ton, a
mountain some 2,550 feet high. We were now all mounted on ponies, who
were very sagacious and sure-footed, and climbed the rocky, narrow path
like goats. We were followed every step of the way by a host of lads
and girls, carrying jugs and cups of milk and whisky, which they
offered to us at almost every moment. The greatest curiosity upon this
mountain is a little lake, near the summit, called, "The Devil's
Punch-Bowl." It is surrounded by almost perpendicular rocks; the water
is very dark, and is said to be unfathomable. Though so completely
shut in, it is never calm, and though icy cold in summer, it never
freezes in winter.

From the summit, we had a vast, magnificent view, which, however, I
must confess, I enjoyed less than the wild, frolicking ride which I
took soon after, down the mountain, following closely upon the steps of
one of my friends, who, for mischief, went far out of the path, and
took his way over rocks and gullies, through bogs and briars. It was
great sport to us, but I am afraid my poor pony had some private
objections to it.

We enjoyed another pic-nic dinner in Lord Kenmare's grounds, and
afterwards rowed to the lovely little island of Innisfallen, upon which
are some ruins of a famous old abbey, which is said to have been built
as early as the seventh century.

From Innisfallen we went to Ross Castle--a very well-preserved ruin.

In old times it was the stronghold of the war-like O'Donoghues. It was
besieged in 1652, by the forces of Cromwell, commanded by General
Ludlow, and though very strong and well provisioned, surrendered, with
scarcely an attempt at defence. The reason of this was that the
garrison was frightened at seeing the war ships which Ludlow brought
against them--as, long before, some old priest or wizard had made a
prophecy that when such vessels should appear on the lake, all would be
up with the castle. So superstition makes cowards of the bravest men.

There is a very curious and absurd legend which the peasants relate
about the last O'Donoghue; and they really seem to believe what they
are telling. Some say that when Ludlow marched his men into his
castle, the O'Donoghue, driven to despair, leaped from one of the
windows into the lake,--that he was not drowned, but turned into a sort
of merman under the waves, and has lived there ever since, with the
friendly water-spirits, and his family and many of his friends who have
followed him. They say he has