of the glen 
 that have both hearts and hands, and will be after 
 making all scheming blackguards, like them fel- 
 lows, think twice before they come among them 
 agin." 
 
224 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " I agree with my worthy friend the doctor," said 
 Mr. Lynch, " in thinking that we are well out of 
 this affair and now suppose we move forward." 
 
 Glanflesk is a long valley, through which deep 
 and sullen flows the Flesk ; its banks are divided 
 into fields of oats and potatoes, with meadow and 
 grazing ground, having here and there a cabin, 
 and sometimes a nest of cabins, at the foot of the 
 hills. The hills themselves, which rise from, and 
 hem in the valley at either side, are bare, rocky, 
 and rugged, without altitude sufficient to give them 
 sublimity, or brokenness of outline sufficient to ren- 
 der them picturesque, and having neither tree nor 
 shrub to grace their sides. The road winds along 
 the base of these hills, sometimes nearing the 
 bank of the river, and sometimes receding from it, 
 thereby leaving space for the fields already men- 
 tioned. At the opposite side of the river, the 
 space between it and the hills is somewhat wider, 
 and is called " the Inch," as all level ground 
 near a river is termed in Ireland. The Inch of 
 Glanflesk is divided into upper and lower. The 
 hills at the opposite side of the river from the 
 road, exhibit in some places comfortable farms, 
 and verdant spots, snatched as it were from 
 the wilderness around. Yet, notwithstanding 
 this untempting description, the glen is not 
 entirely without charms for the tourist. He will 
 sometimes meet with grotesque masses of rock, 
 and sometimes be astonished at the shivered frag- 
 ments which strew the sides of the hills. As 
 he travels along, he will be amused by gazing 
 upwards at the fearless goat browsing far above 
 him, while perhaps, higher still, the hawk, the 
 eagle, or the heron, may be seen soaring far 
 away, till the speck is lost in the clouds : and 
 
PHILADOWN. 225 
 
 now, perhaps, his attention will be directed down- 
 wards, to some green retreat, some spot of beauty ; 
 the more beauteous from the waste by which it is 
 surrounded. Sometimes the clouds and vapours 
 may be seen floating around the hill-tops in a 
 thousand fantastic forms, and when these are 
 gone, and the hill-tops are clear, little white clouds 
 of curling smoke may be perceived arising from 
 the furze and heather, which the laborious pea- 
 sant is burning, in order to increase the coarse 
 herbage of his farm. If the weather has been 
 wet, both eye and ear will be delighted the 
 one with the foam, and the other with the dash, 
 of a thousand torrents. There are few things 
 which so completely baffle the pen and the pen- 
 cil as these mountain waterfalls. The rapid and 
 incessant motion of the water, which flows not 
 in a continued stream, running always the same 
 from rock to rock, but comes down in flushes, 
 flourishing in successive circles, covering a point 
 of rock at one moment with a sheet of water, 
 and leaving it bare the next. It is impossible 
 adequately to paint or describe all the endless 
 variations, and I doubt whether any description, 
 although such may perhaps recall ideas to those 
 accustomed to observe mountain falls, would give 
 much information to a person who had never seen 
 one. In the boasted cataracts of America this 
 shifting motion can have little or no effect upon 
 the general scene, which is on too magnificent a 
 scale for the observance of such minutiae, but in 
 the falls of this country it is a circumstance which 
 adds much to the beauty, or at least to the 
 amusement, of the scene. 
 
 A sudden turn in the road disclosed to view 
 the wooded hill, or cliff, of Philadown, which came 
 Q 
 
226 KILLARtfEY LEGENDS. 
 
 as refreshing upon our view, as the twinkle of a 
 lighthouse to the weary mariner. 
 
 Here we were soon surrounded by a crowd 
 of the Glensters, or Glanfleskians, while Daniel 
 O'Donoghue hastened to hold the stirrups, and 
 help us to dismount. He then vaulted into the 
 saddle of one of the nags himself, and galloped 
 off' in search of a ladder ; as there is no reaching 
 that part of the cliff called Labig Owen, or the bed 
 of Owen the outlaw, without such assistance. 
 
 After the bare tract we had traversed , the cliff 
 of Philadown, from the circumstance of its being 
 wooded, appeared peculiarly pleasing; and the 
 wood itself was not the less agreeable, for having 
 assumed the rich and varied hues of autumn, 
 which he beheld glancing beneath the glorious 
 light of a golden eve. On the return of O'Dono- 
 ghue with the ladder, well pleased did we explore 
 the recesses of Philadown, and right gaily did we 
 spring from rock to rock, now catching at the 
 long purple heath, and now sustaining ourselves 
 by the trunks and branches of the trees, till fur- 
 ther progress was stayed by a formidable rock. 
 
 Having placed the ladder against this barrier, 
 we mounted, and found ourselves on an irregular 
 platform, to which there was no other means of 
 access, as on every other side the cliff was per- 
 pendicular, deep, and masked by wood ; so that 
 it is obvious, a single desperate man, in possession 
 of this hold, might, if well provisioned, keep it 
 against hundreds. 
 
 To render this station still more impregnable, it 
 was overhung by the cliff above, which at once 
 afforded security and shelter. 
 
 A long horizontal fissure was pointed out to me 
 as the chimney appertaining to the fireplace of 
 
PIIILADOWX. 227 
 
 the famous Owen; and I was also shown a hollow, 
 which was his reservoir for water, as it received 
 all that diipped from the cliffs above. 
 
 " And who," said I, " was this famous Owen ?" 
 
 The doctor, to whom this question was ad- 
 dressed, immediately prepared himself for reply, 
 by assuming the attitude of a speaker, and the 
 glensters crowded around, prepared to wonder 
 and applaud. 
 
 " Owen," said he, " Owen was a famous out- 
 law of the olden time, who for a long period kept 
 possession of this strong hold, out of which, as 
 you may perceive, it would not be an easy matter 
 to drive a resolute and desperate man : but in 
 those days the difficulty was much greater ; for, 
 besides that the glen was thickly wooded, there 
 was at that time no such thing as a road through 
 it. Owen was also an O'Donoghue, as, indeed, 
 were all the inhabitants of these glens ; and though 
 a few other names may now be found among them, 
 yet, even these are connected by marriage with the 
 O'Donoghue : thus connected, and in possession 
 of this natural fortress, it is no wonder that Mr. 
 Owen considered himself not only secure, but at 
 perfect liberty to pursue his system of depredation, 
 and indulge his cattle-lifting propensities. 
 
 " Moreover, was he not the strongest man of 
 his day ? for even to the present hour, popular 
 tradition represents him as having been able to 
 take a cow by the horns and dash her down the 
 cliff; indeed, this is said to have been his usual 
 savage mode of killing cattle. 
 
 " But Owen's chief strength and exultation lay 
 in the favour of the O'Donoghue himself, or, as he 
 was called, O'Donoghue Geoffry, who at that time 
 resided in Killaha Castle. 
 Q2 
 
228 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " The Sasenagh had been the spoiler of the 
 O'Donoghue; many broad lands had he lost; 
 and in return, it was but natural, while dining 
 on some of Owen's stolen beef, that he should 
 feel a peculiar relish, and a keener appetite, when 
 he reflected that he was partaking in the spoil of 
 the spoiler. 
 
 " Notwithstanding all these causes for security, 
 it happened that the support which Owen the out- 
 law deemed the strongest, namely, the protection 
 of his chieftain, was really the weakest of all : for 
 the great O'Donoghue himself, in his hatred to- 
 wards the Sasenaghs, was not very mindful of 
 their laws ; and, once upon a time, a few of his 
 depredatory freaks, on rather a large scale, brought 
 down upon the chief of the glens the vengeance of 
 the powers that were ; so that all the authorities, 
 civil and military, were united against him. 
 
 " Now this great chieftain, taking into consider- 
 ation that self-preservation is the first law of 
 nature, determined to redeem himself, by giving up 
 his clansman, the redoutable Owen, on whom he 
 laid all the blame of his own transgressions. By 
 an act of treachery, Owen was decoyed from his 
 bed on the rock, and guards were posted to pre- 
 vent his return. Disguised as a crippled beggar- 
 man, he wandered for months through the country, 
 and at last was surprised by a party of English 
 soldiers at the cottage of a poor woman in the 
 glen. 
 
 " ' Nance Nance/ exclaimed the outlaw, 
 frowning defiance upon his pursuers beneath, * cut 
 my hamstrings;' thereby meaning the straps which 
 attached the wooden stumps to his legs. These, 
 his memorable words, have since passed into a 
 Glanfleskian proverb. But the woman was too 
 
PHILADOWN. 229 
 
 much alarmed at the near approach of the soldiers 
 to free Owen from his assumed disguise ; he easily 
 became the captive of the English, and without 
 much ceremony took his lord's place on the gallows 
 tree. 
 
 " Thus ended the life and adventures of Owen 
 the outlaw ; and Labig Owen has since remained 
 without a tenant, except when for a short time it 
 was occupied by the murderers of a Mr. Hutchin- 
 son; but their skulls are now bleaching on the 
 Bridewell in Macroom ; Labig Owen is now only 
 visited by the fashionable tourist, the note-hunting 
 author, or the artist on his summer ramble." 
 
 When the doctor had concluded his story, there 
 was a general murmur of approbation among the 
 glensters, who, though they scarcely understood a 
 sentence of what he had said, were lavish of their 
 praises, expressed in such exclamations as " Arrah, 
 then, hasn't the docture fine Ingelish wid him ?" 
 " Mo grinchree,* docture, 'tis you can tell a story, 
 any how." 
 
 From Labig Owen there is a pleasing view of 
 the windings of the Flesk, the opposite mountains, 
 the farm of Upper Inch and even Philadown 
 itself, in consequence of the bend which it makes, 
 adds part of its wood to the prospect. A short 
 way above Philadown the glen divides into two 
 branches, one running towards Kenmare, and the 
 other by Ballyvourney towards Macroom, forming 
 a figure something like j^_ turned thus. 
 
 Through that branch of the glen which leads to 
 Kenmare, descends the river Looha ; and through 
 the branch leading to Macroom murmurs the 
 Clydagh both meet not far from Philadown ; 
 
 * The sunshine of my heart. 
 
230 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 and from the " meeting of the waters" the united 
 streams take the name of Flesk. 
 
 Descending from Labig Owen, we crossed the 
 road, and sat down on the margin of the river 
 Flesk, which, from its being shallow, here be- 
 came garrulous : and here, drawing forth our store 
 of provisions, we began to appease, as the little 
 doctor called them, those stomachic symptoms 
 vulgarly denominated hunger. 
 
 While thus employed, we occasionally gave 
 small pieces of bread to the children, who were 
 mingled with the glensters' men and women, by 
 whom we were surrounded as objects of wonder. 
 This act at once engaged the hearts of the mo- 
 thers ; we soon perceived a stir and whisper, and 
 shortly after five or six of the women tucked up 
 their petticoats, crossed the ford, and proceeded 
 towards Inch House, an old ruinous slated build- 
 ing, surrounded by a nest of cabins. The house 
 was the first residence of the chiefs of Glan- 
 flesk, and is said to be much older than Killaha 
 Castle, though in far better repair, being still in- 
 habited. 
 
 In a short time we perceived the women return- 
 ing with piggins (small wooden vessels) full of 
 milk, as a slight offering for our kindness to their 
 children. 
 
 The sun had gone down before we had finished 
 our repast ; and, pedestrians as we were, to think 
 of returning to Killarney, a distance of eight Irish 
 miles, after the fatigues of the day, was out of the 
 question : but what was to be done ? where was a 
 lodging to be procured ? The question, however, 
 was soon settled by our friend, Daniel O'Donoghue, 
 who volunteered the use of his cabin and all it 
 contained for our service; and, as a further in- 
 
PHILADOWN. 231 
 
 ducement, offered to slay a fat lamb to give us 
 welcome. 
 
 Without many words, the invitation was ac- 
 cepted; and, having mounted the shelties, we 
 crossed the ford, and proceeded towards Inch 
 House, near which stood the cabin of our worthy 
 host, Daniel O'Donoghue. 
 
232 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A NIGHT IN THE GLENS. 
 
 IT must be acknowledged that there was some 
 little difference between Gorham's Hotel and 
 Daniel O'Donoghue's cabin ; which latter was a 
 long low structure, having the usual accompani- 
 ment of a yard full of all sorts of dirt and litter. 
 The very approach to the door presented an ob- 
 stacle to entrance, which a London exquisite might 
 have considered insurmountable ; for this approach 
 consisted of a narrow, slippery, badly paved cause- 
 way, leading between two filthy stagnant pools, 
 which, as they were disturbed by a brood of hard- 
 drinking ducks, sent forth no very grateful effluvia. 
 The causeway being passed, we entered, and began 
 to survey the interior. And now for the general 
 effect an outer room, with a partition wall divid- 
 ing it from a smaller inner room, in the centre of 
 which partition was a doorway, but without a door, 
 and even that to the outer room, which gave en- 
 trance to the house, could only be regarded as an 
 apology for a door, having so many chinks and 
 crevices that every vagrant breeze whistled through 
 at will. But a door was of little consequence, as 
 the entrance to the cabin stood also in the capa- 
 city of window, being constantly left open during 
 
A NIGHT IN THE GLENS. 233 
 
 the day, in order to admit light to the outer room, 
 and at the same time to allow free passage for the 
 smoke ; acting in the capacity of deputy to the 
 huge vent, which to very little purpose occupied 
 the full breadth of the gable, and overhung not 
 only the fire, but also a sort of bedstead placed 
 on one side of the hearth. As a balance on the 
 other, a seat of rude mason -work was con- 
 structed. 
 
