her broken leg would have been the punishment of my rashness; as it was, her torn knee will long remind me of the Esk mountain. Were it not for these risks and difficulties, the scenery that now surrounded us was of a very grand character: the glen, the lakes, the continuous chain of barrier mountains, extending as far as the eye could reach, out into the Atlantic. On the top of this lofty chain, ran the boundary between Cork and Kerry. It was a day befitting the season, a fine but characteristic April hour-the atmosphere perfectly clear--the sun now brilliant, now obscured. Here a deep valley laughing in the sunshine, and reflecting from its central lake, the forms of its surrounding mountains, and all the colours and faces of its overhanging precipices; farther off, towards the west, you might see a hail storm gather on the head of a mountain peak, and the morning sun engendering the half formed arch of the rainbow, on the skirts of the approaching shower; which, however, took a direction along the hills towards the south,

and left us to enjoy the clearness of our prospect, and the glad company of the morning's brightness.

In these mountains, it is said, there is a lake for every day in the year-high or low, or deep in the recesses of the valley, or sparkling on the hill side, the higher you ascend the more you see of them; and the varieties of their forms, positions, and accompaniments, give a wonderful interest to this otherwise toilsome march into Kerry. If I were a young man, and had health and time, how I should like to ramble from valley to valley, and from lake to lake, filling my mind with the magnificent picture this Alpine territory presented, and my soul with the higher and more adoring conceptions of the Almighty God, "who, by his strength, setteth fast these mountains." To the left of our road, as we wound up the long ascents of hill rising over hill, I was shown a lake, one of the loveliest we had yet seen: perfectly circular, it lay in the bosom of a chain of peaked and precipitous hills-it reposed

within the circle of their protecting arms, and sparkled like a looking-glass in the sun. "Once upon a time," said one of the men who formed my escort from Glengariff, “that lake there beyond, was full of as good beer as ever was brewed in Cork town. In good old Catholic times long ago, ere Protestants, saving your presence, came into our land, Denis O'Donohoe lived in a valley in these mountains, and he was a great friend to the good people, and their king and queen used to come and dance under the moonshine, in the meadow which lay before Denis's house; and one evening as Denis was a driving home half a dozen goats that had gone astray across the hills, he met the king of the good people sitting on a musheroone that grew large and round under the shelter of the high rock that rises to the north side of the meadow. "Denis," says the wee bit of a king, "have you any thing at home to give me to drink, for I am as dry as a whistle, after dancing my round about that ring yonder." "Och then," says Denis, "what could

a poor crathur the likes of me give your honour and glory, but a drop of goat's milk ; as for water, I suppose as why you know where to get it yourself." "Ah then, it's little I value your goat's milk," said the fairy-"have you no beer, Denis?" "Beer, a cushla machre, where would the likes of me get beer in this place?" (bye the bye, your honour, poteen was not invented in them days.) "No, but King honey, as I ought and should please you, and all your good people, if you will just be after putting up for this night with a drop of goat's milk, why at break of day to-morrow I will slip over to Bantry and get a quart of as good beer as Felix O'Sullivan has in his whole cellar, and though it be fifteen miles off, I will be back before night." "Why then now, Denis," says the king, "you are nothing else but a good-natured fellow, and it's a thousand pities that you and your's should have nothing better to drink than goat's whey, to wash down your pratie. Come along with me, Denis, and I will (provided you promise

upon your oath not to tell the priest,) put you in the way of never drinking worse than the best of beer, all the days of your life, and all your kiff and kin to boot."

"Now, your honour, there was not a man in all the barony of Bear, that loved strong beer better than Denis, and it was a great while to Easther, when he must needs confess to Father Florence; so he thanked the fairy very civilly, and said he was at his sarvice to command. So the little man desiring him to leave his goats there, and to follow him, off they set in the moonshine over rock and glen, until they came to a hill side, where grew very large heath, the biggest you ever "Now, Denis," says the king, "pull your arm full of these plants, its long and many a day since mortal man pulled a handful before; not since the days of the Danes, who were as wise as they were wicked, has the son of a mother made use of this plant-come away with me and I will shew you what it was made the Danes stout and strong, when they carried away poor Irishmen's daughters,

saw.