d it--it manufactures
quite as radiant bows in the sunshine, and makes soft, musical, lulling
sounds enough to soothe all the peevish and restless children in the
world to sleep.

The entire descent at this fall is said to be about three hundred feet;
but it is only when the stream has been reinforced and encouraged by
heavy winter rains, that it takes the whole great jump at once.

The next stopping-place of much interest was Glendalough, which means,
"The Glen of the Two Lakes." This is usually called "The Valley of the
Seven Churches;" for here, in a very small space, are the ruins of that
number of rude little churches, and several other edifices, most of
them said to have been built as early as the sixth century, by St.
Keven.

The place reminds one of "The Valley of the Shadow of Death," in
"Pilgrim's Progress," and it is hard to believe that any thing like a
"city" ever stood on so gloomy and desolate a spot. Yet history says
so; and it is certain the O'Tooles and MacTooles, for centuries kings
of all this region, lived here, or near here, in old-fashioned Irish
state, and were buried generation after generation of them in the
Church of Rhefeart.

The two lakes are small and quiet; but the water seems very deep, and
is remarkably dark-colored. There is something really awful in the
look of the lower lake, which is shut in by steep black mountains. On
the side of one of these, Lugduff, about thirty feet above the water,
is a singular little cave, which looks as though it had been hewn from
the solid rock, and is called St. Keven's Bed. The legend about it is,
that when St. Keven was a handsome young man of twenty, he made up his
mind to be a priest, and a saint--so, gave up all thoughts of love and
marriage, and devoted himself to a life of loneliness, privation, and
penance. It unluckily happened that a certain noble young lady, named
Kathleen, (the last name has not come down to us--perhaps it was
O'Toole,) took a great fancy to him, and offered him her hand, with a
very respectable property. To her surprise and mortification, he not
only did not accept, but actually ran away from her. He went to
Glendalough, then a wilderness, and scooped out this little den in the
rock--a place very difficult of access, both from the mountain and the
lake. Here he hid, laughing to himself that he had outwitted Kathleen.
But, one morning, he was wakened by hearing his name called, very
softly, and opening his eyes