To convey to the fancy a lively representation of substantial visible forms, is deemed rather the province of that artist who speaks to the eye, than of the mere verbal describer. Yet so limited are the powers of the pencil, that by it, the same object can only be represented, in one moment of its existence, and under a single point of view; whereas description ranges in a wider field, commands the several changes which time, in its silent lapse, draws along with it; exhibits things in all the different lights, and positions, in which they can be viewed; discovers new beauties in effects from unravelling their causes; traces under the mouldering ruin, stately temples, domes, and palaces, the monuments of a race of mortals long forgotten; takes in an extent of scenery, which the unassisted eye loses, and the pencil faintly pourtrays; and throws a mysterious veil over every object, by allusions and details drawn from the stores of history and fable:
Revolving these advantages of the descriptive method, over the mere plastic, I wished to prove its excellence by an example; and meeting with a subject altogether engaging, I made the following attempt to exhibit it in its true colours. I inscribe it to the Academy of Royal Artists, as a poor atonement for my presumptuous encroachment upon the province of picture.
I visited Killarney in the most favourable seasons for viewing it, when the trees resigning their foliage, were already marked with all the different colourings of decay: and when spring, repairing the winter’s ravages, had again cloathed them with renewed verdure: but I preferred the autumnal prospect.
The lake is divided into two great branches, or more properly speaking, there are two distinct lakes, A, B, connected by a winding river.
The northern lake, called also Lough Lane, from its receiving a torrent of that name, is by many degrees the larger. It is divided into two branches, the one distinguished by the name of the Great Lake, and the other called Turk Lake, C, from a mountain that overhangs it.
The Great Lake lies East and West, and from Mr. Herbert’s park, to the mouth of the Lune, measures about seven English miles. Its breadth, from the neighbourhood of Reen Point, to the opposite side, is said to be nearly four.
Turk Lake is about two miles and a half in length, and three quarters of a mile in breadth; it stretches from East to West, with an inclination to the North and South.
The southern shores of both these lakes are formed by high mountains; those of the Great Lake covered with wood, those of the other without wood. The land which bounds them to the North, the East, and the West, is either a flat, or only raised from the water by gentle swellings. ’Tis generally diversified by plantations.
I shall first trace out the several bays, banks, and islands, which occur in the lakes, proportioning my detail to the importance of the objects; that passing from particulars to generals, we may, on some good grounds, establish a comprehensive character of the whole; and, with the better relish and judgment, proceed to consider the more remarkable points of view.
The angular mountain Glynnau, or Glauná, D, stands on the South side of the lake, and has two sides washed by it; for round this mountain the lake takes a turn, and so runs to a narrow point, where it receives the water from the upper or southern lake. This is a very beautiful mountain, covered for a great part of the ascent with forest trees, such as oak, ash, pine, alder, and birch, intermixed with hazel, whitethorn, yew, holley, and arbutus, all perfectly wild. The forest trees are not very stately, but the yews, holleys, and strawberry-trees, are in great perfection; and blending their different greens, form a fine mixture. The sides of the mountain, though not uniform, rise with an easy acclivity from the water, and are here and there broken by gullies, and streamlets, which is pleasing. The shores are all along indented; and from the angle particularly, there runs a point richly wooded, which forms two bays. The principal inhabitants of this mountain are the red deer, which, among the sequestered thickets, enjoy an undisturbed repose; except on some gala day, when O’Donahue makes a sacrifice to the curiosity of the visitors of the lake, or his own passion for the chace, which happens rarely. The music of the dogs and horns, and the shouts of the hunters, posted in great numbers along the ridge of the mountain, are re-echoed from the several parts of it; and produce an effect singularly pleasing. It is from hence the stag generally precipitates himself into the lake, when hard pressed by his pursuers; who studiously reduce him to this necessity, by hemming him in on all sides; and his spirited efforts to prolong existence in an element so unfriendly to him, afford the highest entertainment. This mountain is the property of Lord Kenmare.
