The highest mountain in Ireland, ~Carrantual~,[4] at one side lifts its lofty brow, "crowned with tiaras fashioned in the sky." On its summit an outlaw, known in Munster as the "Shon" or Hawk, after many sleepless nights, footsore and weary, slept here with a prayer, "Thank God, at last I am above all my enemies." The peasantry pronounce the name "Carntwohill," which translated means, the left-handed or inverted sickle. The expansiveness of the Lower Lake appears at first to minimise its beauty, when compared with its smaller companions. But the more its loveliness is explored, the greater the revelation of the harmony and luxuriance of the landscape. No less than thirty-five islands, like beauty spots of a fairy "drop scene," bedeck the silver sheen of its surface. The largest of these, ~Innisfallen~, almost midway between the eastern and western shores, is some thirty acres in extent, and is engirdled by leafy bowers of green trees. Shaggy sheep are couched in repose, or are busy with its verdant lawn. In the early morning, or tender gloaming which closes the Munster day, the holy place is "Quiet as a nun, Breathless with adoration." [Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ The Turnpike Cap of Dunloe.] Shafts of the dawning or waning sun, as the hour may be, illumine the fair pageant. The wavering outlines of the hills make the turret-tops to the dark green of the woods and the emerald of the meadows. The richest of colours from hill, tree, and rock accumulate on the surface of the Lake, burnished like silver. To-day the natural scenery is the same as of old, and few will wonder that here a saint found delights to prepare him in some degree for the pleasures stored in eternity. Of St. Finian Labra we know little beyond that he was a native of Ely O'Carroll, then a part of Munster, and was a disciple of St. Brendan. But his spirit loiters around Innisfallen, and the most casual of travellers will tread lightly on the ground hallowed by his footsteps. The monastic remains are many, but by the enthusiastic antiquary alone can their fragments and chief features be traced. "_The Annals of Innisfallen_," which form one of the chief sources of Irish history, were written here 600 years ago. Leaving the "Holy Island," we cross the lake and land at the foot of the Toomies Mountains, famous in pre-historic myths, to visit the O'Sullivan Cascade. The legend, which is too often wasted on sceptical ears, tells that O'Sullivan, a captain of his people, renowned amongst them for fleetness of foot and prowess as a hunter, on one occasion went to hunt the red deer. The faint yellow rays of morning were lighting up the eastern sky as he went forth. Gaily the deep-mouthed dogs obeyed, sniffing the fresh breeze across the mountain purpled with heather. Scarce had he left home when a magnificent stag bounded across his path. Swift as the lightning flash the dogs sprung upon the track--away across the moors and down the glens, on the scent they went.