ne," bedeck the silver sheen of its
surface. The largest of these, ~Innisfallen~, almost midway between the
eastern and western shores, is some thirty acres in extent, and is
engirdled by leafy bowers of green trees. Shaggy sheep are couched in
repose, or are busy with its verdant lawn. In the early morning, or
tender gloaming which closes the Munster day, the holy place is

"Quiet as a nun,
Breathless with adoration."

[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ The Turnpike Cap of Dunloe.]

Shafts of the dawning or waning sun, as the hour may be, illumine the
fair pageant. The wavering outlines of the hills make the turret-tops
to the dark green of the woods and the emerald of the meadows. The
richest of colours from hill, tree, and rock accumulate on the surface
of the Lake, burnished like silver. To-day the natural scenery is the
same as of old, and few will wonder that here a saint found delights to
prepare him in some degree for the pleasures stored in eternity. Of St.
Finian Labra we know little beyond that he was a native of Ely
O'Carroll, then a part of Munster, and was a disciple of St. Brendan.
But his spirit loiters around Innisfallen, and the most casual of
travellers will tread lightly on the ground hallowed by his footsteps.
The monastic remains are many, but by the enthusiastic antiquary alone
can their fragments and chief features be traced. "_The Annals of
Innisfallen_," which form one of the chief sources of Irish history,
were written here 600 years ago. Leaving the "Holy Island," we cross the
lake and land at the foot of the Toomies Mountains, famous in
pre-historic myths, to visit the O'Sullivan Cascade. The legend, which
is too often wasted on sceptical ears, tells that O'Sullivan, a captain
of his people, renowned amongst them for fleetness of foot and prowess
as a hunter, on one occasion went to hunt the red deer. The faint yellow
rays of morning were lighting up the eastern sky as he went forth. Gaily
the deep-mouthed dogs obeyed, sniffing the fresh breeze across the
mountain purpled with heather. Scarce had he left home when a
magnificent stag bounded across his path. Swift as the lightning flash
the dogs sprung upon the track--away across the moors and down the
glens, on the scent they went. Throughout that livelong day O'Sullivan
followed the chase, weary, tired, and thirsty, but still determined to
make the prize his own. At length night, and darkness with it, came; the
stag could be s