Toomish, or Tomé, E, stands to the westward of Glynnau, from which it is separated by a torrent, called, in the expressive phrase of the natives, Screech Stream. It completes the Southern boundary of the lake, and in its situation, and appearance, much resembles Glynnau. The finest cascade in the neighbourhood of Killarney, falls from this mountain; which, retaining the name of its ancient possessor, is called O’Sullivan’s Cascade. While the rains prevail it is amply supplied with water, and exhibits a very beautiful picture. It falls from three great stages, of nearly equal heights, disposed in such a manner, that the course of the stream which supplies it, is hid from the spectator. The water is so agitated in its course down the mountain, that from the instant it breaks upon the eye, it is one entire sheet of foam; and dashing from stage to stage, enlivens every thing around it, by the reflection of the scattered rays which fall upon it; serving at once to illuminate, and contrast, the shady green trees and shrubs which overhang it. The only spot from which it can be seen to advantage, is from a rock in the channel below; from thence the stages seem to diminish from bottom to top, from twenty four or five feet, to twenty, and from twenty to fifteen or sixteen. The whole scene abounds with the most picturesque beauties, but the minuteness of the objects, and that air of regularity which is diffused over the whole, strikes it out of the class of grandeur and sublimity. At some distance from the cascade, there are two or three rude cottages, inhabited by a set of hardy mountaineers, who probably subsist by the chace. They generally come down to traffick with strangers, bringing with them nuts, and wild berries; and sometimes cuttings of yew, thorn, and oak, for walking sticks. The only bounties of Heaven they seem to enjoy, are health, and a fine prospect; contentment, if they possess it, is with them an heroic virtue. This mountain belongs to Mr. Herbert of Mucrus.
Towards the West, the lake washes a very rich and improveable country. The part of it which extends from Tomé, to Dunlow castle, is called O’Sullivan’s Country, F; but is now the property of Mr. Herbert. It is no where marked with very striking features; it rises in a swelling slope from the lake, and is here and there diversified by trees, particularly on the banks of the Lune. This river is very considerable at its source, being the only outlet from the lake, which receives from the surrounding mountains several plentiful streams. Winding for a considerable way through a rich valley, it separates O’Sullivan’s country from the estate of Macarthy-more; and taking a westerly course, discharges itself into the ocean at the distance of seven or eight miles. It is called by the natives the Leaune.
The estate of Macarthy-more, G, compleats the western boundary of the lake. The house is well situated, upon a rising ground near the river; but the improvements are much neglected. In alighting to take a view of the ancient family seat at Pallice, I gave the bridle of my horse to a poor boy, who seemed to look for it with a degree of eagerness. From his manner of answering some questions I asked him, I was led to enquire into his situation; and was not a little surprized to find, that though sunk in the most abject poverty, he was, nevertheless, a good classical scholar. He was well acquainted with the best Latin poets, had read over most of the historians, and was then busy with the orations of Cicero. I could not help pitying, at the same time that I admired him, and lamenting the hard situation which rendered his knowledge useless; his taste and refinements the sources of continual disgusts and mortifications; and even his habits of study pernicious, as they diverted him from those active employments, which alone could keep him above want and wretchedness. I found, upon further enquiry, that this classical spirit is very general among the lower sort of people in Kerry: a circumstance, which gives an air of probability to the romantic accounts of a late Memoir-writer[1], concerning the learning and taste of certain northern shepherds.
The lands, which lie along the northern shores, H, of the lake, have a very uniform character; they are such as one sees every where, hills and dales tolerably wooded, and pretty well enclosed; but capable, from their soil, and above all from their situation, of being made very enviable scenes. A neat farm house, built upon a charming neck of land, called by way of eminence The Point, and possessed by Mr. Mahony, is better adapted to the spot, and raises more pleasing ideas, than if it wore a more gaudy assuming air. The bay, which lies between this neck and Reen Point, is one of the largest, and most delightful in the lake; and owes so great a share of its beauty to the islands, that I can scarce forbear mentioning them. Reen Point lies nearly in the middle between the extremities of the lake; and, about an English mile behind it, stands the village of Killarney, and Lord Kenmare’s house. About half a mile to the East of it, the Flesk, a very fine stream, which springs from Glanflesk, a mountain some miles distant, falls into the lake. On its eastern bank, close upon the shore, is Cahiranane, the seat of Mr. Arthur Herbert, which has nothing remarkable to boast of. This side of the lake ends in a sandy bay, one of the finest I remember to have seen in it. Lord Kenmare is the principal proprietor.
