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Show l Mwbl in Ireland l By John H. Black. j PART VI. ' py right, 1H03. by John A. Black.) P.oots delivered our clothing to us late in the afternoon and liberated us again. Twenty miles by r.ail to Killarney took tip nut of the rain belt and we found the streets of the town dry and dusty and filled with a merry crowd which drifted along and swirled about ( the lighted shop windows till 11 o'clock at night: so we also took to the streets and wandered about the town in the twilight twi-light of the long June evening till our i hearts grew warm, and when we went to bed in our comfortable hotel, we almost al-most felt gracious enough to forgive Ireland for its treatment of us in the forenoon, but in th-e morning the rain descended and the winds blew and beat upon that hotel and our spirits fell. Hut why spoil a day by getting angry with Ireland, the fickle jade? Let her weep and storm and go into hysterics, if she will! She looks well in tragedy, anyhow. So with rubber capes and Irish frieze coats we make ourselves waterproof and mounting the car are off : for the Gap of Dunloe and the lakes a ride of some twenty-eight miles. The first eight miles around the north side of the lower lake to Kit Kearney's cottage cot-tage takes us through a bit of greneest Ireland. To' our right on the high ground are the ruins of Aghadoe a round tower, a church and a castle; to our left we get glimpses of the lower lake and a view of Brickeeni bridge. ; The road is narrow and winding be- I twoen hedges and ditches. Droves of j the little black Kerry cows graze in the knee-deep grass on either side; here is the haunted house where the ghost of Geoffrey Lynch pays no rent and defies de-fies eviction. A man rides alongside our car spoiling a- mile by his insistent pleading with us to hire his ponies for the journey through the gap. Another half mile is damaged by two middle-egtd middle-egtd women, who plead with us to add their "likenesses" to our collection: we decline to s-o honor ourselves and then tt:y bring out their side line hevay woolen socks, "knitted by me own hards, sir!" Their places are taken by another pony man and sn we are pestered pes-tered until we get down at Kate Kar- j tiey's 4ott3ge. This famous cottage is a typical Irish house of the poorest Port; in it is a bar presided over by two : women who, if they are descendants of the famous beauty whose name the cottage bears, have got considerably damaged in the d-escent. After some flickering with the pony men, we get h board the most likely looking beast of the lot and are off for the six-mile ride in wind an. J rain, through the famous I ' Gap of Dunloe. Thesf pap ponies are not any too p acrful themselves, but if mine had the gift of Balaam's famous animal, I j should not like to get into a controversy j with it about that day's doings: for I ! fcusi'ect that I was the most awkward j lead for any animal to land safely through the gap; I make the confession J t-veausv of a troublesome recollection ; cf stripes laid on the beast's back j which, n. i doubt, ought to have been j id on mine. j . The first denizen of the gap which we encounter is the man who wakes the I eeho-os waith a cannon. He is making j great shew of rarnmir.g a good load 1 into his gun as we come in sight, for I these gap men are experienced actors, j lie fires it off and it seems as if there ; was an Irishman on every crag and j rock banging away at each other, such i a succession of roaring, crashing re- ! ports follow each other from the mountains moun-tains on both side of the valley. "A I few pennies, sir. to pay for the pow- j ther." Next is the man with the bugl-", I who collects The pennies to pay for his I breath before he blows it; and he is a j rascal, too, -for all he gave back of my shilling was fivepence, a rascally j smile and a "good luck to so fine a ! gir..tleman!" The great mountains ranged along each side the valley like two sleeping armies, waked by the bugle, take up the notes and shriek across the valley at each other, like Fnarling, sleepy giants each answer growing fainter as drowsiness over-coniep over-coniep them til! all is silence again and th? bugle man sits down to wait for another an-other "foine gintleman" who may trust him with a shilling. For four miles we ride between these great, rough mountains whose torn, jagged sides rise above us hundreds of fett. Now the road keeps well up on the mountain side under the overhang- ing rocks, below us is a deep, dark lake; now the narrow road descends into the valley and winds along the little river. AH about us lie great rocks as they fell, crashing from the mountain side, loosened by some listurbance; while'! above us hang others looking none too i secure. This Is surely one of the un- j j finished rlaces of the earth! The moun- , tain builders went away and left their work half done and the material lying ' about in confusion so it looks. The road through the gap is narrow a.")