 The rest of this apartment was occupied by a 
 large deal table, a few straw-bottomed chairs, a 
 tub and two keelers placed near the door, con- 
 taining potato skins and sour milk, into which 
 two gaunt greyhounds and a parcel of vociferous 
 young pigs (bonnoves) were dipping their muzzles 
 with all the voracity imaginable, squeaking and 
 growling the whole time. Against the partition 
 wall already mentioned, at either side of the door- 
 way, was placed the coop and the dresser ; the 
 one full of cackling hens, and the other containing 
 a grand display of earthenware, basons, jugs, and 
 plates, wooden mugs, trenchers, and a saltcellar, 
 two wine glasses, one able, and one unable to 
 stand without being propped up, and, grandeur 
 of grandeurs, a teapot, with two cups and three 
 saucers. In the upper shelf were sundry holes, 
 through which were stuck half a dozen iron 
 spoons : from a nail on one side of the dresser was 
 suspended a small looking glass, with a red painted 
 border ; and underneath stood, in a row, an iron 
 pot, a brass skillet (manufactured from a gun of 
 the invincible armada,) a pot-oven, and a griddle. 
 The apartment was surmounted by a black smoky 
 roof, from the couples of which dangled long fibres 
 of soot and cobweb over the earthen floor beneath. 
 So much for the outer room ; now for the inner. 
 
234 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 One side was occupied by two bedsteads, between 
 which and the wall was hung a piece of matting ; 
 at the opposite side was a window about a foot 
 square ; over head was raised a loft made of 
 hurdles, and having a ladder for ascending and 
 descending a bundle of straw lay in one corner 
 for the hounds; two chairs and a chest in the 
 middle of the room, which answered the purpose 
 of a table, completed the furniture of the dor- 
 mitory. 
 
 We were congratulating ourselves upon the 
 prospect of a good night's rest, for the beds, 
 notwithstanding my description, appeared excel- 
 lent, and had snow-white sheets ; but further in- 
 spection was checked by the bleating of a lamb 
 Ba, ba." 
 
 " Our host," exclaimed Mr. Lynch, " is doubt- 
 less going to kill the promised lamb for supper ; 
 but I dare say you have as little inclination as 
 myself for such summary cookery. Let us pro- 
 cure for the poor animal a reprieve." 
 
 It was not without considerable persuasion, and 
 even then much against his will, that Daniel 
 O'Donoghue was prevailed upon to lay aside, at 
 least for the present, his murderous design. This 
 matter was scarcely arranged before our ears were 
 saluted by Tweedle dee, tweedle dum eek hum, 
 hum eek the sounds of a fiddle and bagpipe ; 
 and directly piper and fiddler entered the outer 
 room, followed, I very believe, by all the Dono- 
 ghues in the glen men, women, and children ; 
 while our careful host, to screen us from the 
 vulgar gaze, hung a large sheet before the door- 
 way of the inner room. 
 
 " You may as well give up all thoughts of rest 
 till morning," said Mr. Lynch, "for I perceive we 
 
A NIGHT IN THE GLENS. 235 
 
 shall have nothing but fiddling and dancing, and 
 whiskey-drinking till daylight." 
 
 " That being the case, I see no objection," 
 said I, " to our joining the revels suppose we 
 do so?" 
 
 Mr. Lynch having expressed his concurrence, 
 we stepped forth from the apartment which had 
 been given up to us, and found the outer room 
 thronged almost to suffocation ; even the very 
 doorway was crowded with the merry faces of 
 people all agog for fun. 
 
 An Irishman may be said to love fighting well, 
 whiskey better, and dancing best of all ; indeed, 
 his legs seem to move instinctively at the sound 
 of the bagpipe ; and hence it happened that the 
 useless door was no sooner taken off its hinges, 
 and placed in the middle of the floor, than Paddy 
 Haly made his bow to Mary Donoghue, and, 
 flinging off his brogues, called for a double jig, 
 and began to caper away on the prostrate planks, 
 making them rattle again with his thumping, as he 
 went through the various movements of a moneen 
 jig at the same time snapping his fingers, and 
 uttering a joyous whoop. 
 
 The assemblage did their part, and gave loud 
 vent to their admiration at every new fling from 
 Paddy Haly : indeed, to render such movements 
 the more conspicuous, and that not a single step 
 might be lost, three or four tall fellows volunteered 
 to act as candlesticks, and with large pieces of 
 blazing bog-deal in their hands, they stood di- 
 recting the light upon the steps of the dancers. 
 It was an effect worthy the pencil of a Rem- 
 brandt ! 
 
 Paddy having concluded his moneen, by a bow 
 to the piper, sat down, leaving the lady to look 
 
236 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 for another partner; which she was not long in 
 finding. For spying Tim Murnane in a corner, 
 she unhesitatingly walked up to him, dropped 
 her courtesy, and then resumed her place on the 
 door. Upon the challenge, Tim, as in duty 
 bound, stood up, scratched his head, looked 
 askance at the lady, called for the fox-hunter's 
 jig, and away they went. When this was con- 
 cluded, the lady sat down, and left Tim to make 
 his bow to whom he pleased ; and in this manner 
 did one alternately give place to another, till all 
 had their heart's content of dancing. 
 
 Of the moneen it is almost impossible, by the 
 pen or pencil, to convey an idea ; to be under- 
 stood, it must be seen. I will, however, to the 
 best of my ability, recount the figures. 
 
 Down the middle up again set to your part- 
 ner change sides set again change sides again 
 set again dance up to your partner recede 
 dance up again recede again turn half round 
 with one hand, back again with the other set 
 again turn round with both hands, and bow to 
 the piper. 
 
 There are, however, a variety of figures ; and, 
 as for steps, they are numberless, and, to use the 
 vulgar adage, change " as fast as hops ;" but 
 words are quite unequal to describe the activity 
 and dexterity required in the performance, the 
 grotesque flinging about of the legs, the snapping 
 of fingers, the whooping and hallooing, the grind- 
 ing and stamping, the thumping and bumping, 
 and yet all in perfect time, with the quickest 
 and most complicated movements; so that the 
 spectator is divided between laughter and admi- 
 ration at what is really at once an absurd and 
 an extraordinary exhibition. 
 
A NIGHT IN THE GLENS. 237 
 
 During the dance, our worthy host was dealing 
 about whiskey with unsparing hand, or, in the 
 language of the glens, " galore ;" and, as he did 
 not forget to help himself, by the time he sat 
 down, Daniel O'Donoghue was what is called 
 " pretty well." Then it was that his heart began 
 to swell with pride, as he gazed on the glensters 
 around ; and often did he stretch forward to 
 shake hands with us, as he exclaimed, " These 
 are O'Donoghues these are O'Donoghues every 
 day's luck to them." And any fling extraordi- 
 nary in the dance, brought forth the exulting cry 
 of " There's an O'Donoghue for you. From the 
 crown of the head to the sole of the foot, every 
 inch an O'Donoghue." 
 
 Amid this continued revelry and dance, a pretty 
 rosy-cheeked girl, after wiping her mouth with 
 the corner of her check apron, dropped a courtesy 
 to Mr. Lynch, who of course was obliged to take 
 his place on the door ; and laughable enough 
 were his attempts at a moneen. To do him justice, 
 however, he got through it with a great deal of 
 good temper ; and then, in order to be revenged, 
 I suppose, he put the door aside, and proposed a 
 country-dance. Here a most glorious scene of 
 confusion began ; such mistakes, and consequent 
 scoldings, for it seems a professional dancing 
 master was present ; and as the place was narrow, 
 and the earthen floor indescribably uneven, such 
 trippings, stumblings, and kicking of shins were 
 there, as baffle all description. 
 
 When the country-dance was over, and before 
 .he door was replaced, not on its hinges, but on 
 ihe floor for moneens ; I managed to pick up the 
 following tale from the schoolmaster, who had 
 been a great traveller in his youth, having visited 
 
! 238 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 Lisbon, Cork, and Skibbereen, and who was es- 
 ' teemed, next to the doctor, the most learned man 
 in Glanflesk. 
 
 " Who is there so ignorant, " said he, after two 
 or three hems to clear his voice, " as not to have 
 heard of the town of Dingle, or, as it was called 
 in the days of good Queen Bess, The Dingle 
 but the name which pleases me most of all, is 
 that high-sounding one of Dingle-de-couch but 
 by whatever name you may choose to distinguish 
 it, Dingle, The Dingle, or Dingle-de-couch, be it 
 known that it was ever and always a most famous 
 place, for a variety of very cogent reasons. 
 
 "And, first, it is said that a man may be ar- 
 rested there for twopence ; but, secondly, living is 
 so very cheap,* that he ought not to owe two- 
 pence, for there you may get a good house for 
 three or four pounds a year, and, being close to the 
 vast Atlantic, you may get fish for a song, if you 
 happen to have a good voice and potatoes dog 
 cheap, and linen for next to nothing ; but as for 
 meat, sorry am I to say, it is so scarce an article, 
 that whenever a sheep is killed, the belman is 
 sent about to inform the neighbours of such an 
 important epoch ; and the death of a cow becomes 
 quite an era, from which they date all subsequent 
 events. 
 
 u Well then, near this famous, cheap, fish- 
 loving town of Dingle-de-couch, lived Robert Fitz- 
 gerald ; I can't say exactly what relation he stood 
 
 * Of this assertion I had no bad illustration in the 
 spring of 1825, when I dined in Dingle, after visiting 
 Smerwick Harbour. My dinner consisted of a very fine 
 small turbot with lobster sauce, a pair of fowls, and some 
 bacon, with vegetables (greens and potatoes,) for which 
 dinner, neatly and well served, I was charged nine-pence ! 
 
A NIGHT IN THE GLENS. 239 
 
 in to the Knight of Kerry, or if any beyond being 
 a Geraldine. Robert Fitzgerald was by trade a 
 mason ; and not only that, but he was said also 
 to have been a freemason, and was consequently 
 suspected of being an adept in the black art. 
 
 " His appearance was by no means prepossess- 
 ing, as he was a low, squat, dark-visaged man, 
 with a most unconscionable squint, and long 
 black hair, which in matted locks curled around 
 his brow in huge and forbidding clusters. 
 
 " This aspect, together with his reputation as a 
 wizard, rendered him an object of fear and sus- 
 picion to the country people, who generally laid 
 to his charge any misfortunes which befell them 
 or their cattle ; and in his own line of business no 
 one cared to interfere with him, by which means 
 he was left in the quiet and undisputed possession 
 of the building trade in Dingle. 
 
 " ' I won't put up with it any longer,' said 
 Mr. Hickson, one morning in a terrible passion ; 
 and no wonder, for Fitzgerald, who was doing 
 some mason-work for him, had kept the job on 
 his hands for upwards of six months ; and though, 
 considering he was to be paid by the day, no 
 brother builder will be inclined to blame him 
 much, yet as Mr. Hickson's pocket was to bear 
 the brunt, it is no wonder he should be rather 
 angry, although proverbially the best tempered 
 gentleman in the whole county. ' I won't put up 
 with it any longer,' said he ; i I suppose you think 
 I can't get any one to come between you and the 
 work, but you're quite mistaken, for there's the 
 two Neils just come from the north, so I discharge 
 you this minute, you old sorcerer ; and now let me 
 see what good the devil your master can do you, 
 Fitzgerald.' 
 
240 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " Tis a bad thing to speak of the devil on any 
 account, and 'tis very seldom that much good 
 comes of it : but Fitzgerald made no answer, he 
 only gave a most ominous squint, and muttered 
 * badershin/ as he walked away with his trowel in 
 his hand, and his hammer under his arm, wiping 
 his dark forehead with the corner of his leather 
 apron. 
 
 " No sooner had Fitzgerald departed, than 
 Mr. Hickson proceeded to Mary Murphy's house, 
 where the two Neils were lodging. 
 
 " ' How are you, Mary ?' 
 
 " ' Very well, I thank your honour ; and proud 
 I am to see your honour looking so bravely this 
 blessed morning/ 
 
 " * Thank you, Mary ; but where are the two 
 masons that came to lodge with you lately ?' 
 
 " < Why, your honour, it isn't two minutes since 
 they went out ; is it work your honour would have 
 for them ? if it is, sure I can send them up to the 
 big house the moment they come in, and 'tis they 
 are the quiet decent bys, any how ; but I thought 
 Fitzgerald had your honour's work, and they say 
 it isn't lucky to cross him/ 
 
 " ' Fitzgerald ! I have just turned the rascal 
 away, and intend giving the work to the Neils ; 
 so, Mary, send them to me, and, as you value my 
 favour, none of your stories about Fitzgerald and 
 the black art ; besides, you are a sensible woman, 
 and ought to see that the fellow is only scheming 
 to keep the work to himself; so, good-by, Mary, 
 but remember not a word/ 
 
 " Now, Mary, though she remembered very well, 
 couldn't, for the life of her, resist the desire she 
 had to tell the Neils all about Fitzgerald ; for 
 besides the* inclination a woman feels for every 
 
A NIGHT IN THE GLENS. 241 
 
 thing forbidden, Mary was a real believer in the 
 power of the black art, and all the stories she had 
 heard of Fitzgerald. When the two Neils came 
 in, and Mrs. Mary Murphy saw what likely, proper 
 young men they were, she thought it would be a 
 mortal sin to let any harm come to them, for want 
 of a little bit of advice ; then, having told them 
 about Mr. Hickson's work, she advised them to 
 have nothing to do with it ; telling them how 
 Fitzgerald became a freemason in spite of his 
 reverence Father Sheehan, how he refused to 
 confess the sacret, and how his reverence wouldn't 
 give him absolution, or the rites of the church ; 
 how Fitzgerald had sold his sowl to the devil, 
 who gave him power to play the dunnus by the 
 black art, arid how, in consequence, no one dared 
 to cross him. But the young men, being glad to 
 get employment, only laughed at Mary's hows, 
 and without further parley set off for the big 
 house, and engaged with Mr. Hickson. 
 
 " Things went on well enough for some time, 
 and many people said that all the stories about 
 Fitzgerald were only old women's pishogues ; but 
 those who knew better, shook their heads, and 
 said it was only the calm before the storm. 
 
 " 'Who are them going across the bay, Norah?' 
 said Fitzgerald, one fine morning, as he stood at 
 his cabin door, looking at a boat that had just left 
 the shore. 
 
 " ' Wisha then, 'tis only the Neils going across 
 to the quarry for stones,' said Norah, who was an 
 old woman that used during the day to brush up, 
 and take care of Fitzgerald's cabin, for he was a 
 lone man. 
 
 " ' The Neils is it ? run Norah, and bring me a 
 cool of the salt water/ 
 
242 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " Norah did as she was desired, at the same 
 time wondering what he should want with the 
 salt water ; so, though she was desired to go home, 
 she thought it no harm to hide herself in a corner 
 of the loft. 
 
