een no more, the dogs, too, were at fault, and the scent
was lost. Disappointed, and spent with the labour of the chase, the
huntsman blew a shrill blast on his horn to call the dogs to him, and
faced for home across the hills. But there was a voice that, loud and
clear, called upon him--"O'Sullivan, O'Sullivan, turn back!" Brave and
fearless, like his race, he turned round, to behold before him the
centre of so many cycles of romance--Finn MacCool. "Why do you dare
chase my stag?" asked Finn. "Because it was the finest that man ever
saw," answered O'Sullivan. The answer pleased Finn MacCool.
"O'Sullivan," said he, "you are a valiant man, and have been wasted in
the long chase. You thirst, and I will give you to drink." So saying, he
stamped his huge heel upon the hard rock, and forth burst the waters,
seething and dashing as they do to this day. O'Sullivan quenched his
thirst and sped on his way.

[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ Meeting of the Waters,
Killarney.]

From the innermost recess of the glen the water flows down, in one of
the most fascinating spots to be found within all the delicious realm of
Kerry. The ivy hangs in dense draperies from the rocks, a sweet disorder
of arbutus, evergreens, and all the flowers that grow in a radiant land,
daringly lean across the canyon, and vainly try to trip the rushing
stream, which, in cascade after cascade, flings itself with passionate
energy, and a ceaseless murmur, over the rocks. The placidness of the
huge lake is in strange contrast to the noisy stream which so excitedly
hastens to meet it, and, as if awed by its dignity, as it comes nearer
and nearer the mountain stream, sinks its voice, until in a subdued sigh
it falls into the breast of the lake. Underneath the projecting rock,
and overhung with luxuriant herbs, O'Sullivan's Grotto offers a quiet
retreat. Following the wooded shores of Glena Bay, we pass Stags, Burnt,
and other islands, and come to Glena Cottage, hiding in the foliage of
leafy trees. Glena means "the valley of good fortune," and a name more
suggestive of happier thoughts than weird Glownamorra across the
lake--"the glen of the dead."

[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ Muckross Abbey, Killarney.]

A mile's drive through the pleasant demesne lands of Muckross brings us
to the water's edge at Castlelough Bay, in the middle lake, on a
promontry of which the ruins of ~Muckross Abbey~ are to be seen. Here,
in the fifteenth century,