We now come to the eastern boundary of the Great Lake, which is every where rich in wild beauties. The northern part of it is called Mucrus, I; as it stretches southerly, it gets the name of Camillan, K; and round the extremity of Camillan is the passage to Turk Lake. It is impossible to conceive any thing more charming than the shady bays, creeks, and recesses, which the lake here forms. The variety of their shapes, the smoothness of the water, the reflection of the trees with which the banks are fringed, and the fertility of the very rocks which form the points and angles, produce a mixed sensation of surprize and pleasure, which it is difficult to describe. There is a stillness and tranquillity in the air of these retreats, that is uncommonly engaging, and sets the imagination to work to conjure up forms and build castles in every one of them; the accessary ideas give new life to the scene, and the mind returns with additional ardour to contemplate it. In some places you are presented with an abrupt shore, and rocks of unchisselled marble hollowed into caverns; in others, the level beach, covered over with smooth green carpeting, seems to court your approach by a display of internal scenery. Here you meet with a promontory, rising from the lake with the majesty of a colossus; there stands another, the Parnassus of Silvanus, adorned with every chosen shrub in which the God delights: and woe to the dull mortal, that hears him not, as he passes, rustle among the thickets; for lo! even now he emerges, and dispensing fragrance as he ascends, looks down with benign complacency upon those happy regions, for which he has rifled the gardens of Flora, to rival her once favourite Tempè.
Mucrus abbey is situated upon an eminence, rising over the lake, near the northern extremity of this range. It is in tolerable preservation, and still serves as a burying-place to the inhabitants of the neighbourhood. A modern hermit, some years ago, pitched upon it as the place of his retirement. He chose an open cell, in one of the upper apartments, for his mansion; and formed a defence for himself against the inclemencies of the weather, from the shattered remains of the tombs and coffins. His vow was not rigidly strict; for he sometimes mixed with the world. He was communicative enough on some subjects, and, as I have heard, tolerably well informed. But at length he sullied the lustre of his character, by indulging in the sordid unmanly vice of private drinking, oftentimes to intoxication; till, finding the veneration he was held in daily diminish, he abandoned a scene where he could no longer appear with credit. He was an Englishman; and, when he left Killarney, proposed going to the rock of Lisbon. There is certainly no place better adapted to a recluse than this, especially if he possesses any degree of enthusiasm, as there is none which can compensate the loss of social enjoyments by such a variety of contemplative ones. The greatest curiosity of the abbey is a yew planted in the center of the building. Its trunk is between seven and eight feet in circumference, and its boughs form a compleat covering to the cloister, which is a square of twelve yards. My Cicerone, pointing to a wound in the bark of it, told me with a very grave face, that the wretch, who had the hardiness to inflict it, paid the full price of his sacrilege; for that a numbness instantly seized the guilty arm, spread gradually over his whole frame, and in a few minutes dispatched him. The abbey is too much shut up by trees; it might be so managed, by a delicate hand, as to become a fine object of view, without being entirely dragged from its retreat, and exposed to open day. An objection of the same kind lies against the situation of Mr. Herbert’s house, which, in the midst of the most desirable objects, enjoys a very limited prospect of the lake, and appears to no advantage itself. The gardens are not dressed with care; and would deserve little notice, were it not for the extraordinary ledges of rocks which run through them. These have not the least covering of earth to defend them, and yet rival the most luxuriant spots in their produce. They are cloathed from one end to the other with shrubs and trees, which seem to draw their juices from the very marble itself, as the crannies and pores, from which they issue, are so scantily provided with mold, that it is difficult to conceive it sufficient for their nourishment. It is wonderful how pliably they accommodate themselves to the several windings and crevices of the stone, and how artfully their roots are disposed for the reception of every drop of moisture; and their great variety, some of them the most tender, delicate shrubs our climate admits of, still adds to the surprize. The service-tree grows here spontaneously; the vine flourishes; the common fruits are the produce of every cliff; the arbutus seems indigenous; the lilack, rose, lauristinus, and cytisus, require no other culture than that of the pruning knife; every neglected spot in this wilderness of sweets is enamelled with flowers, and fragrant herbs, and plants loaded with blossoms, or berries.