 " The morning was as fine as ever shone, the 
 sea calm as glass, and not as much wind stirring 
 as would serve to fill a whistle, when the unfortu- 
 nate Neils left the shore ; and yet the boat had 
 scarcely reached the middle of the bay, when a 
 terrible whirlwind arose, which upset their boat, 
 and the young men were swallowed up by the 
 remorseless deep. 
 
 " Old Norah swore, that, at that very time, she 
 saw Fitzgerald, from her concealment in the loft, 
 take a wooden bowl, and put it floating on the 
 cool of salt water, then, muttering over it, the 
 bowl began to spin about, and the storm to rise, 
 till at last, when the bowl was upset, he stopped 
 his muttering, and said all was right, for the Neils 
 were done for. Be this as it may, it is certain 
 that for ever after, no one ventured to molest the 
 wizard of Dingle." 
 
 Such was the story which I managed to glean 
 from the schoolmaster, related in my own words, 
 rather than in his ; and he had scarcely concluded 
 it, when the glensters began to depart ; first, 
 however, wishing us a thousand slantha gots in 
 some of our friend Daniel's whiskey. 
 
 It was broad day, but, before retiring, the 
 doctor suggested to our hostess the preparation 
 of some hot water, to make a tumbler of punch. 
 The worthy dame, not having a kettle, soon made 
 her appearance with a great iron pot of steaming 
 water, enough for that matter to make punch for 
 half the parish ; we managed to bail the water 
 
A NIGHT IN THE GLENS. 243 
 
 up with a wooden bowl, made our punch in a 
 respectably sized jug, drank it out of teacups, and, 
 in ten minutes after it was finished, Mr. Lynch 
 and myself were in bed, and snoring away, ac- 
 cording to the doctor's account, " like two Irish 
 nightingales." 
 
244 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE RETURN. 
 
 COCK a doodle doo! grunt! grunt! cackle! cackle! 
 and worse than all, bow-wow-wow ! that settles 
 the matter, no more sleep is to be had the cocks 
 crowing, pigs grunting, and hens cackling, were 
 bad enough ; but the bow-wow of that abominable 
 crop-eared cur, puts the matter beyond dispute, 
 and awakens me to a perfect consciousness of 
 existence, and that I am in Daniel O'Donoghue's 
 cabin, with the sad reflection, that this is the last 
 day I have to spend in the neighbourhood of Kil- 
 larney, for to-morrow I have secretly made up my 
 mind to depart. 
 
 The last day 'tis an awful word, but there must 
 be a last day to every thing, and therefore why 
 should I grumble at a phantom of my own crea- 
 tion, like Mrs. Shelley's Frankenstein ? grumble, 
 did I say I don't intend doing any such thing ; 
 but, as this is my last day at Killarney, I intend 
 to make the most of it. 
 
 " Halloo, Lynch ! awake arise how the dog 
 snores ! Halloo halloo halloo what, are you 
 not awake ? it is high time we were abroad, and 
 doing. Oh, doctor, how are you? glad to see 
 you this morning which way does the wind 
 blow?" 
 
THE RETURN. 245 
 
 " It has just changed to the right point," said 
 the doctor : " though it has been very wet and 
 stormy all the morning, and now a thousand tor- 
 rents are dashing down the hills; but the blue 
 sky is beginning to be seen, while mist and cloud 
 are curling up the sides of the mountains, and 
 clearing away from their brows." 
 
 " An admirable description indeed ! If you can 
 prevail upon Mrs. O'Donoghue to have eggs, and 
 butter, and potatoes, and milk, prepared for break- 
 fast on our return, I should like, above all things, 
 to sally forth, and enjoy ftie fresh air, In truth, 
 doctor, though I am not apt to complain, my head 
 feels rather queer this morning from the whiskey 
 punch, the effects of which, I am not quite sure 
 [ have exactly had time sufficient to sleep off. 
 What say you, Lynch, to going forth into ' the 
 light of things/ as your friend Wordsworth does 
 after a debauch?" 
 
 " Agreed," said the doctor ; " Wordsworth's a 
 sensible man enough for a poet." 
 
 " No. bad plan that," said Mr. Lynch, " but 
 does Wordsworth really do so ?" 
 
 " He certainly says so sayings and doings at 
 Killarney eh, Lynch ?" 
 
 Having forded the Flesk, we turned the southern 
 corner of Philadown, and took that branch of the 
 glen which leads towards Kenmare. Here the 
 scenery was extremely wild, rocks piled upon 
 rocks in rude confusion, and numberless torrents 
 foaming, and little shining streams rushing down 
 through the hollows and channels of the hills. 
 A walk of about two miles brought us to the 
 wooded side of Croghane; the opposite side of 
 the glen, which was also wooded, we were in- 
 formed, was called Ruscru. 
 
246 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 The road, now rising, now falling, sweeps along 
 the base of Croghane, overshadowed by woods ; 
 through which we had not proceeded far, before 
 the sound of a torrent burst upon us, and we soon 
 perceived a raging flood, which foamed down the 
 side of the hill, and through the wood, leaping 
 from rock to rock, and in many places environing 
 both clumps and single trees, which seemed to 
 grow out of the water, as their green branches 
 Swept its boiling surface. 
 
 After a feeble attempt to trace this torrent to 
 its source, we found that neither our time, nor our 
 appetites (so much for whiskey punch be it re- 
 marked,) would permit us to remain longer ; and, 
 without proceeding farther through the glen, we 
 turned our faces towards Daniel O'Donoghue's 
 hospitable dwelling. 
 
 Perhaps it will be as well, to prevent disap- 
 pointment, that I should inform the visitor of 
 Glanflesk, that to see the torrent, as we did, 
 in all its glory, splashing dashing bubbling and 
 foaming, he must go there immediately after a 
 very heavy fall of rain. Nay, it will even be 
 worth his while, unless of a rheumatic disposition, 
 to endure a good wetting, which, by the bye, he 
 will run every chance of receiving, to obtain a 
 peep at the torrent, though we were fortunate 
 enough to escape with dry jackets. 
 
 An excellent breakfast may be made upon 
 potatoes, butter, eggs, and milk, by men who 
 have walked among the mountains of Kerry. 
 And we having done ample justice to what Mrs. 
 O'Donoghue placed before us, bade farewell to 
 Daniel, who, not only refused, but was highly 
 offended at the offer of payment. 
 
 As we journeyed towards Killaha castle, on our 
 
THE UETURN. 247 
 
 way to Killarney, Mr. Lynch drew forth his pen- 
 cil and note-book, and in a short time produced 
 the following 
 
 FAREWELL TO GLANFLESK. 
 
 Farewell to the land of the mountain, 
 To Glanflesk and its wild-hills farewell; 
 
 Where rushes the rock-springing fountain, 
 Where murmurs the stream through the dell. 
 
 Where the dark mountains frown in their pride, 
 
 And rocks in disorder are thrown, 
 Or lie shivered along the hill-side, 
 
 Like the relics of worlds that are gone. 
 
 Where the wild herds that graze by the rill 
 
 Look up to their friends of the sky ; 
 The eagle that mounts from the hill, 
 
 The heron and hawk floating by. 
 
 Where Croghane spreads afar its green wood, 
 And Ruscru nods across to its brother, 
 
 And Philadown's cliff, rough and rude, 
 Still adds to the prospect another. 
 
 Where the Looha and Clydah roll on, 
 Each down its own glen proud to sally ; 
 
 Till fondly uniting in one, 
 
 As the Flesk, they wind through the green valley. 
 
 Where famed Labig Owen is shown, 
 
 And glensters relate the proud story, 
 Of the outlaw who made him a throne 
 
 And a bed on this rock rude and hoary. 
 
 Oh those were the days when afar 
 The ' Eagle's shrill whistle* was sounding ; 
 
 And down at that note to the war, 
 
 The sons of the rude hills came bounding. 
 
 And still on the hill in the glen, 
 
 Though kind to each stranger that comes, 
 
 There are hearts just as ready as then, 
 To fight for their rights and their homes. 
 
248 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 But farewell to the land of the mountain, 
 To Glanflesk and its wild-hills farewell ; 
 
 Where rushes the rock-springing fountain, 
 Where murmurs the stream through the dell. 
 
 On clearing the glen, we found ourselves under 
 the green hill, on which stands the ruins of Kil- 
 laha castle. This hill we ascended. Three sides 
 only of a square tower remain ; and as we looked 
 up at its roofless and floorless height, we perceived 
 the ancient stone chimney pieces, still clinging to 
 the walls meet remains of proverbial national 
 hospitality. 
 
 At some distance from the castle, on the north- 
 ern slope of the hill, are the ivy-covered ruins of 
 a church or chapel, around which are scattered a 
 few tombs and grave stones. 
 
 " God be with you, Father Reilly," exclaimed 
 the doctor, as he passed one of these memento 
 mori's ; "for you were as good and as gay a little 
 fellow as ever stepped." 
 
 Upon inquiry, I found that Father Reilly, was 
 one of those jolly, social, charitable, old, " butter- 
 booted" priests, who were so different from the 
 political, unsocial, Jesuitical, sly, young, canting, 
 soberly-clad priests of the present day, for which 
 reason, I copied the inscription on his tomb. 
 
 " THIS MONUMENT WAS ERECTED 
 
 BY 
 THE PARISHIONERS OF BARRADUV AND KILLAHA 
 
 AT 
 
 THEIR SOLE EXPENSE 
 AS A TOKEN 
 
 OF THE 
 
 LOVE, REGARD, AND ESTEEM THEY HAD FOR 
 THEIR WORTHY AND CHARITABLE 
 
 PARISH PRIEST, 
 THE REV. JOHN O*REILLY, 
 
 WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE THE 10TH NOV. 1824, AGED 57 YEARS. 
 REQUIESCAT IN PACE. AMEN.'* 
 
THE RETURN. 249 
 
 Leaving the ruin, and with a hearty shake of 
 the hand bidding farewell to the little doctor, 
 Mr. Lynch and I returned to the base of the hill, 
 and proceeded towards Killarney. On our right 
 lay the wooded demesne of Brewsterfield descend- 
 ing to the Flesk, which river we shortly after 
 crossed by a bridge, and, leaving Brewsterfield 
 behind, pushed on for the town as fast as we 
 could, the road possessing nothing particular to 
 detain us. 
 
 Rather less than two hours brought us to Kil- 
 larney. 
 
 We dined ; and, after a well-served dinner, 
 Gorham made his appearance, to inquire if I would 
 wish for Gandsey's company ? 
 
 Gandsey entered, as on a former occasion, 
 leaning upon his son. " Ah, Gandsey," said I, 
 " this was very good of you to coine to me, 
 especially as it is my last evening in Killarney." 
 
 " I thank you, sir," was the modest reply of 
 Gandsey; " you are very good, sir/' 
 
 " Here is a glass of wine but perhaps you 
 would prefer some whiskey punch ?" 
 
 " I drink the wine to your honour's good health 
 and long life," said Gandsey ; " but the whiskey 
 punch, sir, if you please, harmonizes better with 
 the melodies I am going to play, sir." 
 
 " Waiter, some whiskey punch. Gandsey, I 
 wish much to hear ' the Eagle's Whistle/ so I think 
 the war-march of the O'Donoghue is called Yon 
 can play it, of course." 
 
 " Without any kind of doubt I can do that 
 
 same," returned Gandsey. " Boy, is your violin in 
 
 tune ? there's the note Week week week 
 
 squeek that will do. Now, sir, but first, if you 
 
 i please, suppose, sir, that I give you, because, you 
 
250 KILLAIINEY LEGENDS. 
 
 see, it is the oldest of the two war-marches of the 
 O'Donoghue, the Step of the Glens/ " 
 
 (Here Gandsey played the barbarous strain, 
 which the reader will find annexed, No. 1 .) 
 
 " Oh, 'tis the O'Donoghues were the boys that 
 could stir their stumps down the side of a moun- 
 tain/' said Gandsey, when he had concluded. 
 " And now, sir, here's the Eagle's Whistle ; that 
 was their other war-march, you know. Boy, tune 
 up that note a leetle higher." 
 
 (Here Gandsey played the melody, No. 2.) 
 
 " Gandsey," said I, " it is easy to prophesy, that 
 the fame of your Eagle's Whistle will go forth, 
 ' light as beard of thistle/ " * 
 
 * To prove that I am no false prophet, I may mention, 
 that the following spirited and characteristic words have 
 been since written to this melody by Mr. Planche*, and of 
 course popularly sung in England. They are here printed 
 by his permission. 
 
 Sound " the Eagle's Whistle," 
 
 Kerry's call to battle, 
 Let the Eagle's Nest 
 
 With its echoes rattle ! 
 Sing the song of yore, 
 Raise the ancient banner ; 
 
 Once again the breeze 
 The mountain breeze shall fan her. 
 
 Cleave, thou fair Loch-Lane, 
 Forth thy chieftain sallies ; 
 
 Hail him once again 
 Desmond of the valleys ! 
 
 Gather, chieftains, gather ! 
 Come with bucklers clashing, 
 
 Clad in silver mail, 
 Like the billows flashing. 
 
 Rise, ye peerless train 
 Of Erin's lovely daughters ! 
 
 Move like stately swans 
 O'er the wond'ring waters. 
 
THE RETURN. 251 
 
 " How close is the resemblance," remarked Mr. 
 Lynch, " between the Irish and Scotch pibrochs. 
 I remember" and he was about to proceed with, 
 I have no doubt, some interesting reminiscence or 
 remark, had not Gandsey run his right hand up 
 the pipe, with 
 
 Tir a lee ra tir a lee ra lee BOOM. 
 
 " Come, Gandsey," said I, " another tune, if 
 you please but something with a history to it." 
 
 " I'll give you, sir," said Gandsey, " the lamen- 
 tation for " Myles the slasher/ a real ould air of 
 Erin." 
 
 (Here Gandsey played the melody, No. 3.) 
 
 " And now," said I, when he had concluded, 
 " now for the history." 
 
