From Cahirdaniel village, the site of a Danish fort, the route extends directly along the Kenmare Fiord, under the foot of Crohan Mountain. The Slieve Misk and Cahar Mountains separate themselves out to win our admiration the better. They recall Lady Dufferin's words, addressed to other sweet mountains, where "The sunlight sleeping On your green banks is a picture rare, You crowd around me like young girls peeping, And puzzling me to say which is most fair; As though you'd see your own sweet faces Reflected in that smooth and silver sea O! my blessing on those lovely places, Though no one cares how dear they are to me." [Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ Sneem.] [Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ At Sneem.] [Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ At Sneem.] On the road beneath Crohan, a mile north from Coad Church is St. Kiernan's Cell, eaten into the face of the sheer rock. In this district formerly the mines were worked and copper smelted. As the road winds along we can see Staigue-an-or, with its cyclopean mounds, lying low and dwarfed on the hillside. By the high mountains, where the coach-horn sounds sweet and awakens echoes, the road comes down into the lowlands, and from the bridge is seen beautiful landscape, with ~Sneem~ spread out in the foreground. Under lovely beechen boughs, and through a glade of oak and first we are ushered into PARKNASILLA, An ideal residence, hidden from the summer sun by a variegated veil of the rocky garden foliage; sheltered from the winter's blast by the Askeve Mountains and the kind shores that button themselves around its inlet sea, of which Mr. A. P. Graves has written: "Ocean before, the summer sky above Who could pourtray the mountains' purple smiles-- And all the opal hues of earth and heaven, Foam fringing forests, heather-tufted Isles; The roseate dawn--purpureal pomps of even-- And young Atlantic's petulant, shifting wiles? Who could do aught but mar the true expression Where all is change? Then why a record shape Of scenes whose nature glories in succession From wood to wave--from wave to distant cape-- Like the young poet's dream, fair beyond all possession." [Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ At Parknasilla.] Here in the demesne lands of a Bishop's Old Palace, the ~Southern Hotel~ new palace has been built. The green turf of its lawn extends down to the water's edge. It is a land of arbutus and myrtle, of glades laden with the pink and white blossoms of oleander and rhododendron, and thick with bells of fuschias, the fair daffodils of Shakespeare and Herrick, that fade away too soon: "Daffodils that come Before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty."