We thankfully and gladly accepted the offer.

I know not whether they recognised us, and if not, it is not easy to account for the generous kindness that prompted such a sacrifice.

The next day being Sunday, we proposed to spend it wandering about the lovely lake in the bosom of the hill, and to return in the evening to dinner.

The day was an anxious one; but we left no spot on the island or near the lake which we did not explore.
[Illustration: Dunmanway from the Bridge on the Cork Road, 1848] The "Green Little Island," is surpassingly romantic.

The old ruin of a monastery, God knows how old, gigantic forest trees, bowing their aged limbs into the clear water, the shadows of the frowning mountain thrown fantastically on the bosom of the lake, form a _tout ensemble_ of lonely loveliness rarely equalled.