“Well, Doolan, you haven’t told me all this time who O’Sullivan is.”

“Why, then, that’s the quare question for your honour to be after axing me.  Sure all the country knows O’Sullivan of Toomies, for didn’t him, and his father before him, live at the butt end of the mountain, near the neck of the Lawn; and wasn’t they great chieftains in the ould times; and hadn’t they a great sketch of country to themselves:  they haven’t so much now, for their hearts were too big for their manes (means;) and that’s the rason O’Sullivan was obligated to sell this part of the mountain to Mr. Herbert of Mucruss?”

“A sad story this, Doolan; but it seems to me these O’Sullivans must have been very fond of a bowl of punch, or why is the lake you mentioned called O’Sullivan’s Punch Bowl?”

“Oh, then, your honour’s as sharp as a needle entirely; but about that same lake it’s a quare story sure enough.  A long time before there was a waterfall here at all, one of the rale ould O’Sullivans was out all day hunting the red deer among the mountains.  Well, sir, just as he was getting quite weary, and was wishing for a drop of the cratur to put him in spirits—­”

“Or spirits into him,” said I.

“Oh, sure, ’tis all the same thing,” returned Doolan with a grin, intended for a smile. “’Tis all one surely, if a man can only have the drop when he wants it.  Well, what should O’Sullivan see but the most beautiful stag that ever was seen before or since in this world; for he was as big as a colt, and had horns upon him like a weaver’s beam, and a collar of real gold round his neck.  Away went the stag, and away went the dogs after him full cry, and O’Sullivan after the dogs, for he was determined to have that beautiful fine stag; and though, as I said, he was tired and weary enough, you’d think the sight of that stag put fresh life into him.  A pretty bit of a dance he led him, for he was an enchanted stag.  Away he went entirely off by Macgillicuddy’s Reeks, round by the mountains of the Upper Lake, crossed the river by the Eagle’s Nest, and never stopped nor staid till he came to where the Punch Bowl is now.  When O’Sullivan came to the same place he was fairly ready to drop, and for certain that was no wonder; but what vexed him more than all was to find his dogs at fault, and the never a bit of a stag to be seen high nor low.  Well, my dear sowl, he didn’t know what to make of it, and seeing there was no use in staying there, and it so late, he whistled his dogs to him, and was just going to go home.  The moon was just setting over to the top of the mountain shedding her light, broad and bright, over the edge of the wood and down on the lake, which was like a sheet of silver, except where the islands threw their black shadows over the water.  O’Sullivan looked about him, and began to grow quite dismal in himself, for sure it was a lonesome sight, and besides he had a sort of dread upon him,