I observed, almost universally, in the trees springing from these rocks, that the part of the trunk contained within the stone was much smaller than the external, sometimes by several inches in the diameter;—a proof of fertility this, which renders all others superfluous.
From the house at Mucrus to the extreme point of Camillan, there runs a winding road of near two miles in length, very judiciously calculated to unfold the interior beauties of the Peninsula: (for it is a Peninsula, and as one side encloses the Great Lake to the East, the other forms the northern boundary of Turk Lake.) Here there is a vast number of those rocks and craggs, vegetating from every pore, differing in shape and situation, and thrown without order into irregular groupes, which afford new landscapes as you advance, and every instant present different combinations and figures. They generally lie at a considerable distance from each other, and are separated by low marshy swamps, which produce nothing but heath, and the common aquatic shrubs; by which means they have much the appearance of islands. And here I cannot help indulging a conjecture, that the islands in the lake itself have been, at some distant period, situated as these are: and that, by the stoppage or interruption of the great outlet from the lake, or an additional influx into it, the body of water has been so increased as to insulate the higher grounds; and that the continuance of the cause has rendered the separation permanent. It is certain this conjecture appears more probable, if we consider the near resemblance of many of the islands to the rocks I have just now described, and their proximity to the level shores on the north and east sides of the lake, where the water is comparatively shallow. It might be further confirmed by similar instances; and particularly by the instance of Lough Neagh, in the province of Ulster; which has for many years past gained on the land, as is clearly evinced by a late writer. But as I cannot support it by testimony or observation, the only sure grounds to build upon, I abandon it as a bare probability.
Nearer the point of Camillan the surface is less varied by detached heights, and risings, and more uniformly wooded. It is of a very stoney nature, and almost every where covered with a thick moss, which is here ornamental. As the lakes lie on both sides, with their islands and mountains, how greatly might the charms of this spot be enhanced, by introducing them judiciously in different views and situations? which, by the simple management of leading a path from one side to the other, now skirting the bays, and now ascending the heights, might easily be accomplished. And how much might the views from the lakes be improved, by here and there opening up the bays and recesses, and allowing the eye to penetrate into the more remote scenes, as if by stolen glances? To mutilate nature is inhuman, to aim at excelling her is madness: It is the province of art to withdraw the veil that conceals her beauties, and discover them in all their wildness.
The side of the Peninsula, which forms the northern boundary of Turk Lake, so nearly resembles the other, that what Ovid says of the sisters of Phaëton is literally true of them: they have the same general air and complexion, though they differ in particular features. The whole Peninsula is the property of Mr. Herbert of Mucrus, whose estates in this country are very considerable: his ancestors were among the first English settlers; and tho’ he generally resides in England, his tenantry seem to enjoy more happiness, than ordinarily falls to the share of the deserted Irish peasant; who, between intrinsic indolence and external exaction, penurious in the midst of plenty, wanders upon the surface of the most fertile country in the world, a melancholy instance of complicated misery.
The eastern shore of Turk Lake, L, is distinguished by no particular beauty I know of: it is formed by the bleak side of Mangerton, and separated from Turk, the mountain which confines the lake to the South, by the Devil’s Stream. This stream has its source near the top of Mangerton, which is esteemed the highest ground in Ireland[2]. Its source is a vast cavity in the mountain, fed by the discharge of the clouds which are daily bursting over it. The natives stile it the Pit of Hell, but it is more commonly called the Devil’s Punch-bowl. It sometimes sends down very impetuous torrents, which sufficiently mark their course by their ravages: to this it probably owes its original name.
