It was in the following autumn that a particular chariot drove up to the door of the Victoria Hotel, on the shore of Killarney lake. A young man of elegant bearing handed a very charming young lady from the chariot; aand that kindest and mos accommodating of hostesses, Mrs. F——, welcomed the fresh arrival with her good-humoured and smiling face.
Why, amidst the crowd of arrivals at the Victoria, one chariot should be remarkable beyond another, arose from its quiet elegance, which might strike even a casual observer; but the intelligent Mrs. F—— saw with half an eye the owners must be high-bred people. To the apartments already engaged for them they were shown; but few minutes were lost within doors where such matchless natural beauty tempted them without. A boat was immediately ordered, and then the newly arrived visitors were soon on the lake. The boatmen had already worked hard that day, having pulled one party completely round the lakes—no trifling task; but the hardy fellows again bent to their oars, and made the sleeping waters wake in golden flashes to the sunset, till told they need not pull so hard.
“Faith, then, we'll plaze you, sir,” said the stroke-oarsman, with a grin, “for we have had quite enough of it to-day.”
“Do you not think, Fanny,” said Edward O'Connor, for it was he who spoke to his bride, “Do you not think 'tis more in unison with the tranquil hour and the coming shadows, to glide softly over the lulled waters?”
“Yes,” she replied, “it seems almost sacrilege to disturb this heavenly repose by the slightest dip of the oar—see how perfectly that lovely island is reflected.”
“That is Innisfallin, my lady,” said the boatman, hearing her allude to the island, “where the hermitage is.” As he spoke, a gleam of light sparkled on the island, which was reflected on the water.
“One might think the hermit was there too,” said Fanny, “and had just lighted a lamp for his vigils.”
“That's the light of the guide that shows the place to the quality, my lady, and lives on the island always in a corner of the ould ruin. And, indeed, if you'd like to see the island this evening, there's time enough, and 'twould be so much saved out of to-morrow.”
The boatman's advice was acted upon, and as they glided towards the island, Fanny and Edward gazed delightedly on the towering summits of Magillicuddy's reeks, whose spiral pinnacles and graceful declivities told out sharply against the golden sky behind them, which, being perfectly reflected in the calm lake, gave a grand chain of mountain the appearance of being suspended in glowing heather, for the lake was one bright amber sheet of light below, and the mountains one massive barrier of shade, till they cut against the light above. The boat touched the shore of Innisfallin, and the delighted pair of visitants hurried to its western point to catch the sunset, lighting with its glory the matchless foliage of this enchanting spot, where every form of grace exhaustless nature can display is lavished on the arborial richness of the scene, which, in its unequalled luxuriance, gives to a fanciful beholder the idea that the trees themselves have a conscious pleasure in growing there. Oh! what a witching spot is Innisfallin!
Edward had never seen anything so beautiful in his life; and with the woman he adored resting on his arm, he quoted the lines which Moore has applied to the Vale of Cashmere, as he asked Fanny would she not like to live there.