 " Why, you see, sir," said Gandsey, placing the 
 pipes at rest upon his left knee, " why, you see, 
 sir, Myles the slasher was an O'Reilly and if he 
 was, he was like every one of the same name, 
 fond of Erin, for she was his country. Well, sir, 
 when the bloody Cromwellian wars were going on, 
 you see, Myles the slasher headed his clan, and 
 died like a brave commander, defending the bridge 
 of Finea, in the County Cavan, against that rob- 
 bing and murdering thief of the world, Cromwell. 
 'Twas a fine death he had ; and 'tis as fine a tune 
 that I've played for you, sir, to keep his memory 
 up among the people, as can be, in my opinion. 
 But if he did die all covered with wounds, 'twas 
 on the flat of his back that Myles O'Reilly the 
 slasher was laid, with a thousand voices after him, 
 
 Up ! away, away ! 
 Light as beard of thistle ; 
 
 'Tis the morn of May 
 Sound the Eagle's Whistle ! 
 
252 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 in the monastical church of Cavan, though 'tis 
 since destroyed, to build a horse-barrack; and 
 these were the very words that were carved out 
 over him, upon as beautiful a gravestone as could 
 be: 
 
 " LECTOR NE CREDAS SOLEM PERIISSE MILONEM 
 HOC NAM SUB TUMULO, PATRIA VICTA JACET."* 
 
 " This lamentation pleases me so much, I 
 hope, Gandsey, you can favour us with another." 
 
 " Oh, that I can, sir, lamentations in plenty 
 for sure 'tis little else is left, for green Erin or her 
 children, but sorrow and 
 
 " Whiskey," said Mr. Lynch. 
 
 " True," said I, " we have justly been called ' a 
 persecuted and hard-drinking people/ " 
 
 " But the lamentation," said Mr. Lynch. 
 
 " Tis the widow's lamentation," said Gandsey : 
 " You see her husband, one William Crottie, was 
 hanged through the means of one Davy Norris, a 
 thief of an informer, who came round him, and 
 
 * The pistols of Myles O'Reilly, of large size and an- 
 cient Spanish manufacture, are in the museum of Trinity 
 College, Dublin, presented by Mrs. Peyton (now Mrs. 
 Macnamara,) the sister of the late George Nugent Rey- 
 nolds, Esq. of the County of Leitrim ; and the powder-horn 
 of " Myles the slasher," a huge ox horn polished, and with 
 rude brass ornaments, is still in the possession of that 
 lady. In the genealogical history of the house of O'Reilly, 
 compiled by the late chevalier O'Gorman (whose MSS. 
 are at present in my custody,) for General Count Alex- 
 ander O'Reilly, commander-in-chief of the Spanish In- 
 fantry under Charles III., and second in command at the 
 siege of Gibraltar, there is a full and interesting account 
 of Myles O'Reilly. Since I have been led to mention 
 this genealogical history, I may as well notice a curious 
 fact connected with it, that O'Gorman, whose papers 
 prove him to be an ignorant heraldic quack, actually re- 
 ceived one thousand guineas from Count O'Reilly for this 
 compilation. 
 
THE RETURN. 253 
 
 betrayed him. And so Mrs. Crottie, whose own 
 name was Burke, a mighty decent woman she was, 
 and come of decent people, made up this lamen- 
 tation about her husband." 
 
 Here Gandsey played the melody, No. 4. to 
 which he sang the following words : 
 
 Oh, William Crottie, your days are ended, 
 And your poor wife lies unbefriended, 
 In a cold jail, where none can come near her ; 
 Her dearest friends this day won't hear her ! 
 
 Oh, ullagone ! 
 
 But soon I'll leave this Irish nation, 
 
 And sail away to the great plantation ; 
 
 For let me go among Turks or Heathens, 
 
 I'll meet with more pity than in my own nation. 
 
 Oh, ullagone ! 
 
 Oh, William Crottie, I often told you 
 That Davy Norris would come round you ; 
 'Twas he that took you, as you lay sleeping, 
 And left me here in sorrow weeping ! 
 
 Oh, ullagone ! 
 
 Then came the day of sad repentance, 
 
 When William Crottie received his sentence; 
 
 The drums they did beat, and most mournfully sounded, 
 
 And my poor senses were at once confounded. 
 
 Oh, ullagone ! 
 
 I bear great blame from all these women, 
 Yet I'll never forsake my dear companion 
 When first I knew him he was no Tory, 
 But now he's gone, there's an end to my glory ! 
 
 Oh, ullagone ! 
 
 Adieu, ye hills, and adieu, ye mountains, 
 Adieu to Glanworth's crystal fountains, 
 Where often I waited for Crottie, my darling, 
 To bring me home both gold and starling ! 
 
 Oh, ullagone ! 
 
 " And now, Gandsey," said I, " mix yourself 
 another tumbler of punch, and then let us hear 
 
254 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 an Irish melody with something more of sentiment 
 in it, than the singular strains you have already 
 played. Suppose some ditty, which an unfortu- 
 nate lover might sing to the mistress by whom 
 he was neglected and abandoned. You have an 
 air of this description, I doubt not, Gandsey, for 
 such heart-breaking affairs must have happened 
 in Ireland as well as elsewhere/* 
 
 " Oh, plenty of them, sir," said Gandsey ; and 
 he immediately commenced the melody, No. 5, 
 
 " Yes, that is Irish truly intensely Irish," 
 " how exquisitely the violin accompaniment har- 
 monizes with the pipes. Pray, whose arrange- 
 ment is that?" 
 
 " Twas I, sir," replied Gandsey, "just fixed it 
 out for boy to learn." 
 
 " Have you any words to this melody ?" in- 
 quired Mr. Lynch. 
 
 " None, sir," said Gandsey, " though they're 
 much wanting to it ;* but I have some words of 
 
 * The deficiency has since been supplied by the Hon. 
 Mrs. Norton ; by whose permission, (given in the most 
 flattering manner,) the verses are here printed. 
 
 Oh Erin ! sweet Erin ! thy strains 
 
 To the heart-broken exile are dear ; 
 
 And each note in its sweetness remains 
 
 Long, long on the listening ear. 
 
 But even when those sounds should be gay, 
 
 Such sorrow is mixed with their tone, 
 
 And each note melts so slowly away, 
 
 That our hearts feel their sadness alone. 
 
 Oh 'tis thus when life's sunshine is o'er, 
 
 And its visions in darkness are hid, 
 
 When the friends of our youth are no more, 
 
 And our hearts will not beat as they did : 
 
 A sound will bring back thoughts that pass 
 
 Like a shadow o'er all that is glad. 
 
 We may laugh if we will, but, alas ! 
 
 E'en the sound of our laughter is sad. 
 
THE RETURN. 255 
 
 own making 1 too, which I'll sing, with the greatest 
 pleasure in life, to the air of ' Bob and Joan/ 
 Come, boy, scrape away." 
 
 To Killarney we will go 
 
 And see fair nature's beauties, 
 The mountains tipp'd with snow, 
 
 And covered with arbutus. 
 Oh, then, to hear at night, 
 
 At Gorham's, how entrancing, 
 Old Gandsey play his pipes, 
 Which set the maids a dancing ! 
 Tow, row, row, row, row, 
 
 Tow, row, row, row, reddy, 
 Tow, row, row, row, row, 
 Can't you just walk steady? 
 
 Gandsey, to promote 
 
 Harmonious tunes so jolly, 
 Strikes up a favourite note 
 
 To banish melancholy. 
 He lilts it up in style, 
 
 Upon his pipes so merry, 
 The gravest faces smile 
 
 To hear his Paddy Carey. 
 
 Tow, row, row, row, row, &c. 
 
 He plays Kitty from Athlone, 
 
 And Maureen dee na Glenna, 
 And Noreen on the road, 
 
 With the flashy rakes of Mallow ; 
 Aughrim overthrown, 
 
 The fall of Condon's castle, 
 Cornelius Lord Mayo, 
 
 Who was the boy to wrestle. 
 
 Trw, row, row, K>W, row, &c. 
 
 He'll give Jackson's Morning brush 
 
 And Billy Joy the joker, 
 With the famous Kouth Polthogue, 
 
 Described by Crofton Croker ; 
 The ball of Ballinafad, 
 
 The song of Bannah Lannah, 
 Plounkum Moll in the Wadd, 
 
 And Shaune O'Dwyr na Glenna. 
 
 Tow, row, row, row, row, &C. 
 
256 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 On the lakes when we do go, 
 
 We'll have a boat and whiskey, 
 With men and oars to row, 
 
 Their hearts both light and frisky ; 
 A dinner we'U provide, 
 
 We shall have full and plenty, 
 Two hampers stuff'd and tied, 
 
 And wine enough for twenty. 
 
 Tow, row, row, row, row, &c. 
 
 Through Turk Lake we will pass 
 
 Straight up to Dinis Island, 
 There we'll dine upon the grass, 
 
 And drink like Captain Ryland. 
 " Home, sweet home," I'll play, 
 
 Then our boat will sail across, sir, 
 And take the shortest way 
 
 To bring us back to Ross, sir. 
 
 Tow, row, row, row, row, &c. 
 
 Now our excursion o'er, 
 
 At Gorham's what a pleasure, 
 To fill the glass once more, 
 
 And drink beyond all measure. 
 'Tis that's the way to see 
 
 The lakes of neat Killarney, 
 So don't be doubting me, 
 
 For I never was at Blarney. 
 
 Tow, row, row, row, row, &c. 
 
 " Bravo, Gandsey," said I. 
 
 u Bravo," echoed Mr. Lynch. 
 
 " You must be thirsty from your exertions 
 
 ' Gansey, to promote 
 
 Harmonious tunes so jolly.' 
 
 So here are the materials for anotner tumbler of 
 punch. You want something?" 
 
 " Water, if you please, sir, for what is 
 whiskey punch without the water is screeching 
 hot, and just sings to you like a Banshee ?" 
 
 " Do you hear the unearthly music of Gand- 
 sey's glass," remarked Mr. Lynch, as the boiling 
 
THE RETURN. 257 
 
 water made a kind of musical murmur within it 
 and he continued, while Gandsey sipped the boil- 
 ing mixture " I never hear that simmering, with- 
 out mentally recurring to an incident which re- 
 cently happened to me. 
 
 " It was with a feeling of content and pleasure, 
 that on the Christmas eve of 1826 I gazed around 
 my cottage kitchen, and saw that it was duly 
 decked with holly ; the dark green leaves and red 
 berries mingling fantastically with the bright tin 
 vessels which hung upon the white walls. 
 
 " I confess that I am partial to old customs 
 I have even no objection to an old superstition, 
 provided it be harmless. I did not, therefore, 
 quarrel with the block that was blazing on the 
 kitchen hearth, nor object to the enormous candle 
 lit in order to bring in the joyous anniversary of 
 Christmas. 
 
 u Scarcely was the evening circle formed around 
 the fire, when I was startled by a low wailing. 
 The Irish funeral cry is at all times a wild and 
 melancholy sound, but at this moment of festivity, 
 the contrast made it appear more ,than usually 
 Bad ; and as it mingled fitfully with the wind that 
 moaned without, it occasionally assumed an un- 
 earthly cadence, that might seem to a fanciful 
 mind, the wail of some wandering spirit. 
 
 " The Lord presarve us !" cried Debby the maid, 
 " the Lord presarve us ! it's the Banshee ; I won- 
 der who's to go now." 
 
 " Psha ! don't be foolish," said I; " I will soon 
 find out what occasions this noise. So saying, I 
 walked into the hall, and put on my hat. At once 
 every voice was raised to dissuade me from at- 
 tempting so hazardous an enterprise, but all in 
 vain; I was obstinately bent upon proceeding 
 
258 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 and, amid warning looks and prognosticating nods, 
 I took my departure. 
 
 " The night was dark, so dark, indeed, that the 
 pathway from my cottage was hardly to be dis- 
 cerned, and as I pursued the direction from which 
 the cry seemed to proceed, I was obliged to keep 
 close to the road wall. I had not proceeded many 
 yards, when the voice of sorrow died away, and 
 no other sound was to be heard, save the fitful 
 breath of the blast, as it groaned drearily through 
 the leafless branches of some old trees which over- 
 hung the road. I am not superstitious, and yet 
 I confess that I did feel certain sensations, which, 
 of course, reason, if I had been able to reason at 
 the moment, would have checked ; it was there- 
 fore with a feeling of pleasure, that I reached the 
 cabin of a poor man named Sullivan. As I ap- 
 proached the door, I heard a low moan from within, 
 and immediately concluded that the ullagone 
 or death-cry, which occasioned me to sally forth, 
 proceeded from thence. But when I raised the 
 latch, and looked about the interior of that cabin, 
 what words can express the misery that met my 
 view ! 
 
 " Sullivan's house, judged from its outward 
 appearance, might be deemed a more comfortable 
 dwelling than what usually falls to the lot of an 
 Irish peasant; for it had a slate roof, and two 
 windows, without the usual accompaniment of 
 some straw, or an old hat to supply the place 
 of the broken glass; but no sooner did I enter, 
 than every idea of comfort vanished. There was 
 the high roof without any intervening loft ; the 
 cold and damp earthen floor broken into a hun- 
 dred heights and hollows : the whole length of 
 the house without any division to render it less 
 
THE RETURN. 259 
 
 dreary ; the door through whose crevices the 
 wintry gale entered at will ; the black and smoky 
 walls ; and a spark of fire almost extinguished by 
 the darkness of the huge vent in which it stood, 
 and which scarcely afforded the idea of warmth. 
 A few rush-bottomed chairs, a small table, with a 
 wretched bedstead, and a worse bed, placed for the 
 sake of warmth close to the hearth, were the only 
 furniture to be seen in this cheerless dwelling. The 
 table had been placed at the foot of the bed, and 
 on it lay the corpse of a little boy about four years 
 old; his dark hair sleeked over his marble brow, 
 and his snowy lids sending their long fringes over 
 his calm arid palid cheeks. On one side sat the 
 mother, with a look of anguish, and a low moan, 
 rocking her body to and fro. On the other side a 
 little girl had clambered up, and was endeavour- 
 ing to open her brother's leaden lids. Two young 
 girls, the sisters of the deceased, sat upon the 
 bedstead ; while the unfortunate father, with 
 clasped hands and a look of patient endurance, 
 bent over the comfortless hearth. 
 
