KILLARNEY
"MOTHER, mother! Mollie says can I go with her for a day at Killarney?"
cried Norah, rushing into the house quite out of breath.
And, indeed, it was no wonder. She had run every step from her friend
Mollie's, which was a good half-mile away.
Mollie's father seemed quite rich in Norah's eyes. He had a farm, where
he kept three cows and twenty sheep. Yes, and a horse besides. Not a
donkey, mind you. Two of Norah's neighbours owned donkeys, but Mollie's
father was so well off that he had a real live horse, and a jaunting-car
of his very own.
When the work was not heavy, the farmer sometimes took his family for a
day's pleasure.
"If it is fine weather to-morrow," he promised Mollie, "you shall ask
Norah to go with us. It will be a rale treat for her."
How Norah's eyes sparkled as she told her mother of the invitation! Her
cheeks were more rosy than ever, and as she laughed over the good news,
her teeth looked for all the world like the loveliest of pearls.
The next morning she was out-of-doors at sunrise, to see what signs
there were of good weather. Dame Nature was very kind to the little
girl, and made the sun spread his loveliest colours over the eastern
sky.
There was a great scrubbing and cleaning before Norah was ready to
start. Her mother combed and brushed her thick, long hair, and made it
into two glossy braids. What did it matter if there was no hat to wear!
She was so pretty, she did not need straw or ribbon to make people stop
to look at the bright, happy face, with eyes ever ready to laugh or
cry.
When she was dressed in her pink cotton gown (it was the only one she
had, and her mother had washed and ironed and mended it the night
before, after Norah had gone to bed), she ate her breakfast, and slipped
over the fields to Mollie's, as happy as a lark.
The horse and car already stood waiting at the door. Mollie and Norah,
and Mollie's sister Bridget, sat together on one side of the car, while
the jolly farmer, with his wife and baby, filled the other seat.
Mollie's big brother Tim was the driver.
As they jogged along through the beautiful country, the party sang
"Killarney" and other favourite songs. After awhile, Mollie's mother
started "The harp that once thro' Tara's halls," and every one joined in
with a will.
When the song came to an end, the farmer told the children about an old
harper who used to go wandering through the country. He stopped at
every place to play the tunes the people loved so well.
But that was before Mollie and Norah were born. Yes, before even the
farmer himself was born. He had heard his mother tell about the old man,
and how bright his eyes grew as his fingers drew out the tunes from the
harp.
Once upon a time there were many such harpers in the country. Those were
the days of the Irish kings and lords. There were feasts and dancing and
music in many a stone castle in those times.
But now, alas, most of the castles are only ruins, where the kindly ivy
covers the piles of stones, and the wind howls through the empty door
and window places.
One castle was the grandest of all. It was called the Hall of Tara, and
was built on the top of a high hill. Mollie and Norah had often heard
of the doings in that grand building.
It was the place where the Irish princes met together to choose their
king. It was there that he was crowned, upon an upright stone that
actually roared during the ceremony. At least, so the story runs.
The laws of the country were made in the Hall of Tara, and a great feast
was served there before commencing business each day. Three loud blasts
were sounded by the trumpeter to call the people together in the great
dining-room.
Not only princes and nobles met in Tara's Hall. There were also poets
and wise men. For those were the days when Ireland had places of
learning where many scholars gathered, to study history and poetry, the
movements of the sun and stars, and many other things. Those were great
days for Old Ireland.
"Oh, see! See!" cried Norah.
Mollie's brother stopped the horse to let every one see the beautiful
sight before them. The lovely lakes, shut in by high mountains, were
ahead of them.
"They are the jewels of Erin," cried Mollie's mother. "They are diamonds
sparkling on the breast of our country."
It was no wonder she spoke as she did. It would be hard to find any spot
in the world more beautiful than the Lakes of Killarney.
As the horse started up once more, they passed high stone walls covered
with moss and ferns and ivy. The branches of tall trees met together
over their heads, with vines wound lovingly about their trunks. The
whole view was so beautiful that even the children became quiet. No one
felt like talking.
"We will not spend any time in Killarney town," said Mollie's father.
"This is going to be a day outdoors, childer. We'll have a rale
picnic."
Mollie and Norah clapped their hands.
"We must go to Ross Castle, that's sure. And of course you want to visit
Muckross Abbey and hear the echo below the Eagle's Nest," the farmer
went on.
"Castle Lough and Glenna bay,
Mountains Tore and Eagle's Nest;
Still at Muckross you must pray,
Though the monks are now at rest."
So sang the girls in answer.
You must know that Killarney is the most beautiful part of the beautiful
country of Ireland. One day is not enough to see all that is worth
seeing.
No one could blame the children for not wanting to spend any of their
time in the little dirty town at the end of the lakes.
The horse was driven close to the shore of Lough Lean, or the Lake of
Learning. This is the name given it by the people of the country
because two universities once stood near its shores.
The party got out of the jaunting-car and sat down at the water's edge
to eat their lunch. There were no cakes or pies, but nothing could have
tasted better to the hungry children than the thick slices of bread and
butter, the home-made cheese, and the rich goat's milk.
And then, every time they lifted their eyes they could see the green
meadows on one side, and on the other the mountains covered with purple
heather and thick forests.
Out on the clear waters of Lough Lean were many little islands, looking
like so many emeralds set in the silvery bosom of the lake.
