Did not intend to linger here any time, did
not seem to care much for the lakes now when I had got to see them. It
was a damp evening, the mountains, that loom up on every hand, were
wrapped in their gray cloaks, the lake whipped up by the squally winds
had risen in swells and everything looked dismal. I shall see some one
convenient sight and look round me and leave in the morning, I said.
The only available sight to be seen that night was Torc Cascade - well, I
will be content with that. I must take a car; bargained for that, and
drove through the walled-up country. Every place here is walled up,
enclosed, fenced in. I noticed some cottages that were pictures of
rustic beauty, others that were dirty hovels. The pretty cottages were
occupied by laborers on the estates that border on the lake. Passed a
handsome, little Episcopalian church in a sheltered place; near it were
two monumental crosses of the ancient Irish pattern, erected by the
tenants to the memory of Mr. Herbert, who was their landlord and who is
spoken of by the people as one who deserved that they should devote some
of their scant earnings to raise a cross to his memory.
In due time we arrived at a little door in the wall, where a man stood
in Mr. Herbert's interest, who gave a small ticket for sixpence,
unlocked the little arched door and admitted the stranger into this
temple of nature and art.
