The Intermountain Catholic. (Salt Lake City [Utah] ;) 1899-1920, 1903-11-14
TWbeeI i'm ireland.
BY John III. Black.

by quaint stone bridges, the little river
Lee, which flows down the valley wild
ening out here and there into lakes.
Here is the wishing bridge which guar
antees that you will get whatever you
wish 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
valley 1t is here we are besieged by
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-de-
fense we lash the ponies into speed
enough to outrun them. Och, you
needn't till me a foine lookin' 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.
One very old woman with short, be-
draggled dress, bare feet, shawl and
whisky bottle hailed me and introduced
herself as the queen of the gap"
'Shure livery one takes a drap wit the
quape av the gap" she said; but a
queen in a dirty shawl and tattered
skirts, 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 dan
ger to my neck and many reproaches
from the queen on my head, l laid on
the CAD and went bouncing out of her
royal presence on my stiff-legged steed,
in a very unknightly fashion, l 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 exception
al. Like conditions develop similar 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 ma
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 trav-
elers.
The road keeps alongside of swift
little river now and under spreading
trees; the scenery is quiet and restful
"a welcome change after the wild tu-
multi through which we have come.
This valley is wide and wooded: we
are coming near the lakes. At a bridge
where we enter private grounds, we
no ri wit Il 1,of,
who have trotted after US, and consid-
cradle 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 want 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 usfwith lunch. The two strong
rowers shoot US down the lake,
through the Long Range, which con-
meets Upper and Middle lakes, past
Eagles Nest mountain towering 1000
feet above US, under Old Weir bridge.
through THE vale in whose bosom the
bright waters meet" around Dinnis1
island into Middle lake, under Brickeen
bridge into elena 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 one 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
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 Ger thee on that evening fell
When first I saw thy fairy isle"
These words of Moore tell it all.
Continued next week.)