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, who should he see but Miss Kathleen, standing at the opening of the little cave, and smiling at him--as much as to say, "Ah, you rogue, you see you can't escape me." Shocked at the impropriety of her conduct, and provoked at being found out, he put his feet against her, and kicked her into the lake! where, I am sorry to say, she drowned in a very short time. In our day, there would have been a hue and cry raised--a coroner's inquest--a great talk in the newspapers--a trial--and, if the jury agreed, a hanging; but there was nothing of the kind in that benighted time--nobody arrested Keven, or punished him, and he went on his pious way in peace, building churches and monasteries, and working miracles, or what passed for such, till he got to be a very famous saint indeed. But my opinion is, that it took more than the working of all the miracles assigned to him, and the building of those miserable little edifices at Glendalough, to atone for the drowning of that poor, foolish girl, Kathleen.