Part 18

To make a long story short, I will say that Phin McCarthy's discharge was soon obtained, and Norah McCarthy returned to Bantry, by the public car, loaded with presents from the generous friends her beauty and brave devotion had made.

A short time after, as the lord-lieutenant and his party were passing through Bantry, on their way to Killarney, their travelling car was surrounded by the McCarthys and Nelligans, (Mary Nelligan was already Mrs. Phin McCarthy,) all come to return their thanks.

Little Lady Frances was very happy to see her Irish friend, who looked prettier than ever, in a neat new dress; and drawing her father's face down to hers, she whispered,--"Oh, papa, dear! won't you take Norah home with us, to be my little maid?" This thought had already occurred to Lord Clare, so he proposed it at once to Mrs. McCarthy. Though feeling greatly honored, the good woman was, at first, unwilling to part from her darling, and Norah to go so far from her mother; but when his lordship promised that they should often visit each other, they gratefully consented.

So Norah went to live in Dublin Castle, as the maid and playmate of Lady Frances. She was always most kindly cared for, received a good education, and was treated more as a friend than as a servant by all Lord Clare's household, for she ever retained her simple, endearing ways, and was as good as she was beautiful.

When she had been a year or two in his family, Lord Clare one day explained to her, as well as he could, the curious superstition of the Blarney Stone,--assuring her that there was in reality no virtue or power in it whatever. Norah smiled and blushed at his earnest words, as she answered in her sweet brogue, which she had not yet been educated out of,--"My Lady Frances told me long ago, that the fairies were all a pretty fable, and the Blarney Stone was like any other stone, just. I'll let the fairies go, but," (taking Fanny's hand and kissing it,) "by your lordship's leave and hers, I will stand by the Blarney Stone, for the good fortune it has brought me."

A Visit to the Lakes of Killarney.

KATHLEEN OF KILLARNEY.

The morning of our leaving Cork was dark and rainy; but it gradually cleared up, and by the time we reached Bantry, the first place of much note on our route, all was bright and smiling, overhead and along our way.

Bantry Bay is very beautiful, and is historically remarkable as the place where the French have twice attempted a landing, for the purpose of invading and revolutionizing Ireland.

Late in the afternoon, we arrived at Glengariff--one of the wildest and yet loveliest spots in all that picturesque country. How I wish I could give you such an idea of it as I have in my own mind--a great, magnificent picture, painted on my memory--in some parts sunny and green, and flowery; in others, dark and rugged, and grand. I shall always particularly remember a long row we had on the bay, in the twilight, and how the scenery of the mountainous shore and the rocky islands, and the swelling, booming waves, grew stern, solemn, and even awful, in the fast-falling shadows of evening, and the rising winds and gloomy clouds of a coming storm.

But the next morning, every thing was more sweet and quiet and radiant than I can tell. So, wild Glengariff smiled upon us in our parting, but we found it hard to smile back. We really felt sad to go so soon and forever from such a bit of paradise.

We travelled now upon a large outside car, which allowed us to see every thing on our way, and would have been a very pleasant conveyance if it had not left us too much exposed to the attacks of the beggars. The seats were so low that when the car was going slowly up the hills, we could step off and walk--so, of course, the beggars could come close beside us. Nothing kept them off--neither laughing, nor commanding; alms-giving, nor refusals. Drive as fast as we might, they kept up with us--crowds of little boys and girls, and sometimes full-grown men and women. Some of the children were exceedingly handsome, with black hair and eyes, and dark olive skins--descendants, it is said, of the Spaniards, who, in the time of Queen Elizabeth, invaded Ireland.

The Lakes of Killarney would scarcely be called lakes in our country, where we boast such grand inland seas under that name. They are small, but certainly very beautiful, and surrounded by delightful scenery. They are three in number--the Upper, the Lower, and Torc Lake.

The town of Killarney has a miserable, dilapidated appearance, and is overflowing with beggars. We did not stop here, however, but at a hotel a mile or two away, on the northern shore of the Lower Lake--a most charming situation. A little way out of the town, we had stopped to visit Torc waterfall--a beautiful cascade, in a wild and shady glen--one of the very finest sights of that region.

In the morning, we set out early on an excursion through the Gap of Dunloe, to the Upper Lake. This time I was mounted on a fleet-footed pony, which gave me an advantage over the beggars. One friend rode beside me; the others were, as usual, on a jaunting car.

The "Gap" is a long, dark, rocky pass, with a noisy stream, called the Loe, rushing through it. On the right, are the mountains called the Reeks; on the left, the Toomies, and the "Purple Mountain." On reaching the Upper Lake, we left our ponies and car, and embarked in a boat, which was awaiting us, for a row down a still, silvery, and fairy-like sheet of water. Passing many green and flowery islands--always in sight of grand mountains and lovely shores--we entered upon "the long range"--a sort of river, connecting the lakes. On this stands old "Eagle's Nest," a mountain about eleven hundred feet in height, on whose summit the eagles have built their nests for centuries.

It is principally remarkable for the fine echoes which it gives forth. Our guide played the bugle before it, and every note came back, clear and sweet.

Mrs. Hall, in her beautiful book on Ireland, relates an amusing story which a peasant told her, of a daring attempt a mountaineer once made to rob the eagle's nest. He watched till he saw the old eagles fly away, and then let himself down by a rope from the rock above, and was just about to seize upon the young eaglets, when suddenly out darts the mother eagle from a thunder-cloud, and stood facing him! But she spoke very civilly, and said--

"Good morning, sir; and what brings you to visit my fine family so early, before they've had their breakfast?"

"Oh, nothing at all," said the man, "only to ax after their health, ma'am, and to see if any of them is troubled with the tooth-ache; for I've got a cure for it, here in my pocket, something I brought wid me from furrin parts."

"Aha! and you brought some blarney in the other pocket," said the mother eagle; "for don't I know you came to steal my children--the darlings?"

"Honor bright," said he, "do you raly think now I'd be sarving ye such a mane trick as that?"

"I'll leave it to a neighbor of mine," said she; and with that she raised her voice and screeched out--"Did he come to rob the eagle's nest?"

Of course, the echo answered--"To rob the eagle's nest."

"Hear that! you thieving blackguard," said the eagle, "and take that home with you!" and with one blow of her great beak, she pitched him over, and he tumbled down the mountainside into the lake; getting severely bruised and well ducked for interfering with the domestic happiness of his neighbors.

About a mile below this mountain, we passed under Old Weir Bridge. This is called "shooting the bridge," and unless you have very skilful boatmen, is considered very dangerous, as the rapids are swift and strong.

We next passed the bay and mountain of Glena, by far the most beautiful scenes of Killarney.

We took dinner on shore, seated on the soft, cool grass, under the shade of arbutus-trees, and after a little stroll, returned over the water to our hotel, but a very little wearied by our day of pleasure.