 " The body of the corpse was covered with a 
 white sheet, borrowed for the occasion from some 
 richer neighbour, on its feet was placed a large 
 plate of tobacco, and a candle was .burning on 
 each side. This was all the preparation they had 
 been able to make for the wake, and this in itself 
 was a sufficient proof of their poverty; as the peo- 
 ple on such occasions seldom spare any expense 
 within their power. The first thing which struck 
 me on entering this house of mourning, was the 
 extreme emptiness of the place ; and this ap- 
 peared the more extraordinary, as the peasantry 
 think it meritorious to sit up with the dead, and 
 usually on such occasions assemble in great num- 
 s2 
 
260 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 bers ; for ' to be spent well with ' and to have * a 
 good berrin,' are matters of great importance to 
 the lower orders of the Irish. 
 
 " Upon inquiry, I found this desertion pro- 
 ceeded from the festival of Christmas no one 
 being willing to go from home on such an evening 
 ' And sure we can't blame them/ said the poor 
 man, ' for it's only what we'd do ourselves ; but 
 I expect them about nine or ten o'clock, and 
 then they'll sit with us till the bell rings for 
 morning's mass." At the time specified, the 
 company dropped in by degrees, till at length 
 the house was full. The men took their places 
 in silence, but some of the women occasionally 
 walked over to the corpse, and raised the funeral 
 cry. Smoking and conversation served to pass 
 away the time, the merits of different keeners 
 were discussed, and many a tale was told of 
 ghosts and banshees, fairies and fetches.*' 
 
 " Do you remember any of these stories, 
 Lynch ?" said I ; " for if you do, I shall be de- 
 lighted to hear one, and it will moreover be an 
 act of kindness to Gandsey to allow him a pause. 
 Who loves to spur a willing horse ?" 
 
 Mr. Lynch, without one word of reply, com- 
 menced as follows : 
 
 "TomCoghlan one evening returned to his house, 
 expecting to find the fire blazing, the potatoes 
 boiling, his wife smiling, and his children as 
 merry as grigs. And without doubt these things 
 are a great comfort to a poor man ; but it wasn't 
 Tom's luck to find matters as he expected; for 
 there was no fire, and his wife was scolding, and 
 the children were all crying from hunger. Poor Tom 
 was quite dumbfoundered to find matters going on 
 so badly; for though there were potatoes enough 
 
THE RETURN 4 261 
 
 in the house, there wasn't so much as a brosna to 
 boil them with. What was to be done ? After 
 considering for some time, he bethought himself 
 of the great furze bushes which grew in the old 
 fort on the top of Knockanes, and, snatching up a 
 bill-hook, away he went. Before he reached the 
 top of the hill, the sun had gone down, and the 
 moon had risen above the eastern hills : wide and 
 vast was the prospect disclosed by her wavering, 
 watery light ; for on the one hand might be seen 
 the bay of Tralee with its full sparkling tide, from 
 whose verge uprose Slieve Mish, Cahir-Con-righ, 
 and that vast chain of mountains extending to the 
 west, while the towns of Blennerville and Tralee 
 slept dim-discovered in the valley beneath ; on the 
 other hand, lay the bare and barren sandhills, the 
 wide-extending common of Ardfert, and the broad- 
 sweeping strand which skirted the billowy bay of 
 Ballyheigh ; while, far to the west, the mighty 
 Atlantic rolled its waste of waters unbounded and 
 unshackled, save where, to the right and left, the 
 misty forms of Brandon Hill and Kerry Head, like 
 the horns of a vast crescent, shot out far into the 
 restless deep. 
 
 " Such was the prospect which lay before the 
 unobservant eye of Tom Coghlan, who saw nothing 
 but the old fort, which superstition had taught 
 him to consider as an eirie and a fearful place ; 
 the breeze which faintly rustled amid the bushes 
 was to him a sound of terror, and the distant mur- 
 mur of the deep, booming through the silence of 
 the night, struck his spirit with a mysterious and 
 indefinable awe. Conquering his fear, however, 
 as he approached the fort, and remembering that 
 his children were as yet without their supper, he 
 raised his arm in act to fell one of the large furze 
 
262 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 bushes which grew on -the embankment, when its 
 descent was suddenly arrested by the sound of 
 a small shrill voice. The startled workman let 
 the bill-hook drop from his grasp, as looking up he 
 beheld perched upon a furze bush a little old 
 man, not more than a foot and a half high; his 
 face was nearly of the colour of a tawny mush- 
 room ; while his little sparkling eyes, twinkling 
 like Kerry stones in the dark, illumined his dis- 
 torted visage, which was surmounted by a long 
 red cap, something in the shape of an extin- 
 guisher ; his body was small, and bore no pro- 
 portion to his limbs. Such was the extraordinary 
 being who interrupted Tom Coghlan at his work, 
 and whom I shall distinguish by the name of 
 Little Redcap. 
 
 " ' O ho !' said the little Redcap, ' is that what 
 you'd be after, Mister Tommy Coghlan ? What 
 did me or mine ever do to you, that you should 
 come cutting down our bushes ?' 
 
 " ' Why then nothing at all, your honour/ said 
 Tom, recovering a -little from his fright ; ' why 
 then nothing at all, your honour, only the poor 
 little childer were crying with the hunger, and I 
 thought I'd just make bould to cut a bush or two 
 to bile the praties with, for we hadn't so much as 
 a brosna in the house/ 
 
 " ' You mustn't cut down the bushes, Tom/ 
 said the little Redcap, ' but as you are an honest 
 man, Til buy them from you, though I've a better 
 right to them than you have ; but the quiet way 
 is the best always, so if you take my advice, you'll 
 carry this quern home with you, and let the bushes 
 alone/ * Quern, indeed !' said Tom, at the same 
 time giving a look of astonishment ; for it was so 
 small that he might have put it with all ease into 
 
THE RETURN. 263 
 
 his breeches pocket ; ' quern, indeed ! and what 
 eood will that bit of a quern do me ? sure it won't 
 bile the praties for the grawls !' 
 
 " What good will it do you V said the little Red- 
 cap, ' I'll tell you what good it will do you it will 
 make you and your family as strong and as fat as 
 so many stall-fed bullocks ; and if it won't bile the 
 praties, it will do a great deal better, for you have 
 only to turn it about, and it will give you the greatest 
 plenty of elegant meal ; but, if ever you sell any 
 of it, that moment the quern will lose its virtue/ 
 
 " ' It's a bargain,' said Tom, ' so give me 
 the quern, and you're heartily welcome to the 
 bushes.' 
 
 " ' There it is for you, Tom/ said the little 
 Redcap, at the same time throwing it down to 
 him ; ' there it is for you, and much good may it 
 do you, but remember you are not to sell the 
 meal on any account/ 
 
 " ' Let me alone for that/ said Tom, as he 
 made the best of his way home, where his wife 
 was trying to comfort the children, and wondering 
 all the time what in the world could keep Tom 
 out so long ; but when she saw him return without 
 so much as a kippen to boil the potatoes with, her 
 wrath, which had been repressed for the last half 
 hour, burst out like Beamish and Crawford's bot- 
 tled porter when the cork is drawn. ' Wisha 
 then !' said she, * isn't this a poor case, to say 
 you'd come in without any thing to bile the praties, 
 and I breaking my heart this two hours trying to 
 keep the childer quiet. But I suppose you were 
 at the shebeen-house, instead of minding me or 
 mine ; but if I had to travel about with a cad an' 
 skiver, an' a bag on my back, I won't put up wid 
 you any longer, you nasty, drunken, gomal of a 
 
264 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 baste. Here she paused for want of breath, and 
 Tom, taking the opportunity to put in a word, 
 said, ' Arrah, then can't you be asy, Judy ? mind 
 you, indeed ; may be I wasn't minding you, why. 
 See that, now, for a thing I brought you;' con- 
 tinued Tom, at the same time placing the quern 
 on the table. 
 
 " ( O you ounshaugh of a gomal !' roared 
 Judy ; ' what good are those two little stones, 
 will they feed the grawls? tell me that, you 
 natural.' 
 
 " ' Feed the grawls ! fakes an* 'tis they that 
 will,' said Tom. So he told her all about the 
 little quern, and how he got it from the red- 
 capped fairy. 
 
 *' ' We'll try it directly/ said Judy; and they 
 pulled the big table into the middle of the floor, 
 and commenced grinding away with the quern. 
 Before long, the most beautiful meal began to 
 come from it, and in a short time they had every 
 vessel in the house full. Judy was quite de- 
 lighted, and the children managed as well as they 
 could for that night, by eating plenty of the raw 
 meal. For a long time things went on very well, 
 the quern giving them food in abundance ; till 
 they all grew as fat and sleek as coach-horses. 
 Unfortunately, one day, Judy being at a great 
 loss for a little money, was tempted to take a 
 few pecks of the meal, and sell it in the town 
 of Tralee : but if she did, sorry enough she was 
 for it ; for, from that day out, the quern lost all 
 its virtue, and, if Tom was grinding for ever, it 
 wouldn't give them a taste of meal. Tom couldn't 
 for the life of him find out the reason, for Judy 
 was afraid to tell him about her selling the meal ; 
 so, putting his bill-hook under his arm, away he 
 
THE RETURN, 26,> 
 
 went to the old fort, determined to be revenged 
 on little Redcap, by cutting down his bushes. 
 
 " Scarcely had he commenced the work, when 
 the little Redcap made his appearance : mighty 
 angry he was that Tom should come cutting his 
 bushes, after having made a fair bargain with 
 him ; but Tom, nothing daunted, was as stiff as 
 he was stout, and told him that ' he was a deceit- 
 ful little ugly vagabond, to give him a quern that 
 wasn't worth a thraneen ; and that if he did'nt 
 give him a good one for it, he'd cut down every 
 bush in the fort.' 
 
 " ' What a bullamskiagh you are, Mister Tom,' 
 said the little Redcap, ' but you'd better be easy 
 and let the bushes alone, or may be so well you'd 
 pay for it : deceive you, indeed ! did'nt I tell you 
 the quern would lose its power, if you sold any of 
 the meal ?' 
 
 " ' And sure I did'nt either,' said Tom. ' Well, 
 it's all one for that/ answered the little Redcap, 
 ' for if you didn't, your wife did ; and as to giving 
 you another quern, it's out of the question, for we 
 have but one in the fort you see, and a hard battle 
 we fought, to get it from another party of the 
 good people. But I'll tell you what I'll do with 
 you, Tom ; let the bushes alone, and I'll make a 
 doctor of you/ 
 
 " ' A doctor, indeed ! may be it's a fool you're 
 making of me/ said Tom. But 'twas no such 
 thing, for the little Redcap gave Tom Coghlan 
 some charm or other, that he never failed to kill 
 or to cure with whoever he took in hands, just 
 like other doctors ; and Tom became a great man, 
 and made up a long purse, and gave good lam- 
 ing to his poor children, that he left crying at 
 home after him the night he first met the fairy in 
 
266 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 the old fort. And orre of them he made a priest 
 of, and another a grand butter-merchant in Blar- 
 ney lane, in the city of Cork ; and the youngest 
 son, being ever and always a well-spoken boy, he 
 made him a counsellor ; and his two daughters 
 are well married, and Tom's wife is dead, and he's 
 as happy a man as can be." 
 
 " A story does not lose by your telling, Lynch. 
 And now, Gandsey," said I, " suppose you 
 
 " There's a tap at the door, sir," said the 
 younger Gandsey, laying down his violin which 
 he had just assumed. 
 
 " Come in come in, Gorham." 
 
 " Sare," said Gorham, " I have taken the 
 liberty of " and he bowed, and held forth a 
 book, " asking your opinion of my establish- 
 ment." 
 
 " Gorham," said I, shrugging my shoulders 
 like a Scotchman, you must first let me see your 
 bill. I cannot say any thing at present, beyond 
 my having enjoyed myself very much, and having 
 nothing to complain of; but gold may be bought 
 too dear, you know." 
 
 With another bow, Gorham made his silent 
 exit. 
 
 " And now, Gandsey, I am all attention." 
 
 " To what ?" said Mr. Lynch, " you have 
 heard Gandsey's unrivalled performance on the 
 pipes ; you have heard him, moreover, sing a 
 song of his own composition : now which do 
 you wish to try Gandsey at capping Latin verses, 
 or hear him tell a story ?" 
 
 "'My Latin 
 
 Comes not so pat in* 
 
 as it did formerly," said I, " therefore, Gand- 
 sey, as Mr. Lyncli will put you through your 
 
THE RETURN. 267 
 
 paces, suppose since I at once confess myself 
 unequal to the trial of classical skill which has 
 been proposed you tell us the story/' 
 
 " As you will, sir," replied Gandsey, carefully 
 putting his pipes aside. 
 
 " But your glass is empty that will never do/' 
 
 " I thank you, sir, for your consideration. Well, 
 sir, no doubt you are a great traveller, and have 
 seen many strange places ; but if ever you tra- 
 velled like myself, some twenty years ago, from 
 Cork to the raking town of Mallow, you'd remem- 
 ber the spot of Kelleher's farm, to this hour, or 
 I'm much mistaken. At that time (may be 'tis 
 now rather better than twenty years,) the man 
 who took the new road, from the blessed moment 
 he turned his back on the old red forge at the end 
 of the beautiful Blackpool, if it was not for the 
 new slate-house, close to Kelleher's bound's ditch, 
 might have gone thirsty enough into the town of 
 Mallow, with his throat as dry as any powder- 
 horn of a midsummer's day ; your honour's good 
 health, sir." 
 
 " Thank you, Gandsey." 
 
 " For you see, sir, there was but the one place 
 of entertainment to be met with. And a real 
 beautiful painted sign it had up over the door, 
 of three pots of porter, with their white heads 
 on them like any cauliflowers, and underneath 
 was painted out, in elegant large letters, ' EN- 
 TERTAINMENT FOR MAN AND HORSE/ 
 
 " The place was called Lissavoura, and the 
 same name was on Paddy Kelleher's farm, for I 
 was never the man to forget the name of the 
 place I was well treated. Well, one morning, 
 about eight o'clock, Kelleher was standing by the 
 side of a bog-hole, and scratching his head with 
 
263 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 thinking how in the wide world he should ever 
 lift a great lump of bog-oak, that was there 
 lying in the ground since the time of Noah. 
 He was in the midst of a perplexity, when, who 
 should he see but a man coming across the 
 road towards him, without shoe or stocking, but 
 they hanging over his shoulder, and a stick in 
 his hand, as if he was in great haste after a 
 smart journey. 
 
