e surroundings. The longest of these lakes is called Lough
Nabricderg, or the "Pool of the Red Trout." Far and wide beneath us lies
what, in the old times, was MacCarthy More's country, and into which so
often the Fiery Cross was sped, when the chief of the great clan went
into action.

Ruskin's ideals of mountains as the great cathedrals of the earth, with
their gates of rock, pavements of cloud, choirs of stream and stone,
altars of snow, and vaults of purple, traversed by the continual stars,
can nowhere be realized more readily than in Killarney. Here the
mysterious summits, warm with the morning tints or evening's glow, will
delight and refresh again and again, and reflect to us imperishable
memories. Crossing the Flesk, if ~Mangerton~ be the desired point, seven
good miles are to be traversed. From the Muckross, a short detour will,
if desired, lead to Flesk Castle, standing on a finely wooded hill above
the wide sweeping river. Eastward, along the Kenmare road, and southward
for a mile, the mountain path is met. From here, either on foot or on a
pony, the ascent of Mangerton may be made. The first important object
that comes in view is Lough Kittane, at the eastern base of the
mountain. It is nearly five miles in circumference, and its waters
contain four islands. The ravine behind the lake, with Mangerton on the
west and Crohane mountain on the east, is the "mustering place of the
winds," Coomnageeha. In this ravine the Blackwater flows. There are two
small lakes, Loughnabraude and "the Lake of Beech-crowned Rock," Lough
Carrigaveha. Away in the bed of the mountains is Keimva Lochlin--the
pass of the Danes--reminding the historian of "Stern Lochlin's sons of
roving war," and Dereenanawlar, or "the little oakwood of eagles."
Moving still higher, eastward the mountains melt into the distant
counties of Cork and Limerick, and beneath, the smaller highlands recall
the Psalmist's description of

"The hills like the lambs of the flock."

[Illustration: McCarthy More's Castle--Lake Hotel Landing Stage.]

To the left, Glown-a-Coppal, the "Horse's Glen," invites the adventurous
to fathom its depths. The dark lakes lying in its shadows are shoreless,
but for the gloomy rocks which overhang the water's edge. Where the
ground becomes more broken and rugged, suddenly a less inaccessible path
arises, and leads to the Devil's Punch Bowl, a dark tarn, beset with
strange echoes that strike a death-song on the heart-strings