162 MOTES Ol' AN 



was the neglected daughter of a gentleman of rank, early 

 abandoned, and for long had lived solely among the mountains, 

 wandering about from one to another. She did not beg, but 

 accepted a trifle with evident gratitude. About three hours 

 brought us in sight of the two lonely lakes, Doiloch and Fynn- 

 loch. On the tongue between them is the solitary fishing-box 

 of the Marquis of Sligo, called Delphi. We wished to see 

 this spot, of which we had heard much, or might have lessened 

 our distance three or four miles, by not bearing so much to the ■ 

 left or eastward. It is a perfect oasis in the desert. Here 

 we rested awhile, and Mrs. Brown, of the lodge, presented us 

 with copious draughts of refreshing milk, and offered us her best 

 accommodation, if we would remain there the night, or stay for 

 a day or two. But we had the Cunnemara mountains before 

 us. The Ma'am- Turk range, and the Twelve Pins of Buna- 

 rola were now in sight. About two miles further brought us 

 down to the Killery, at the little village, or rather hut settle- 

 ment of Bundurragh. The Killery, or Killeries as it is usually 

 written, is a narrow arm of the sea, stretching very far inland, 

 in the manner of a Norwegian Fiord, and so completely land- 

 locked by lofty mountains as to have the appearance and 

 character of a chain of inland lakes. Without a previous know- 

 ledge of the country, you would scarcely have deemed it possible 

 that you were coming down upon the salt water; but we had pre- 

 sently evidence enough of the fact. They call it a ferry here, 

 but the tide teas out ; and the ferry-boat, with the two or three 

 fishing-boats belonging to the village, were all safely housed 

 in a little creek, protected by a ledge of rock, over which the 

 ebb was running a rapid. A council of war was held by 

 the old ferryman and his son, with the collected strength of 

 the village ; and the conclusion arrived at was, that neither of 

 the boats could be got over the bar till the returning flood, 

 though ten shillings was the remuneration oflfered, — a revenue 

 to these poor people. It would evidently be two to three 

 hours before the tide could come up sufficiently to float over 

 the bar. From information here we found we had still sixteen 

 miles to make on the other side — nearly double what we had 

 calculated upon — to Clifden, the nearest place where there was 

 any decent accommodation. We had already walked twelve 

 instead of seven, and sixteen Irish miles more, in a strange 

 and difficult country, after four o'clock, — which was the earliest 