 " So up the man came to Kelleher, and asked 
 him, as well as he could for want of breath, if 
 he knew whereabouts one Mister Kelleher lived. 
 " I have come," says he, " without having time 
 to bless myself, every step of the way from 
 Buttevant, and 'tis a sister of Kelleher's has sent 
 me ; she lying, poor creature, in a dying way, 
 and has a deal of money, and no one in life 
 to leave it to but Kelleher.' ' I'm the man/ 
 says Kelleher, ' and 'tis poor Biddy you're come 
 from : Lord relieve her, any way. I'll just step 
 up to the house and get the mare, and be off 
 at once, back with you, honest man." 
 
 " * Never mind the mare,' said the messenger ; 
 ' if you don't make all speed, you'll never be 
 after overtaking her alive. Sure, if you step at 
 once across to the half-way-house, you'll just 
 catch Purcell's coach going into Mallow; and I'll 
 be bail, when you get there, Mr. Ahern will lend 
 you the best horse in his stable, and have it 
 saddled and bridled for you with all speed. So 
 come along, Mr. Kelleher, if you please, sir, with- 
 out stopping or staying for any mare, if 'twas his 
 worship the mayor of Cork himself come along, 
 sir.' 
 
 " Away went Paddy Kelleher after the man, 
 without telling any one where he was going, or 
 
THE RETURN. 269 
 
 saying as much as ' Beaunait De leatj* to his 
 wife so much afraid was he of losing his sister 
 and her money, if she heard that he delayed 
 coming off at once, hot-foot, at her bidding. 
 
 1 ' Kelleher got to Buttevant without delay, and 
 sure enough he found his sister there, very bad 
 entirely ; but she did not die that night, and she 
 was a little better the next day, and then she'd be 
 worse again, and then better and so she kept 
 them on for as good as a fortnight, thinking the 
 life would go out of her every minute. 
 
 " Kelleher didn't mind sending word to let his 
 woman know where he was, because why, he 
 thought his sister would draw the last breath 
 every hour, and then he could carry the news 
 himself; and to be sure she did die, at long last, 
 and left all her money to Kelleher, tied up in the 
 toe of an old stocking. 
 
 " ' Och, ullagone, what'll I do at all, for sure 
 and certain something has happened to Paddy, or 
 he wouldn't stay out in this kind of way from me. 
 Oh, then, for certain he's drownded, kilt, and 
 murdered, and I to be left after him, a poor lone- 
 some widow, with never a one in the wide world 
 to do a hand's turn for me/ cried poor Moll Kel- 
 leher, as she sat on a siestheen, in the chimney 
 corner ; and then she threw her apron over her 
 head, and began to clap her hands, and rock her 
 body to and fro, like a ship on the wild sea, 
 and she cronauning all the time, enough to 
 break the heart of a stone, if it had one. 
 
 " ' Why then, Molly dear, can't you be asy,' 
 
 said Murty Mulcahy, a red-headed tailor that 
 
 was at work in the house, winking his left eye ; 
 
 ' can't you be asy ? and who knows but things 
 
 * ' God's blessing with you.' 
 
270 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 mayn't be so bad entirely ; and sure, whichever 
 way it goes, you won't want a friend, and Murty 
 Mulcahy to the fore/ 
 
 " Now, whether it was Murty's coaxing words, or 
 the wink, or whatever it was, its quite certain 
 that Moll Kelleher from that out got quite asy, 
 and didn't seem to take on half so much as be- 
 fore, no, not even when news was brought that a 
 man was found drowned in a bog-hole on the 
 farm : and though she didn't half believe it was 
 her Paddy, she let Murty persuade her to it ; for 
 he swore by this and by that, and by all the saints 
 in the calendar, that the drowned man was Pad- 
 dy Kelleher himself, and no other in life ; so they 
 had a fine wake, and lost a world and all, till 
 they buried him. 
 
 " Well, sir, when the berrin was over, Murty 
 began to discourse Mrs. Kelleher, to try and per- 
 suade her to marry himself. ' Now Mauria agra,' 
 says he, ' sure you won't be after refusing Murty 
 Mulcahy, that's the very moral of poor Paddy that's 
 gone ; and sure you never'll be able to live or 
 manage all alone here, without having man or 
 mortal to lend you a hand ; 'tis myself would do 
 that same for you, as nate as any man in Munster : 
 but you know it wouldn't be dacent without our 
 being married ; so, Mauria dear, you'd better 
 make up your mind at once.' 
 
 " Faint heart never won fair lady, they say ; but 
 Murty was none of that sort signs by, that he 
 persuaded Moll Kelleher to go with him before 
 the priest to be married. 
 
 " The Rev. Father O'Callaghan was just mixing 
 the fourth tumbler of whiskey punch, when, who 
 should bole in to him, but Moll and Murty ? And 
 you must know the reverend father had a way with 
 
THE RETURN. 271 
 
 him, that he didn't like to be bothered when he 
 was over his tumbler of punch ; so he asked them, 
 as gruff as you plase, what they wanted with him 
 at that time of day. Upon which, well-become 
 Moll, she up and told his reverence how she was 
 left a lone woman, without a mankind in the 
 world to see after her little farm, or do a hand's 
 turn for her; and so she thought as how she'd 
 take Murty for a husband, if his reverence had no 
 objection, and that what brought them there was 
 to be married that very night. 
 
 Then the priest got into a mighty great bit of a 
 fret, and told her she was no better than she 
 should be, to think of marrying so soon after 
 Paddy's death. But Moll, who had a pretty way 
 with her, whispered something in his reverence's 
 ear, without minding in the least his being in a 
 fret. 
 
 " * The fat pig ?' says he. 
 
 " ' Yes, your reverence can send for her this 
 very night,' says she. 
 
 " ' Why, now I consider the matter/ says the 
 priest, ' to be sure you are a lone woman, and 
 live in a lonesome place ; so, as there's no know- 
 ing what might happen to you, I believe I'd bet- 
 ter marry you out of hand.' 
 
 " Well, sir, after every one was gone, from the 
 wedding, and all the family in bed, who should 
 come to the door, but Paddy Kelleher himself, 
 after walking all the way from Buttevant, and a 
 good step it was. So he gave a thundering knock 
 at the door, for he was mighty tired after his jour- 
 ney, and was in a hurry to get into bed. 
 
 " < Who's there ? a pretty time of night to come 
 knocking at a dacent man's door,' said Murty.' 
 
 " ' Tis I, Paddy Kelleher, get up, and let me in; 
 
272 K1LLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 and sure a man may tap at his own door, and no 
 thanks to any one/ When Moll heard that, she 
 gave a great screech entirely. < The Lord have 
 mercy on us,' says she, ' what is it you want 
 now, Paddy ? but don't I know very well it isn't 
 you at all, but only your ghost ; and sure you 
 haven't any business in life to be coming here 
 now, for didn't I give you a fine wake and a 
 dacent berrin, and the fat pig to the priest to 
 say masses for the good of your sowl/ 
 
 " ' The devil you did/ said Paddy, and away he 
 ran to the barn to look for his pig, for he saw it 
 was all in vain to knock or to call ; they wouldn't 
 let him in, and he didn't like to break his own 
 door : so, finding the pig safe in the barn, he lay 
 down to sleep in the straw till morning. But he 
 wasn't long there, when the priest's boy came for 
 the pig, and was putting a sugan about her leg to 
 drive her away, for 'twas settled he should take 
 her in the night ; but Kelleher, not liking to lose 
 his pig that way, and thinking it was stealing the 
 beast he was, for he didn't clearly understand 
 what his wife had said, up he jumps, and gives him 
 the mother of a beating. 
 
 "I'll engage the boy didn't wait for the pig after 
 it, but ran off to his master as fast as his legs 
 could carry him. 
 
 " ' Where's the pig?' says the priest. 
 
 " * The never a pig have I/ says the boy, e for 
 just as I was going to take her, Paddy Kelleher's 
 ghost jumped out of a corner of the barn, and 
 gave me the truth of a beating ; so I ran away 
 as fast as I could, and I wouldn't go back again 
 for half Cork/ 
 
 " ' A likely story, indeed/ says the priest ; ' you 
 know well enough 'tis no such thing, but the 
 
THE RETURN. 273 
 
 glass I gave you, and you going, that made you 
 drunk, you vagabond, and so you fell down and 
 cut yourself, and couldn't bring the pig." 
 
 " ' May I never see Grenough chapel again, if 
 every word I told your reverence isn't true as 
 the sun/ says the boy ; ' but come yourself with 
 me, and see if I won't bring the pig home, if 
 you'll only give her into my two hands. 
 
 " ' I will,' says the priest, and away they went 
 to the barn ; but the moment he put a hand on 
 the pig, up jumped Kelleher from amongst the 
 straw, and gave the priest such a beating as he 
 never got before nor since. Away he went without 
 the pig surely, roaring ten thousand murders. 
 
 " Poor Kelleher, you may be certain was tired 
 enough after this, so down he lay, and slept as 
 sound as a top, till late next morning, which hap- 
 pened to be a Sunday ; so that when he got up, 
 and went into his own house, he found every one 
 was gone to mass, except an old woman who was 
 left minding the place ; and she, instead of getting 
 him his breakfast as he desired, ran away out of 
 the house screeching for the bare life, at the sight 
 of the drowned man walking in to her. 
 
 " So Kelleher had to make out breakfast for him- 
 self as well as he could ; and when he was done, 
 away he goes to mass, thinking to find all the 
 people there before him, and learn some account 
 of how things had been going on at home. 
 
 " He was walking smartly along, when, who 
 should he almost overtake but his old neigh- 
 bours, Jack Harty and Miles Mahony. * Good 
 morrow, Jack/ says Paddy ; * can't you stop for 
 a body, Miles ? says he : but when they looked 
 back at the sound of his voice, and saw who 
 they had after them, they took to their scrapers, 
 T 
 
274 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 and ran as fast as their legs would carry them, 
 thinking all the time it was a ghost was at their 
 heels. 
 
 " Kelleher thought it was running to overtake 
 mass they were ; so he ran too, for fear he'd be 
 late, which made them run the faster ; and sure 
 enough they never stopped nor staid till they 
 got into the chapel, and up to the priest where 
 he was standing at the altar. 
 
 " < Why, boys,* says the priest, ' what's the mat- 
 ter with ye ?' 
 
 " l Oh, your reverence/ says one, and ' Oh, 
 your reverence,' says the other, * 'tis Kelleher 's 
 ghost that's running after us, and here he 
 is in.' 
 
 " ' Murder alive," roared the priest, ' 'tis me 
 he wants, and not you ; so, if he's in, I'll be 
 out,' and, flinging off his vestments, away with 
 him through the side door of the chapel, and 
 the people after him ; he never stopped to draw 
 breath till he got to the top of a hill, a good 
 mile or better from the chapel, and there he 
 began to say mass as fast as he could, for fear 
 of the ghost. But it was Murty Mulcahy, the 
 red-haired tailor, was in the pucker, when he 
 saw Kelleher ; he roared like a bull, and went 
 clean out of the country entirely, and never came 
 back again. 
 
 " To be sure Kelleher thought nothing at all, 
 but they were all out of their senses, every mo- 
 ther's son of them, till his old crony, Tom Bar- 
 ret, seeing at last he wasn't a ghost, came up 
 to him, and told him how they all thought they, 
 had buried him a fortnight before. 
 
 " So Kelleher went home to his own house, and 
 his wife was kind and quiet of tongue ; and the 
 
THE RETURN. 275 
 
 priest ever after was as civil to him as may be, 
 and all for fear he'd spake about the fat pig. 
 
 " There's my story for you" said Gandsey. 
 
 " Well sung, Gandsey" said Mr. Lynch. 
 " Here, mix yourself another fumbler of tunch 
 tumbler of punch I mean Irish whiskey is good 
 Irish songs are good Irish music is good 
 Irishmen are fine fellows fine fellows 'tis a fine 
 country (hiccup) a fine country." 
 
 " Tis true for you, sir" said Gandsey " very 
 true for you." And here, altho' I am perfectly 
 unable to account for the fact, my recollection of 
 what followed completely fails me. 
 
276 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 A WEATHERCOCK is the usual appendage to most 
 church-steeples in Ireland, but this, the steeple of 
 the church at Killarney does not possess. Yet, 
 if it does not boast a weathercock glittering on its 
 apex, a weather-fish may there be seen a noble 
 salmon, looking as if it had just made a spring 
 out of the lake. And now the nose of the afore- 
 said salmon is pointing due east, as much as to 
 say " I promise you a fine day for your journey 
 to Cork, and I wish you a very pleasant bit of 
 jolting." 
 
 Vastly polite, indeed, for a salmon, but pray 
 Mister Fish how do you know I am going to Cork ? 
 well, it's not much matter ; since you do know 
 it, there is little use denying the fact, and I have 
 therefore only to return you my very sincere 
 thanks, and make you my very best bow for 
 your promise of fine weather and hark Boo 
 boo boo moo he here comes the coach from 
 Tralee, and there is my friend Mat Crowley sing- 
 ing his everlasting. 
 
 
 Riley, really, you're the boy, Riley. 
 
TttE RETURN. 277 
 
 " Halloo Halloo is my bill ready ? Are my 
 traps in the hall? Is my boat-cloak there? 
 where is my sketching seat V 
 
 " Go long wid you," said Doolan, who was 
 standing in the hall ; " go long wid you, will you, 
 and be after bringing the gentleman's ketching 
 sate." 
 
 " You shall have the bill directly, sare," said 
 Gorham: " Dan, finish the honorable gentleman's 
 account sketch it out neatly, Dan, and bring it 
 here pshaw, Dan, what's keeping you? Sare, if it 
 be not presuming too much, I would hope, sare, 
 you will now express your opinion of the house : 
 here is the Killarney album, sare." 
 
 " A gaily bound book, Gorham but how it is 
 blotted and disfigured by ." 
 
 " The autocrats, sare, and I hope to add you to 
 the number. 
 
 " Autographs very amusing very absurd > 
 let me see, who has been here before me." 
 
 " No supper would I swop 
 With a hot mutton chop, 
 And after that a drop." " W. J," 
 
 What have we next ? 
 
 " September 2nd. 
 " It was an evening calculate 
 But little the sad heart to elate ; 
 For fitful blasts, now and agen, 
 Swept loud through dingle, copse, and glen." 
 
