{"product_id":"2940149306848","title":"Killarney (Illustrated)","description":"Killarney—in Irish “the Church of the Sloes”—though but a small town, is, owing to its position, the centre from which the wondrously lovely scenery of the district may best be explored, a district which has been described as “the Mecca of every pilgrim in search of the sublime and beautiful in Nature—the mountain paradise of the West.” Yet if the magical softness of shimmering wave and wooded isle, the glory of their colouring, the ineffable peace which broods over hill and vale, tempt the summer visitor to think that Paradise could not be fairer, there are dark glens, frowning mountains, and sombre passes, which but too vividly remind the beholder that on earth must the shadow always follow the sunshine, the minor note of sadness be heard, that [6] even in this enchanted spot has the war-cry many a time been sounded, and men have wreaked their fierce passions and poured out their blood, and women, stricken to the heart, have suffered and died under these tender skies. The ruined castles tell their own story.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo analyze the charm of Killarney Vale is impossible. It is the very region of romance, and one to which fairy legend and ghostly tale seem to fit themselves better than do the commonplaces of life. There would seem nothing strange were the O’Donoghue on his white charger seen to cleave the wave and emerge on its foam-flecked shore, coming we know not whence, going we know not where, but real as when he trod his native glens, a prince and a ruler among men. The unseen world seems very near to those who have fallen under the spell of fair Killarney.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePart of this charm is doubtless due to the wonder of its beauty, the ceaseless contrasts it presents. I have seen a theory advanced of late years that, as is the land, so are the dwellers thereon; that the character of the soil determines that of its children; the rivers which they look upon, rapid and lawless, or strong and silent; the [7] dark forest; the rich fields or the barren plains; the mysterious mountain or the gay valley, alike influence—nay, form—their individuality. There is a remarkable passage in the autobiography of a very remarkable man—Stillman (war correspondent to the Times in its earlier days), in which he speaks of the effect which a few weeks’ sojourn among the then primeval forests on the banks of the Hudson produced upon him. Over-wearied by brain work, he had shut himself away from sight or sound of civilization, from human companionship, depending on his gun for food, the waters of the spring for drink. He describes how gradually the artificialities of life seemed to slip from him, and he felt akin with grass and tree, with the skies above him, the clouds which swept over their surface, the glories of the sun by day, the moon and the stars by night. He seemed also conscious of a world of spirits, or at least beings not of flesh and blood, very close to him. Sometimes as he lay at rest upon the grass a radiant face looked down on him; once or twice a voice spoke. Above all, he felt confident he was being guided when external guidance was impossible, in black darkness, and when a mistake or false step meant death. He believed [8] that senses we have lost revive, and that we grow cognisant of a world other than that we habitually live in, as, far away from the haunts of men, we let Nature speak to us once more.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn many voices has Nature spoken to the children of Killarney, weaving something of the changeableness, the melancholy, the deep gloom, and the overflowing sunshine of their hills and vales into the very heart of the people, making them what they are for good or ill. To them has been given vision of the supernatural region as a refuge to the earth-bound spirit from the sordid cares of money-getting; and so has a world of dreamers, for all their outward gaiety and lightheartedness, been created in the kingdom of Kerry. Dreamers we call them, but, after all, may not Jean Paul Richter’s words be prophetic, and the dreamers yet awaken from life’s uneasy sleep to find its dreams alone were true.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eTHE GAP OF DUNLOE ON A STORMY DAY.\u003cbr\u003eThe wildness of the Gap is a great contrast to the lake scenery to which it gives access.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe name of Killarney conjures up such thoughts. It owes its fame solely to its beauty and to the fascination which the character of that beauty exercises over the beholder. For it is never the same, and every change appeals to the imagination. Who that has seen it can forget the superb tinting of the foliage which [9] clothes the mountain sides and transforms the isles into quivering kaleidoscopes of colour, flashing back the light as the waves of a sunlit sea. Then a shadow flits from the mountain tops, and the hues change as though under the spell of a magician hidden among those far-off caves, but only to a yet richer combination. Gorse and heather,","brand":"Lost Leaf Publications","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47068137980144,"sku":"2940149306848","price":0.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940149306848_p0.jpg?v=1763714781","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940149306848","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}