! winding; it crosses and recrosses, by quaint stone bridges, the little river Lee, which flows down the valley widening wid-ening out here and there into lakes. Here is the wishing, bridge which guarantees guar-antees that you will get whatever you w ish for while you are crossing It; here is Serpent lake, where St. Patrick drowned the last snake in Ireland, and St. Patrick's cottage, where he lodged for three nights "while he did the job" so says our pony-man. Toward the southern end of the gap the road grows steep and rough and carries us up over the rocky divide, and by a long sweep down into the Black i valley. It is here we are besieged by j the persistent peddlers of "potheen," who with a bottle under their shawls run along beside the ponies, begging us to take a drink "with Molly," or "have a bit of potheen with Maggie," and no sooner do we get rid of one pair they go in pairs than another begins the teasing all over again, till in self-defense we lash the ponies into speed enough to outrun them. "Och, you needn't till me a foine lookin' gintleman gintle-man loike yerself is a taytotaler!" says Maggie in her most winning way. "Have a drink with Molly at parting!" was the last appeal of this demure maid. v One very old woman with short, bedraggled be-draggled dress, bare feet, shawl 'and whisky bottle, hailed me and introduced herself as the "queen of the gap." "Shure ivery one takes a drap wit' the quane av the gap," she said; but a queen in a dirty shawl and tattered skirtsi. with protruding bare legs and feet, lopeing along in the mud and rain, brandishing a bottle of whisky, was too much for me, so with considerable danger dan-ger to my neck and many reproaches from the queen on my head, I laid on the gad and Avent bouncing out of her royal presence on' my stiff-legged steed, in a very unknightly fashion, I am afraid. These good-natured for they are that at least whisky-peddling queens are the product of the tourist business-of Killarney and are exceptional. exception-al. Like conditions develop similar specimens spe-cimens of the begger in any country; and to judge the Irish people by these unnatural specimens as some have done who never got off the tourist routes is unfair and unreasonable. The Irish are not natural beggars, but they are natural na-tural and insistent and cheerful givers to everyone who asks or needs, be he friend or stranger; this you may not discover on a "'Cook Tour," nor learn from the "My Irish Journeys" of travelers. trav-elers. The road keeps alongside of a swift little' river now and under spreading" trees; ihe scenery is quiet and restful a welcome change after the wild tumult tu-mult through which we have come. This valley is wide ar.d wooded; we are coming near the lakes. At a bridge where we enter private grounds, we part with our ponies and their owners, who have trotted after us, and considerable consid-erable more silver than we bargained to give; but these fellows are experts at letting you have your own way in making the bargain and then getting all they wart in the end and they are so skillful one scarcely feels it when they "touch him." A delightful walk brings us to the head of Upper lake, where the boats await uswith lunch. The two strong rowers shoot us down . the lake, through the Long Range, which connects con-nects Upper and Middle lakes, past Eagle's Nest mountain towering 1,000 feet above us, under Old Weir bridge, through "The vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet," around Dinnis'i Island into Middle lake, under Brickeen bridge into Glena bay and out into Lower lake; and these are only part of the attractions of the trip. The wind has stirred up quite a sea on Lower lake and the four miles across it with now and then a wave climbing into the boat with us, were quite enough to give the finishing touches to on day of wild, boisterous travel. Of the many islands in Lower lake, Innisfallen, with ! its abbey ruins, is the prettiest and most famous. "Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well. May calm and sunshine long "be I thine. How fair thou are let other tell. While but to feel how fair be mine." "Sweet Innisfallen, long- shall dwell In memory's dream that sunny smile, Which o'er thee on that evening fell When first I saw thy fairy isle." These words of Moore tell it all. (Continued next week.) |