 A quotation from Miss Bourke's arithmetical 
 poem of " O'Donoghue," or we are strongly out 
 in our morning's reckoning. Ah ! here's a hand 
 and style we recognize. 
 
 " Punch has been shed in this parlour : punch; 
 I repeat the intoxicating word ; and the table, yet 
 reeking with the stain, sends forth its spontaneous 
 
278 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 steam towards the canopy of heaven. He who 
 shed it is still abroad; but, though the beadle takes 
 no notice of him, and the stocks are undefiled by 
 his ankles, yet is he not unpunished. He bears 
 about with him the raging fever of crapulous 
 ebriety, and his head, stung by the furies of 
 cephalalgous infliction, nods responsive to his tot- 
 tering feet. Punch, I repeat, it has been shed, 
 and the shedder walks abroad, while the bill of 
 the Catholic landlord remains unpaid, and the 
 unwiped-out chalk whitens with its pallid stain 
 the creditor side of our Boniface's bellows." 
 
 " R.S." 
 
 " Now for the comment." 
 
 " R. S. indeed it's all damned stuff I tell you 
 nothing but stuff push about the bottle, and 
 don't bother us any more about it. Talk spoils 
 conversation. The way to keep any country quiet, 
 is to knock the riotously disposed on the head, to 
 flutter your Volscians. Believe me, an old batterer 
 in these matters. Therefore don't babble of ' man- 
 cipation or conflibberation, but listen to me, as if 
 I was the oracle of Delphi, or an old brass kettle 
 of Dodona, sounding to you with mysterious voice 
 You will keep Ireland cool by the old opiates 
 God bless them the cannon and the bayonet, the 
 cat-o'-nine tails and the gibbet. 
 
 " Quietness is best let the world slide as it will, 
 I was ever for peace and conciliation, and taking 
 my ease in mine own inn. Are the glasses full ? 
 no daylights no heeltaps tops and bottoms 
 not so much as would blind a midge's eye is to 
 be left * THE GLORIOUS, PIOUS, AND IMMORTAL 
 
 MEMORY OF THE GREAT AND GOOD KlNGWlLLIAM, 
 WHO SAVED US FROM POPERY, SLAVERY, WOODEN 
 
 SHOES, AND BRASS MONEY. And may he who will 
 
THE RETURN. 279 
 
 hot drink this toast up may he for I hate cir- 
 cumlocution may he be damned! Amen.' Drink 
 it up my hearties Hip, hip, hurra three times 
 three for old Hooknose, and one cheer more. 
 
 " By me, MORGAN O'DOHERTY." 
 
 "What a rapid and characteristic hand is Sir 
 Morgan's, dashing on stopping at nothing 
 tattling away and how great the contrast to the 
 pretty little niggling writing here !" 
 
 * A(H70v p.ev v$wp. IIINA. 
 
 " As Julia chanced one day to rove, 
 
 Upon the shore of sweet Killarney, 
 She met the little god of love, 
 
 Whose tongue, we know, is tipp'd with blarney. 
 ' Julia' he cried, * believe them not, 
 
 Who say that love is apt to wander ; 
 For where can fancy find a spot, 
 
 So fair as that bright islet yonder ?" 
 
 " They left the shore Killarney's shore, 
 
 Nor stormy clouds, nor wild waves fearing. 
 Poor Julia, she was seen no more 
 
 Among the blooming maids of Erin 
 For wrecked was pleasure's painted bark, 
 
 But Lovt? that boy he managed not ill 
 To buoy himself 'mid waters dark, 
 
 By clinging closely to a bottle." " T. M." 
 
 " Mighty neat really the Killarney album be- 
 comes entertaining" 
 
 " The bill, sir," said the waiter. 
 
 " Very moderate indeed Hum ! waiter 
 chambermaid Hem ! boots Hum ! there's 
 your money, Gorham." 
 
 " I hope, sare thank you, sare that, sare, 
 every thing was made comfortable, and a plea- 
 sant journey." 
 
280 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " Now, Gorham, I thmk I can at least safely add 
 my testimony to the many recommendations which 
 you have collected of your establishment/ 
 
 " Much obliged, sare (aside) why, then, Dan, 
 sure enough, as I said the very first day I saw him, 
 he's a neat little fellow, and a rare sketcher." 
 
 " There's the sketching-seat," said a waiter to 
 Doolan* 
 
 " There, put it down along with his honorable 
 honor's other things there ; and sure/' continued 
 Doolan, " the best resate of all, for not catching 
 could when quality goes out, taking off the views 
 here and there about the lakes, is for them never 
 to sit down upon the wet grass." 
 
 " I wonder why Mr. Lynch has not made his 
 appearance ; he promised to see me off this morn- 
 ing, and moreover said he had something particular 
 to say to me. Waiter, send some one to Mr. 
 Lynch's cottage, to let him know that I am just 
 going." 
 
 " Yes, sir, but there is hardly time, as the horses 
 are just putting to." 
 
 " What, the horses putting to ! Secure the box 
 seat for me, if you can." 
 
 Boo boo 600 moo he. " The coach is just 
 going, sir." 
 
 " Your honor won't forget the waiter." 
 
 " Something for the chambermaid, sir." 
 
 " Long life to your honor ! Sure you won't be 
 after forgetting poor boots, that does the work for 
 them all." 
 
 " Please to remimber the packer." 
 
 " My good people, I have arranged for all your 
 demands with Mr. Gorham." 
 
 " Och, never mind him, sir; 'tis I that always 
 packs the jontleman's portmantles : your honor 
 
THE RETURN. 281 
 
 may ax Mr. Powell there, and sure he'll tell you 
 the same." 
 
 * Hurrah for Florry ! here I am ; your honot 
 will throw a trifle to poor Florry, for the sake ol 
 Kerry Hurrah ! hurrah for Florry !" 
 
 " Get out of the way, will you, till I see his 
 honor. Sure he'll be after taking the widow's 
 blessing along wid him. May the Lord purloin 
 (prolong) your honor's life, and may you never 
 know 7 ' 
 
 " I'm just over it, sir, God help me ; I'm subject 
 to the falling sickness, and haven't a halfpenny to 
 buy me bit or sup, or a mortal to look after me." 
 
 " Tisn't going your lordship is away from us, 
 without leaving something among us." 
 
 " O yea ! O yea ! O yea !" 
 
 Boo boo 600 moo he, sounds the horn the 
 crowd shout, and the coach whirls off. The Main- 
 street is left behind, and we rattle once more over 
 the paving-stones of Hen-street ; bid farewell to 
 the foul Fair-hill, dash by the park, and pause, for 
 the last time, on the bridge of Ballycasheen. 
 
 " Riley, stop the coach, can't you," roars a bare- 
 legged boy, at the same time running full speed 
 from the Lower or Woodlawn road, which joins the 
 coach road near Ballycasheen. The driver pulls 
 up, and inquires, " Well, what do you want, ma 
 boughill?" (my boy.) 
 
 " Would there be a little jdntleman on the 
 coach ?" said he, panting for breath. 
 
 " Doubtless I am the person, what's the matter?" 
 
 " There's a parcel and a letter for your 
 honor from one Mr. Lynch. Oh dear, how I've 
 run !" 
 
 " Very well, its quite right ; here's sixpence for 
 you, my lad. Riley, put this parcel in the coach 
 
282 K1LLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 pocket ; and now, let -me see what Lynch has to 
 say for himself." 
 
 Garden Cottage. 
 
 6 My good fellow, After the promise 1 had made 
 to see you off, and the hint with which it was 
 accompanied, that I had something to say to you, 
 I doubt not but you were surprised at my non- 
 appearance at the inn this morning. But I have 
 been occupied in your service. 
 
 6 You have already flattered me by approving of 
 some supernatural tales which I picked up in the 
 course of my summer rambles among the moun- 
 tains, and which appear in the second volume of 
 your Fairy Legends. 
 
 ' Revelling in all the luxury, as the misery 
 of half-pay idleness is styled, the idea that I might 
 please by my pen others as well as myself, broke in 
 upon my mind like a new light ; and I determined 
 to make a few notes of the tales which I heard, 
 and of what was daily passing around me. This, 
 although my own amusement and employment 
 were the first objects, was certainly done with 
 some vague idea of ultimate publication. But 
 when you mentioned an intention of writing a 
 Legendary Guide-book to the Lakes, I instantly 
 determined to resign all my notes and papers into 
 your hands; and I have been occupied, up to 
 the present moment, in arranging my collections 
 for your acceptance. 
 
 6 Receive them, therefore, and use them as you 
 will ; they are yours, and this is what, as I gave 
 you my packet, I wished to tell you. That you 
 may have an agreeable journey, and all possible 
 happiness, is the sincere wish of your old friend 
 and school-fellow, 
 
 * R. ADOLPHUS LYNCH/ 
 
THE RETURN. 283 
 
 But hark ! Boo boo boo moo he. And 
 now we ascend the hill which leads to the first 
 turnpike gate from Killarney ; and, as we dash 
 through, I turn to take a last lingering look at the 
 Lake of Desmond : a little further, and all is lost, 
 save the tops of its majestic mountains. 
 
 " Farewell, sweet scenes ! pensive once more I turn, 
 Those pointed hill and wood-fringed Lakes to view 
 With fond regret ; while, in this last adieu, 
 A silent tear those brilliant hours shall mourn 
 For ever past. So, from the pleasant shore 
 
 Borne with the struggling bark against the wind, 
 The trembling pennant fluttering looks behind, 
 With vain reluctance ! 'Mid those woods no more 
 For me the voice of pleasure shall resound, 
 Nor soft flutes, warbling o'er the placid lake 
 Aerial music, shall for me awake, 
 And wrap my charmed soul in peace profound ! 
 Though lost to me, here still may taste delight 
 To dwell, nor the rude axe the trembling dryads fright" 
 
 Such was the farewell to Killarney, breathed 
 almost with her last, by Mrs. Tighe, the beloved, 
 
 and lamented, authoress of Psyche. 
 
 * * * 
 
 " Make what use you please of my packet," 
 says Mr. Lynch. Well, I have done so ; yet, 
 excepting a few slight editorial corrections and 
 additions, his packet is printed pretty nearly as 
 I received it in fact, Mr. Lynch, as the largest 
 contributor to this volume, is fairly entitled to 
 claim its authorship, should he desire it. 
 
 And now, seriously speaking for himself, the 
 Editor can only say, that he trusts this collection 
 of Killarney Legends will be received with the 
 indulgence usually extended to a mere jeu d'esprit. 
 His visit to Killarney was too short, and too 
 
284 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 hurried, to admit of any thing beyond a few 
 blotted notes and random sketches. Mr. J. H. 
 Bradshaw, with his usual liberality and kindness, 
 furnished him with the manuscript tour of a dis- 
 tinguished architect, from which some pictorial 
 hints have been derived ; and to Mr. O'Brien, 
 recently M.P. for Clare, he is indebted for a most 
 amusing journal of his visit to the Lakes. 
 
 The materials, thus obtained, the Editor has 
 appropriated, without further acknowledgment, in 
 the manner which best suited his purpose or his 
 fancy. 
 
 Mr. Lynch has written to acknowledge some 
 proof sheets which have been sent to him ; and 
 an extract from his letter, as all good works 
 should conclude with a moral, will aptly illus- 
 trate the mutability of human affairs within a 
 few months at Killarney. 
 
 " I am glad to find that the Legends of the 
 Lakes are in the press. But if you should per- 
 form your promise of a visit next year, you will 
 observe many changes ; for instance, your friend 
 Mountain Mahony has resigned his public em- 
 ployment, and has entered into the private ser- 
 vices of Mister Bob Shughure, who styles himself 
 ' stationer, replevinger, and magistrate's clerk/ 
 Oh, that you could hear him, on a court day, 
 enlightening the magistrates with regard to an 
 information, the preamble to which he twangs 
 through his nose with a most mellifluous brogue ; 
 as thus ' Sir, this ish an informashun for ashault, 
 and batter-ry, and mishdemanor, and sheweth, 
 that whereas Michael, commonly called Mick 
 Mulcahy, alias Saint Michael, alias Finnegan, 
 alias the Bulger, did mosht vilently ashault, bate, 
 
THE RETURN. 285 
 
 bruise, batter, and otherwise ill use, abuse, and 
 maltrate with his clinched fisht,' &c. &c. 
 
 " Turner, the Scotch steward, has turned him- 
 self out of Mucruss; and Picket is gone to the 
 Brazils. For the rest, some of our old story- 
 tellers have departed this life ; Doolan, however, 
 still stands his ground, and always inquires after 
 your honor ; is just as ready to give visitors a 
 touch of the marvellous, and there are still enough 
 left, to prove the truth of the sketches in your 
 Legendary Guide Book. 
 
