a splendid sub-marine palace, and dogs
and horses, and harpers and fiddlers, good whisky punch, and potatoes
that are never touched with the rot--fairs and dances, and weddings and
wakes, and now and then a fight--in short, every thing that can make a
real old-fashioned Irishman feel at home and comfortable. The wakes
and fights are only make-believes, "for divarshin," they say; for the
people down there cannot die--cannot even be wounded, or hurt in any
way.

Others say that the O'Donoghue under the lake is a more ancient
prince--an enchanter, who for some act of impiety, got enchanted in his
turn and was condemned to dwell under the water, and is only allowed to
come to the surface once a year--on the first morning in May, when he
rides over the lake in grand style, clad in silver armor, with snowy
plumes in his casque, mounted on a white steed, splendidly caparisoned.
Before him go beautiful water-spirits, scattering flowers--all running
and dancing on the water, without the slightest difficulty. It is said
the enchantment of the O'Donoghue will last until the silver shoes of
his horse are worn off by the friction of the waves.

There are many yet living at Killarney, who solemnly declare that they
have seen the chieftain on his May-morning ride. But these, if honest
persons, have doubtless been deceived by singular appearances in the
atmosphere, called optical illusions, or mirages.

Many other legends are told by the peasants and guides. All are
strange and improbable, but some are very amusing, and some, I think,
quite poetic and beautiful.

One is about a holy man of Muckross, who fell into some great sin, and
repenting of it, waded into the lake, and stuck a holly-stick into the
bottom, and said he would not leave the spot till it should throw out
leaves and branches. So he did penance for seven years, and then the
stick suddenly leaved out and blossomed, and became a great tree, by
which the good man knew that he was pardoned. We may take a lesson
from this. If we do wrong, and try to atone for it, in the best way we
know how, it may seem a hopeless work; but if we wait patiently and
pray, we shall surely see, at last, God's love and blessing blossoming
before us like the holly-stick, and overshadowing us like the great
tree.

There is another legend about an ancient Abbot of Innisfallen, which is
sweet and touching, though I do not see that it has any moral. This
good man was at his prayers one m