"What lovely homes they would make for the fairies," whispered Norah to
Mollie. She always spoke of the fairies in a whisper. Perhaps she felt
they might be provoked if she mentioned them in her usual voice.
[Illustration: NORAH AND MOLLIE AT LOUGH LEAN.]
"I believe they choose just such places to live in," answered Mollie. "I
think there must be hawthorn-trees growing there."
Both Norah and Mollie believed in fairies. They had as much faith in
them as many little boys and girls in America have in Santa Claus. They
thought hawthorn-trees the favourite places for the midnight parties of
the fairies. It was in the shade of the hawthorn-trees that these
beautiful sprites feasted on dew, and danced to the music of fairy
harps.
As the children sat whispering together, Molly's father began to tell
the story of Lough Lean. The little girls were only too glad to listen.
He told the old legend of the time when there was no lake at all. A fine
city stood here in its place, and in the city there lived a brave
warrior, whose name was O'Donaghue.
Everything one could wish for was in the city except plenty of water.
There was one small spring, to be sure. A great magician had given it
to the people. But he had made one condition, which was this: whoever
drew water from the spring must cover it with a certain silver vessel.
It happened one day that the brave O'Donaghue drank more wine than he
should. It made him very bold. He ordered his servants to go to the
spring and bring him the silver bowl that covered it.
"It will make a good bathtub for me," he said, and he laughed merrily.
"Pray don't make us do this," cried his frightened servants.
He laughed all the louder, and answered: "Don't be afraid. The water
will be all the better for the fresh night air."
The silver bowl was brought to the daring warrior. But as the servants
entered the house, they imagined they heard terrible sounds about them.
They shook with fear as they thought, "We are going to be punished for
breaking the magician's command."
One of the servants was so frightened that he left the city and fled to
the mountains. It was well for him that he did so, for when the morning
came, he looked down into the valley and saw no city at all.
Not a sign of a house or living being was in sight. A sheet of water was
stretched out before his astonished eyes. It was the beautiful Lough
Lean.
As Mollie's father repeated the legend, the children bent over the lake.
Perhaps they could see the roofs of palaces, or the tops of towers,
still standing on the bottom of the water. They had heard of people who
said they had seen them. But the children were disappointed.
Perhaps when they went rowing in the afternoon, they might yet catch a
glimpse of the hidden city. Who could tell?
Mollie's father had more to tell of another man, whose name was also
O'Donaghue. He pointed to a little island not far from the shore. It was
Ross Island, and an old, old castle, called Ross Castle, was still
standing there.
The stone walls were now in ruins. They were overgrown with moss and
ivy. But hundreds and hundreds of years ago it was a great stronghold of
Ireland's bravest warriors.
The chief of them all was the daring O'Donaghue. Even now he cannot rest
easy in his grave. Every seven years he rises up, and, mounting a white
horse, rides around Ross Castle. And as he rides every stone goes back
into its old place, and the castle is once more as strong and grand as
in its best days.
But this is only for the one night. When the sun shines the next
morning, a heap of ruins is standing there, where the owls and bats may
keep house in comfort.
"How I should like to see the knight on his white horse!" said Norah.
"Yes, but I should be afraid, I'm sure," said Mollie. "After all, the
day is the best time to be outdoors, and my bed at home is the safest
place after dark."
When the lunch was eaten, the whole party crossed a bridge that spanned
the water to Ross Island. The children played games over the smooth
lawns, picked flowers, and told fairy stories.
Then Mollie's brother rowed the girls out on the lake. Many a time he
rested on his oars while the children called out and then listened for
the echo to answer them.
"There it is, hark!" said Tim.
A party of travellers came rowing toward them. They had hired an Irish
piper to go with them. As he played a slow tune, the answer came back.
Tim whistled, and the echo repeated it. Then Norah sang the first line
of "Come Back to Erin," and the echo sang it back again.
But the afternoon was going fast, and the children could now hear
Mollie's father calling to them from the shore. They must get back to
land as soon as possible.
When they reached the car, they jumped in, and all started at once for
Muckross Abbey, at the other end of the lake.
It had once been a great place of learning, but it was now in ruins. Ah!
but such beautiful ruins, covered with mosses and creeping vines. How
the ivy seemed to love the old stone walls!
Some of Ireland's greatest men were buried here. Poets and soldiers and
wise men lie in their tombs. Norah and Mollie stepped softly and spoke
in low tones as they walked among them, half-buried in moss and ivy.
But they did not linger long. They loved the sunshine and the brightness
outside, and were glad to get back to them.
They took their places in the jaunting-car once more, and started on
their homeward way.
As they drove along, they passed the grand home of a rich Englishman. A
long and fine driveway led up to it from the road. It was almost hidden
in a lovely grove.
Just as they drew near, a party of horsemen passed them and turned into
the driveway, blowing their horns. They had been out hunting and were
now returning.
"Arrah! they have a jolly life," said Mollie's mother. "Hunting and
fishing and feasting. That is the way they pass their days. But, glory
be to God, I have my husband and childer and our little farm, and I am
content."
She might have said, also:
"I live in the most beautiful part of beautiful Ireland. I can look to
my heart's content at the lovely hills and lakes, the fields filled with
flowers, and the cascades rippling down the mountainsides."
Yes, let glory be to God that the poor can enjoy these blessings, and it
costs them nothing.