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?"