there such a combination of charms and
variety of beauty, in mountain and lake scenery, thrown together.

"For how could river, lake, and sea
In softer sister hues agree?
Or hills of passionate purple glow
Far and near more proudly flow?
And when will summer kiss awake
Lovelier flowers by lawn or brake?
Or brighter berries blush between
Foliage of a fresher green?"

There is a story of a tourist who, lingering long in the Holy Land, was
pained at the irreverent hurry of an American, who arrived there one
afternoon, scurried over the sacred places, and prepared to depart
betimes on the morrow. He timidly inquired of the swift-foot why he, who
had come so far, rushed away so quickly. "Sir," said the American, "I am
timed to do Europe in a fortnight. I have thrown in the Holy Land, but
if I stay here longer than one night I cannot see Killarney, which takes
three days." He was a wise man in his generation. Although enterprising
people have attempted to do the tour of the Lakes in a day, they have
always gone away more than satisfied with what they saw, but with hearts
hungry to return at a future date, and behold the beauties they had
left unseen.

[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ On the Upper Lake, Killarney.]

The ~Lakes Of Killarney~ are three in number, connected by a
swift-flowing stream, the Long Range, and emptying their waters through
the river Laune into Castle Haven, on the Kerry coast. The entire
journey can be performed by boat, but in the suggested tours given, both
car, and boat, and ponies are pressed into our service.

The divisions of the Lough Lene are:--The Upper Lake (extreme length,
two-and-a-half miles; extreme breadth, half-a-mile); the Torc, or Middle
Lake (extreme length, two miles; extreme breadth, seven-eighths of a
mile); and the Lower Lake (extreme length, five and one-eighth miles;
extreme breadth, three miles). The first glimpse caught of the lakes,
lying like broad mirrors beneath the high mountains, is a vision of fair
delight. Like tall clansmen, Mangerton, Carnthoul, and the gathering
Cruacha dhu M'Gillicuddy--the black reeks of the McGillicuddy--muster
around, as it were, to re-tell us

"The tale of the spell-stricken band,
All entranced, with their bridles and broad swords in hand,
Who await but the word to give Erin her own"--

that old legend of the sleeping warriors garrisoned within the
mountain's sides, which is met with in more than o