Turk, M, though not so lofty as Mangerton, is a much nobler object. Its outline is free and graceful, rising to a point by easy stages, and sinking towards the plain in such a manner as to form an irregular cone. The side towards the lake is quite inaccessible, and to the eye below has a wild air of grandeur, occasioned, as I conceive, by the uniformity of its appearance, which presents no gaudy colourings to divert the mind from contemplating the single idea of its extent. It is entirely without trees, which as it contributes to the above effect, and affords a striking contrast to the shady banks of Mucrus, is hardly to be regretted. The river Lane rises near the summit, and is seen throughout its course, which is a very direct one: it gives its name to the whole lake, anciently called Loch Lein.
Between the Peninsula, and the low land which stretches from Turk, lie the islands Brickeen and Dinish, which separate the two northern lakes. They are divided from the shores by very narrow straits: that between Brickeen, and the Peninsula, which is the widest, not exceeding twenty yards. Both these islands are richly wooded, and abound with luxuriant arbutus; they serve as resting places to the deer, which descend from Glená, at the dawn of morning, to feed in the plains and meadows of Mucrus; and here too they often shelter themselves, when roused by the hunters, and driven from their more secret haunts in the mountains.
Dinish extends to the very mouth of the river which flows from the upper or southern lake; and, by the opposition of its sides, distributes the stream into two unequal channels. The river issues from the northern side of the lake, and with all, its windings and angles, measures four miles. The eastern bank, N, presents nothing interesting; it is low, craggy, and infertile, scarcely producing a shrub or tree. The high grounds, at some distance, which extend from Turk to the southward, though by no means picturesque, are a relief to the prospect. The opposite bank is skirted by the shaggy sides of Glená, that runs into the country in this direction for a considerable length: its appearance here is not so varied, as from the lower lake, but is still pleasing; it is terminated to the South by the Eagle’s Nest.
This remarkable rock, O, presents its principal front to the North, and the river, making an abrupt turn, passes directly under it. It has that bold freedom in its general outline which sets at naught description, and demands the pencil of Salvator himself to express justly. From the ruggedness of its impending cliffs, which almost overshadow the river, it would be truly aweful, if the trees and shrubs which cover them, did not counteract the effect, by diffusing an air of festivity over the whole, which strips it of its terrors. The parts of it, considered singly, are beautiful; their strange combination produces surprise. The effect of a musket or peterara discharged against this mountain, exceeds every thing I had conceived possible. The report is encreased to a degree almost incredible, and returning upon the ear in redoubled peals, now from the neighbouring, now from the more distant mountains, imperceptibly dying away, and again reviving, till it finally expires in hollow, interrupted murmurs, bears a nearer resemblance to natural bursts of thunder, than any thing artificial. The mountain is inhabited by Eagles, which build their nests on the craggs, and inaccessible heights, and are continually hovering round it: like true birds of Jove, they seem to have chosen it for their abode, from the allurements of its pealing echoes.
The mountain which runs from the Eagle’s Nest, to the upper lake, is two miles in length. It is one continued ridge without break, or rising; and from its figure, and inclination, is with singular propriety called the Great Range, P. Near the upper end of it is the seat of the musical echo. The spot where it resides is a hollow bosom in the mountain, covered on all sides with trees. The sounds are reverberated from the several parts of it, and are softened upon every repetition, so as to terminate in the sweetest cadences. A single horn produces a concert, and is multiplied into as many instruments as there are echoes; these mellowing in their tones, from the original notes of the leading instrument, to the dying falls of the last repetitions, and mingling together in a wild, but harmonious confusion, afford the finest specimen of natural music in the world. The power of the echoes might easily be ascertained by breathing a single note on any instrument, or by the voice; and afterwards, it would be an easy matter, at any period in a passage of music, to determine the number and quality of the sounds, which are employed in expressing it.
The southern lake, which is entered by a narrow pass called Colman’s Eye, stretches East and West for above a league; but does not any where exceed three quarters of a mile in breadth. It has a different air from the others, being encompassed on all sides by high grounds and mountains.
