frame, in one of the many old knotted oaks, which have taken root here and there in the rugged rocks, and have for centuries been shooting up their mighty stems.

Such is the mode by which, for many long years, this old pair of eagles have been deprived of their young. One of our men asserted that he had for twenty years assisted in this robbery, and he also assured me that during the whole period the nest was occupied by the same birds, as the various pairs of eagles were easily distinguished. This pair is deemed the oldest in the entire country, for the feathers of both are exceedingly faded. After they have been robbed of their young they generally scream and flutter around their nest day and night for three or four days, and sometimes longer, flying to and fro in search of their offspring. It is surprising that the parents have never changed their nest, instead of continuing to lay and hatch their eggs in the same place. The young are usually two, but sometimes one only. These facts, attested as they were by several witnesses, seemed to me worthy of preservation. The faithful love of this old pair, returning every spring, and their sorrow returning every summer, for twenty years, is, indeed, a touching reflection. It is said that whenever a tamed eagle regains his liberty and returns to the mountains, he is invariably attacked and destroyed by the wild ones. It is also worthy of remark that eagles generally prefer hares to goats, either because they relish the hare better, or that the goats, by keeping together, are more able to defend their young. The male and female birds usually hunt together, and having by their joint exertions driven their prey into a wild, rocky region, the one then flies beneath and the other above him, so that, should the hare escape the lower, he must fall into the talons of the upper eagle. Passing through a narrow, rapid channel, overshadowed by beautiful trees, and spanned by the half-fallen arches of a bridge, after some hours' labour we arrived at Turk Lake. Here and there we disembarked on the shore of an island, to admire a fine old tree, or to prove an echo; and when at length we entered the large lake by another narrow passage, we all landed, and spread our mid-day meal beneath an arbutus tree. The cold meat, the ale, the mountain dew, all tasted deliciously, and no stinted portion was allotted to our rowers. They thankfully accepted the meat, but, as they were all temperance men, the liquids were respectfully yet firmly declined. We urged them at least to partake of our ale, but they would not taste a drop of it, and procured water from the lake to wash down their bread and meat. inquired whether they did not regret, since it was so cold on the lakes, that their vow did not permit them to refresh themselves

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with something stronger and more cheering than water. They replied, that they did not in the least regret it, and that they "had no temptation at all," as they no longer required ardent liquors in the cold, and found themselves incomparably better since they abandoned their use. My companion and I felt ashamed to drink more in the presence of these people, and we left much more in the bottle than would have been under other circumstances. Such is the salutary influence of example. My friend was a warm advocate for temperance in the army, those soldiers who abstained from spirits being decidedly the most orderly and the best disciplined; whilst the crimes and punishments in his regiment had, diminished at least one-half, if not two-thirds, since Father Mathew's reform. "In the old drinking time," every day brought him trouble and vexation; but now he could enjoy his leave of absence, without an anxious thought for his company.

As on the upper lake we had been entertained by the eagles, the arbutus, and the islets with their yellow, white, and black streaks, so here, on this lower one, the famed knight O'Donaghue, and the legends respecting him, furnished us with amusement. This O'Donaghue was a powerful knight or king, who some ages ago resided in a splendid castle that now stands in ruins on the shore; his character and his deeds, however, were so extraordinary that they are indelibly stamped on the memories of the people, and he is consequently the hero of many a legend. Among the motley forms of the islands of this lake, which have all something peculiar and striking in their appearance, they still discover many of his domestic conveniences. Thus one rock is called "O'Donaghue's Pigeon-house." An island, which contains a large subterranean vault, is termed " O'Donaghue's Prison." This cave it was once possible to enter, but it is now filled with bog-stuff. But the strangest rock is that named "O'Donaghue's Library," which consists of a number of thin small strata of stones, divided into fragments, and thrown upon each other in layers, so as actually to resemble a quantity of books, tumbling down in confusion. "Even the Holy Bible is above there," said one of our rowers, as, in passing the spot, he pointed to one of the thickest stones, which lay on the top, and bore a sufficiently striking similarity to a large book. "And that's his Lexicon," said another, " and a

multitude of hard words there is in it." Several of these islands have ruins upon them, but it is difficult to determine whether many of them are the artificial work of man or the effects of nature, just as one is occasionally doubtful whether he is listening to legendary tales or to authentic history.

Even at the present day it is sometimes said that O'Donaghue

rides forth from his castle to inspect his domestic arrangements. For these excursions he is said to choose a beautiful morning, while the first beams of the dawn are struggling with the fogs of night. Mounted on a beautiful white, bright-shining steed, he gallops over the mirror of the lake, whilst a band of lovely fairies hovers around him, strewing his path with flowers. Whilst he is thus riding over the lake, his castle, his library, his pigeon-house, his prison, in short, every thing around, again assumes its former state of pomp and splendour. Whoever then sees him, and has the courage to follow, can pass dry over the deepest parts of the lake, and accompany him to the opposite mountain, where his treasures are concealed, and having inspected these, he hospitably and liberally rewards his daring follower. But before the sun flings his beams on the glowing waves of the lake, he rides back and disappears in his castle. It is strange how similar such legends are in all countries. The inhabitants of the neighbourhood still call the high foamy billows which sometimes arise on the lake, O'Donaghue's white horse.