 " You say, that, since your return to London, 
 the question of, ' In what time can I see the Lakes 
 of Killarney V has been more than once put to 
 you, and that you wish for my opinion on the 
 subject. Now I quite agree with you in your 
 antipity to the common-place, and, nine times out 
 often, erroneous directions given by your regular 
 guide-book manufactures. Therefore, let us sup- 
 pose a case : a single gentleman has twenty pounds 
 in his pocket, and ten days at his command. 
 Well, I say, to put the beautiful scenery of Cork 
 Harbour and the River Lee out of the question, 
 he may see the Lakes of Killarney, hear their 
 legends, and Gandsey's pipes, to his heart's con- 
 tent revel on arbutified salmon, and genuine 
 whiskey punch ; and within the short space of ten 
 days, tread again the pavement of Piccadilly, 
 lounge in Regent Street, or sport his figure in the 
 Parks. Here is my recipe 
 
 " Secure the box-seat of the Bristol Coach for 
 any Friday morning you please, (of course yo 
 travel outside, and, if you have had experience 
 will avoid ' the Company's * Coaches, notwith 
 standing the professions of ' no fees to guard o 
 coachman/) Go soberly, and at a reasonable 
 
286 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 nour, to bed on Thursday night; and, to save 
 yourself the fatigue of getting up by four, Q 
 before, from the fear of oversleeping yourself, 
 desire to be called at six, as the coach starts at 
 seven. While you breakfast, your valise (only a 
 valise) is neatly and closely packed it is depo- 
 sited in your cab, and you are whisked to the 
 White Horse Cellar. Just as you arrive, rattling 
 along Piccadilly, you discover your coach. With 
 a corner of your eye, you ascertain the nature of 
 its lading. The box is empty, but you find 
 in its neighbourhood a person most capitally de- 
 scribed in the two words ' jolly dog.' Rather 
 a contrast to him, is a person who may be 
 briefly described as, ' the possessor of a talkative 
 chin ;' one, no doubt, of immense anecdotical ac- 
 quirementand right behind your vacant place, 
 a cheerful, rosy, gay-ribboned girl, on whom you 
 instantly determine to lavish every attention, and 
 commence at once a parley, by offering her the 
 box-seat : she declines the offer, and, in doing so, 
 shews a set of beautiful teeth. The seat possesses 
 for you no longer any attractions ; by incredible 
 ingenuity, you get the ' jolly dog,' her neighbour, to 
 change places, on the plea that his cigar must be 
 disagreeable ; the girl makes no objection, and 
 you find yourself by the damsel's side, with a 
 mental chuckle at your own talents and tact, and at 
 your change of position, from beside the red-faced, 
 red-neckclothed, red -fisted coachman, to your 
 present birth, where you monopolize all the good 
 of the coach ; separating a pretty creature, with 
 merry eyes, from the talkative-chinned lawyer, 
 and putting an inseparable barrier between her 
 and the ' jolly dog.' Thus commences your journey. 
 If you happen to have been very indolent that 
 
THE RETURN. 287 
 
 morning, you experience, perhaps, a slight pang 
 at the recollection of an unshaven chin ; but you 
 endeavour to outweigh that objection, by a more 
 knowing cock of your travelling cap. You are 
 safely placed now so I leave you quite to your- 
 self, to get down to Bristol as you please. I make 
 no further inquiry as to your movements, after 
 your arrival in Bristol, at nine o'clock. I do not 
 put a single question as to how you get lodged 
 whether you stop in Bristol, or go on to Clifton, 
 to be near the steamer, which starts next morning 
 at a convenient hour, regulated by the tide. They 
 will tell you on board that you may expect to be 
 at Cork, that is, in sight of the harbour, in from 
 twenty-four to twenty-six hours; but you may be 
 certain of being able to dine in Cork, and dine 
 well, on Sunday, between five and seven. It is 
 just possible that the vessel cannot take you up 
 to the quay ; but, of course, you will not be so 
 unfortunate as to come just at the nick of time 
 when the water is too low in Lough Mahon : if 
 lough, or lake, that passage of water may be 
 called, forming part of the noble river Lee, 
 " Which like an island fair, 
 
 Encloseth Cork with his divided flood." 
 
 In that case, you must land at 
 
 " The town of Passage, so nate and spacious, 
 All situated upon the sea/' 
 
 five Irish miles, or six and three-quarters English 
 measure, from ' the beautiful city called Cork/ 
 You will, in that case, find no difficulty in proceed- 
 ing, for jingles are there in plenty, with drivers, 
 who will importunately and bare-leggedly wade into 
 the river, to assist your honor in transporting your 
 valise from the boat, and who will convey yourself, 
 and itself, to your hotel, Me DOWELL'S, now 
 
288 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 called THE IMPERIAL, in George's street. A 
 score of ragged rascals seize you on the beach, 
 (something in the manner of the French fellows 
 at Calais, where each recommends his hotel,) and 
 here each endeavours to persuade you to use his 
 jingle, by all the eloquence he can muster in its 
 praise, and to the ridicule of his neighbour's. 
 
 " ' I'll drive your honor up in a crack in a 
 jiffy in less than no time.' He will unblush- 
 ingly praise his miserable hack, and his tumble- 
 down vehicle, which he had backed, until the 
 wheels were half immersed in the water; while now 
 and then the surf rushes in, and encroaches on 
 the beach, wetting the horses' shins far above the 
 fetlock. If you have not landed, you may step 
 at once from your boat into this conveyance, and 
 you are driven for whatever your honor pleases, 
 over and above a shilling, to the South Mall, 
 which is not two minutes' walk . from your Im- 
 perial Hotel the waiter takes your place in the 
 Killarney coach for Monday morning and you 
 are snug in Gorham's hotel, Killarney, eight 
 hours after you leave Cork. So, you have now 
 performed your voyage by sea, and your journey 
 by land, and are criticising a tumbler of the best 
 whiskey punch, after a capital dinner, on Monday. 
 It is not late : you have even this evening 
 plenty of time to look about you ; you may, if 
 you please, indulge yourself in observations on 
 the town and its inhabitants. You may take your 
 station at the cross, and, to make a bull, see 
 down four streets at once ; you may indulge your- 
 self, Bond-street fashion, by looking at the hoods 
 (ay, and peeping beneath them too) of the Killar- 
 ney lasses, as they pass you ; but beware of the 
 brawny Kerry men 
 
THE RETURN. 289 
 
 " Untired and fresh, you rise on Tuesday morn- 
 ing, shall I say before six ? Well, suppose there is 
 a little mist ; that is a trifle. No man in his 
 senses would commit himself, by insuring your 
 seeing the whole of Killarney, independent of the 
 weather and in the uncertainty of the climate, 
 originate an endless variety of beautiful scenic 
 effects. 
 
 " Gorham's your man of information ; your 
 guide-book is in your pocket. The Tuesday, of 
 course, is fine ; and, being so, I would recommend 
 your exploring the Lower Lake. Command a guide ; 
 he runs before you, when you tell him you wish 
 to see Kenmare Park. You can scarcely keep 
 up with him. You get on the highest spot in the 
 park, (Knockrear Hill :) your heart swells as you 
 behold, stretched far, far away before you, the 
 long line of the Lower Lake, with its &c. &c. &c. 
 Now for Ross Castle. Gorham has ordered a 
 boat pull for Innisfallen, explore the island, and 
 tlen cross to O'Sullivan's Cascade. Away for 
 Castle Lough Bay ; look to the left, and you will 
 see O'Donoghue's horse, sirnamed Creaghbo', 
 near the Mucruss shore. Row through Brickeen 
 Bridge into Turk Lake ; and across it, to visit 
 Turk Cottage and Waterfall. Coast along the 
 base of Turk to the outlet, and land on Dinis 
 Island. Do as you please there for I presume 
 not to prescribe your quality or quantity of enter- 
 tainment, as the guide-books do, where they com- 
 mand you to enter this thicket, and walk by this 
 stream. Quit it when you please. But here, nota 
 bene: a basket of prog having been provided, 
 according to the Gorham; eat, if you feel inclined. 
 Nor do I limit a moderate pull at tne whiskey 
 bottle. Remember, however, to give ' the boys' 
 u 
 
290 KILLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 a fillip in the shape of dram, and, entering your 
 boat, cry Hurra for whiskey ! and dash down with 
 the stream into Glena Bay. The men will be in 
 capital humour to shew you the use of the bugle ; 
 and you may leave it to them to startle all the 
 Irish echoes into responses from their respective 
 stations. You glide by Darby's Garden ; and, 
 crossing to Ross Island, disembark at the Castle ; 
 and return to Killarney as you like, or as you can. 
 Here ends your first day. 
 
 " Wednesday, up again, and ripe for a dejeuner 
 a la Gorham. You may ride on the outside of a 
 horse ; or you may, perhaps more comfortably, 
 walk up to the ruined church of Aghadoe, and 
 from thence, having ordered horses to meet you, pro- 
 ceed through the Gap of Dunloh, enter the Valley 
 of Cowm Duve ; go on to Lord Brandon's, where 
 your boat will be found ; row to Ronan's Island, 
 thence to Derricunihy ; see Hyde's Cottage, and 
 through Coleman's Eye, along the channel, to the 
 Eagle's Nest, under which the cannon is dis- 
 charged, and the bugle employed, to rouse its 
 extraordinary echoes. Shoot the old Weir bridge, 
 and pass Dinis and Brickeen islands, which you 
 have before seen. In Castle Lough bay you may 
 examine all the islands, learn their names, and 
 have one christened after you. Row for, and land 
 at, the Castle of Ross, as before and your second 
 day is completed. 
 
 " Now, as for Thursday, your third and last 
 day in Killarney, it will be entirely taken up in 
 visiting Mucruss abbey and demesne, Mangerton 
 mountain, the Devil's Punch-bowl, Cowm na Cop- 
 pul, Philladown, and Lough Kittane. This last 
 excursion I would recommend you to keep for 
 your least favourable day, as it is the least im- 
 
THE RETURN. 291 
 
 portant, and the most practicable ; that is, if you 
 can get any friendly warning, so as to be able 
 to anticipate the state of the weather. If you 
 do not catch an odd shower, or be overtaken by 
 One, you may feel satisfied that you have been 
 very much favoured in your visit to the beautiful 
 Lakes of Killarney. 
 
 " And now, you may get back as fast as you 
 can ; and, if as fast as you came, you will be 
 able to sail from Cork in the Saturday's packet ; 
 and will find yourself in Regent-street on Tuesday, 
 with the most perfect ease sauntering down in 
 the sun, casting your own length of shadow before 
 you, and looking, except for the unwonted glow 
 which is manifest on your cheek, just as if nothing 
 had happened ; although with the glorious con- 
 sciousness of being able to ask, when the romantic 
 lakes of other countries are spoken about, ' Pray, 
 have you ever been at Killarney ?' >; 
 
 " Much has been said about the autumnal tints 
 of Killarney ; and it is generally stated, that the 
 end of September is the best time for seeing it. 
 I hold a contrary opinion give me, the freshness 
 and verdure of spring, which, by the bye, possesses 
 in its greens as great a variety of colouring as the 
 russet of autumn. But I will so far compromise my 
 conviction, as to recommend ' taking it all in all,' 
 the month of June; for it has the advantage, and 
 it is an important one, of the longest daylight." 
 
 We stop the press, as the newspaper phrase 
 runs, to announce the receipt of the following 
 letter. Did ever letter arrive more opportunely? 
 u 2 
 
292 KILLAUNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 " Sir, It is with enthusiastic pleasure I 
 received the letter directed to me from London ; 
 Mr. Gorham sent it to me to Lord Headley's, 
 near* Killarney, which, when I received, I gave 
 it to his Lorship to open for his amusement. 
 He was greatly surprised to find in it a piece of 
 music of so ancient a date. He caused the 
 boy to bring his violin and play it for him, 
 which he much approved of. He is one of the 
 best judges of the day ; and you may depend on 
 it, sir, I would never have attained my meridian, 
 but for his superior dictation to me. When I 
 told his lordship about you, he brought down 
 the Fairy Legends to have it read for me. I am 
 somewhat jealous you did not afford me some 
 conspicuous place in that very amusing and 
 romantic \vork, as you did to Tim Carroll ; for 
 to hear my 
 
 Fox and hounds, with Judy Joyce the joker, 
 
 And famous jig Polthough, described by Crofton Cro'\er, 
 
 would have been a flattering and heartfelt honour, 
 besides being the only man of my profession dis- 
 tinguished in this neighbourhood. I enclose you 
 an old tune, which was O'Donoghue's lamenta- 
 tion for the loss of his privileges, when the penal 
 code was put in force against the Irish. I have 
 three or four hundred of those beautiful old melo- 
 dies, (never got hold of by Moore, Stephenson, or 
 Bunting,) once played by the harp of Erin, now 
 slumbering in the dust. Now, as you are some- 
 times among the musical society of London, a 
 thought struck me, sir, that you might make off 
 with those by way of publication, or by depositing- 
 them in the Museum, among the antiquities for 
 future inspection, as they are all from Carolan, 
 
THE RETURN. 293 
 
 the ancient and celebrated Irish bard and musi- 
 cian. It is a pity they should be lost, if any thing 
 co.uld be done to preserve them. If you encourage 
 me, I will contrive to have them sent to you by 
 the assistance of the said nobleman, who is a 
 friend to science. He is decidedly the best man 
 for this part of the south of Ireland, that was ever 
 remembered to come into it ; as the book says of 
 O'Sullivan ' Nulla manus tarn liberalis, atque 
 generalis, atque universalis, quam Headlialis.' 
 
 " I should like to hear from you, sir, when 
 time allows you to make arrangements. So, no 
 more at present, from your very humble servant, 
 " JAMES GANDSEY, 
 
 Lord Headley's Piper. 
 
 "P.S. Pat O'Kelly, the poet, sir, desires his 
 respectful compliments/' 
 
 " Ah, that P.S. in the envelope looks like the 
 Gorham's writing; but who Pat O'Kelly is, I know 
 not. Billy the mule, Doolan's friend, I remem- 
 ber perfectly but O'Kelly yes, I recollect now 
 it must be the same who greeted Sir Walter 
 Scott with the following : 
 
 " Three poets, of three different nations born 
 With works immortal do this age adorn : 
 Byron, of England ; Scott, of Scotia's blood; 
 And Erin's pride, O'Kelly, great and good. 
 'Twould take a Byron and a Scott, I tell ye, 
 Roll'd up in one, to make a Pat O'Kelly." 
 
 Kind and indulgent reader, methinks I hear 
 you exclaim, " What is all this chapter about? 
 here is a rigmarole of a preface, and in the last 
 Chapter how odd !" And pray where else 
 should it be ? Most people, it must be acknow- 
 
294 K1LLARNEY LEGENDS. 
 
 ledged, commence their book with a preface, 
 which nine readers out of ten ay, ninety-nine 
 out of a hundred are sure to skip. I have, there- 
 fore, taken this method, to surprise you into the 
 perusal : besides, I think I can shew that my pre- 
 face is where it ought to be ; for, if you act as 
 most readers do, that is, begin the book at the 
 end, and read backwards, I think you will find 
 the preface in its right place. 
 
 So making now our final bow, 
 
 And checking all our blarney, 
 We'll bid adieu, good folks,to you, 
 
 And likewise to Killarney. 
 Then if your eye, all wearied out 
 
 With reading trash like mine is, 
 Content yourself no more's to come, 
 
 For here, you see, is 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Directions to the Binder . Masic Plates numbered J , 2, 3, 4, 5, aud 6, to 
 be placed between pages 250 and 251. 
 
 LONDON : FISHER, SON, & JACKSON, PRINTERS. 
 
GENERAL LIBRARY 
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