Ghirmeen, Q, one of the most considerable of these, forms a right angle with the Great Range, and bounds the lake to the North. It is partially covered with trees, and on the whole has rather a pleasing, than a bleak appearance. Arbutus Bay is the finest it affords; it derives its name, as well as a great share of its beauty, from an island contiguous to it. The mountain is the property of Mr. Herbert.
M’Gilly Cuddy’s Ricks take their rise from Ghirmeen, and encircling a valley, R, of pretty large compass to the West of the lake, form an extensive amphitheatre. These mountains are very numerous, and, as if Nature meant to exhaust her varieties, are broken into the most irregular, whimsical, shapes, imaginable. They seem to be quite destitute of planting, and indeed their fertility, at the distance most of them lie, would contribute little to their beauty. They are plentifully stocked with grouse, or, in the language of the natives, the hen of the heath, notwithstanding the depredations of their joint commoners the eagles. They furnish the lake with its principal supplies of water, which tumbling down in a multiplicity of channels, unites in one stream at bottom, and enriches the valley. The valley owes nothing to culture, though to all appearance capable of it: a few wretched cottagers derive from its borders a penurious subsistance. Its shore is distinguished by one of those singular rocks already described; to those who see it at a distance, it has the appearance of an island; and by a small elevation of the water would actually become one. The whole circuit is now possessed by Mr. Herbert; it formerly belonged to the ancient family of M’Gilly Cuddy, whose name it still bears. The mountains are called Ricks, in allusion to their shape, which approaches nearer to a cone than any other regular figure.
The southern boundary of the lake is formed by a range of high mountains. Cahirnee, S, which joins the Ricks, is the largest of them, and belongs to Lord Shelburne: it is distinguished by a waterfall, but is no otherwise remarkable. Towards the eastern angle this range terminates in a sloping bank, which forms one side of the Glynn of Derry-Cannihy. This Glynn, T, gradually contracting as it retires from the lake, loses itself in another, still more extensive, about a mile distant. Its sides are covered with very stately timber, particularly oaks; and it affords a delightful repose to the eye, fatigued with reiterated mountain prospects. The Kavoge rolls a considerable stream through the center, which, tumbling down a rocky channel, where it forms a variety of lesser falls, makes the woods and caverns vocal. The Glynn belongs to Lord Kenmare, who is now preparing to disrobe it of its trees, as well as the adjoining mountain Derry-Dimna. Whether the Genius of the lakes, or some more persuasive Divinity, will have power to stay his uplifted axe, time will determine. The determination, with respect to his Lordship’s taste, will be final.
May no future traveller have occasion to quote here the mournful lines of Virgil!
Crom-a-glaun[3], which belongs to Lord Kenmare also, confines the lake to the East, U. It extends from Derry-Cannihy to within a mile of Turk, and, though no where lofty, is one of the largest mountains in the neighbourhood. Its sides are covered with a luxuriant copse, which reaches down to the water’s edge: and its modest height, compared with the aspiring cliffs over-against it, gives it the appearance of a larger hill. The foot of this mountain is washed for a considerable length by a narrow confined bay, lying parallel to the river. This bay has no beauties to boast of; its western side is bleak and barren, and it is quite destitute of islands.
The Purple Mountain, though not immediately touching upon the lakes, is an object of curiosity not to be passed over, W. It rises from behind the Great Range, in a conical shape, and is strongly characterised by its deep indigo colour. It abounds with a kind of heath, found in no other part of the country, which produces purple berries; but receives its prevailing tinct from another herb, used by the natives in dying. This is probably the Lichenoides saxatile foliis pilosis purpureis, found by Doctor Smith in an adjoining Barony, though overlooked by him here. It affords shelter to a bird, so little known in Kerry, that as yet it has no popular name. This bird, as it was described to me, is somewhat larger than a grouse; its breast red, the rest of its plumage a clear shining black, except the wings, and tail, which are interspersed with white feathers. Whether this be of the same species with the heath cock, so common in Scotland under the name of the black game, I know not: I am sure I have heard, that the heath cock of the Highlands delights in the purple-berried heath, and resembles our rara avis in colour.