The most extensive, and at the same time the most interesting island of this larger lake, is Innisfallen. It is entirely covered with choice old trees, which are planted as in a park, with wide spaces between them, and beneath them the cattle and sheep find the richest pasture. There are some oaks, but the majority are old lordly ash trees. Here also I saw the largest hollies I ever beheld, one being twelve feet in circumference, with mighty and far-spreading branches, like an oak. After having seen the little sickly hollies which are preserved with so much trouble in the Jardin des Plantes in Paris, the traveller knows how to appreciate those he finds in Ireland. The one I have above mentioned was also peculiar, inasmuch as its leaves were alternately thorny and smooth. One of the mighty ash trees had been prostrated by a storm in the preceding winter, and in its fall had separated from the rest of the rock a huge block of stone, not less than twenty feet in circumference, which it had embraced with its roots, and which it still held fast in its prostrate situation. The ruins of a former abbey, various grottoes, thickets of evergreens, and other pleasing and interesting objects, also assist in adorning this island, which Moore has celebrated in one of his lays

"Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well!

May calm and sunshine long be thine;
How fair thou art let others tell,

While but to feel how fair be mine."

After a water excursion of at least fourteen miles, we landed at the ruins of Ross Castle which lies on the shore of the lake, not

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far from Killarney, and from whose walls we enjoyed a delightful view of the lakes we had just traversed, and their charming islands. The walls were covered with ivy; and the best-preserved object in the castle was the great chimneypiece in the principal hall, which afforded ample proof that even in the olden time an Englishman's fireside was as dear to him as at present; only, that instead of the Newcastle coal which is now burnt, huge logs of wood, such as at this day are to be seen in France, were then used as fuel.

Having requested our rowers to furnish us with copies of some of the pretty songs they had sung on the lake, in the evening they commenced their task; but although they assured us that while at school they had become adepts in the difficult art of penmanship, yet we could as little decipher the sheets filled with writing which they brought us, as if they had been old Druidical runes, and the pretty songs were therefore uncaught fishes for us.

CHAPTER XIV.

FROM KILLARNEY TO BANTRY.

MUCRUSS ABBEY - THE DEVIL'S PUNCH-BOWL-NEW ROAD OVER TURKMOUNTAIN-POLICE STATION-IRISH CONSTABLES-THE MOST DISTURBED COUNTY-WILD PLUM-TREES-O'CONNELL'S COUNTRY SEAT-TORIES ON A VISIT TO O'CONNELL-DISCOVERY OF AMERICA FROM IRELAND-IRISH TOWNS IN THE POSSESSION OF GREAT LANDOWNERS-IRISH SUSPENSION BRIDGE-THE KERRY MOUNTAINS POTATO FIELDS AND SCHOOL-. HOUSES-THE O'SULLIVANS AND M'CARTHYS-THE PIPE OF PEACETHE COUNTY OF CORK-RENT-CORAL SAND-BANTRY BAY-THE QYSTED: CURE.

From six to eight days are requisite properly to enjoy all the charms of the neighbourhood of Killarney, and thoroughly to inspect its entire scenery, Then the picturesque ruins of some neighbouring castles must be visited, or the high mountain of Mangerton must be climbed, and the finger dipped into the little lake on its summit, to be convinced of the truth of the report, that, in summer as in winter, its waters are always icy cold, on which account, as well as from its round form, it is called by the people "The Devil's Punch-bowl." But this minute survey incompatible with the arrangements of one who, like myself, intends to travel over the whole of Europe. On the following morning, therefore, I was again on the road, in order to proceed to Cork by the route of Kenmare and Bantry. As the mail-car

is

was not to start till pretty late, I left my luggage in charge of the driver, and set out on foot, in order to visit the ruins of Mucruss Abbey, which lie a little to one side of the road. They are situated in the beautiful park of a wealthy proprietor, whose name I have forgotten, in the midst of tall old trees, and may be cited as an admirable example of the picturesque appearance of Irish ruins. The walls are yet in tolerable preservation, and here and there are thickly covered with ivy. In the middle of the narrow inner court of the convent stands a large yew tree, one of the most beautiful and graceful I have ever seen. It overshadows the entire of the little court with its fan-like branches, the extreme tips of which touch the edge of the ruined walls. Another little court, and the dilapidated chapel of the abbey, are, like most Irish ecclesiastical ruins, filled with monuments and grave-stones. "Among them sir, the kings of this country are lying," said my cicerone, an old rag enveloped woman, who seemed well versed in the history of the edifice. I saw on some of them the names of several once-powerful and well-known families, as M'Carthy, O'Donaghue, and others. I have seldom beheld ruins better adapted for a picture than these, and had Ruysdael painted them, just as they stood before me, he would certainly have produced a worthy companion to his famed Churchyard. The interior of the chapel was partially tapestried with ivy, and before this ivy-tapestry stood a lofty monument of clear stone. We beheld it as point de vue through a vast arched doorway, made still larger by the tooth of time, and whose arch was also draperied with ivy. The forecourt in which we stood was entirely filled with graves, ornamented with numerous pillars of polished stone. The roof of the fore-court, like that of the chapel, was completely gone, and the bright sunshine every where streamed in, yet broken into manifold patches by the branches of the stately trees, which stretched their protecting arms across, as if they wished to supply the place of the fallen roof.

The mail-car having arrived, I proceeded on my way. Mangerton lay towering and clear before us, and over its summit there hovered a little cloud like a pillar of smoke. "In fact, sir, it looks exactly as if the devil was brewing his morning's drop in his punch-bowl there," said the driver as he arranged my seat. "He doesn't yet belong to the temperance society; for, as you see, to vex us temperance men, he uses a punch-bow! every day which would shame all the big-bellied teapots in Ireland together." "Surely," I replied," there must be some difference between him and we mortals; but let him brew his punch, provided no rain comes out of his bowl on us to-day."