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rather taken aback by the inquiry, Ah thin, plase your lordship, whin do we sail ?"

Clare has furnished many very eminent members to the Munster Circuit. Sir Michael O'Loghlen, late Master of the Rolls in Ireland, was a native of the county, and his distinguished sons, Sir Colman and Michael, are both at the bar. The present amiable Sir Colman Michael O'Loghlen, Bart., serjeant-at-law, represents his native county in the House of Commons. The Hon. Matthew Finucane, Judge of the Court of Common Pleas in 1794, was also a Clare man, while the talented family the Henns, of Paradise, Kildysart, have furnished a number of eminent lawyers who have worthily sat upon the judgment seat. This family descend from Chief Baron Hene, whose patent bears date 11th March, 1679.* This judge's great grandson, William Henn, second son of Thomas Henn, Esq., of Paradise, County Clare, was appointed one of the judges of the Court of King's Bench 1st August, 1768. The judge's only son, William, was born in Paradise, and was appointed a Master in Chancery. He married Miss Lovett, sister of Sir Jackson Lovett, of Lipscombe Park, Buckinghamshire, Bart. William, the eldest son of this marriage, was a meinber of the Munster bar, and continued so until he also became a Master in Chancery, when his brother, Jonathan Henn, joined the Munster Circuit. Perhaps greater proof of the uncertainty of professional success at the bar can be given than in the career of Jonathan Henn, Q.C. He had joined the Connaught Circuit, and went its round for ten years without a brief. When his elder brother became Master Henn, Jonathan

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changed from the Connaught to the Munster Circuit. He found a marked change in his professional prospects; briefs came in in shoals, and when I joined he was confessedly the foremost man on the Munster Circuit.

This family is now worthily represented on the Munster Circuit by my esteemed friend Thomas Rice Henn, Esq., Q.C., Chairman of Quarter Sessions for the County of Galway.

It is not only as a witty and genial member of the Irish bar that "pleasant Ned Lysaght" claims a place among Clare worthies in the history of the Munster Circuit. He was born, as we have already mentioned, at Brickhill, in the county of Clare, and as early as his student days in Trinity College, Dublin, his poetic talents found vent.

He

entered college in 1779, being then in his sixteenth year; and it appears the fellow-commoners then considered themselves superior in rank to the pensioners. The latter were accustomed to amuse themselves playing football in the College Park; and this sport the fellow-commoners stigmatized as low and vulgar. A pensioner named, Caulfield, who usually consorted with the fellowcommoners and avoided the football, on one evening was tempted to join the vulgar game. The opportunity for paying him off for his absurd exclusiveness was not lost. He soon was tripped up, and Ned Lysaght wrote the following impromptu :

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"Dear C-lf-d, play football, no more, I intreat,

The amusement's too vulgar, fatiguing, and rough;

Pursue the same conduct you've followed of late,

And I warrant ere long you'll get kicking enough."

Smyth's Law Officers, p. 142.

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He aided Grattan by his songs, for he was a most popular ballad writer. His song, "The Man who led the Van of the Irish Volunteers," was adapted to the air of "The British Grenadiers," and contains some soul-stirring lines. It had a very powerful effect in causing Grattan's election for Dublin. I give a few verses as a specimen :

"Just thirty years are ending since

first his glorious aid,

Our sacred rights defending, struck shackles from our trade, To serve us still, with might and skill,

the vet'ran now appears,

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Lysaght's poetical genius had a wide range, and his songs are yet prized by all capable of enjoying songs characteristic of the rollicking Irishman and the amatory swain. His "Donnybrook Fair and the "Rakes of Mallow" are very national, while his love-songs display much delicacy of sentiment. I give as a specimen his "Kate of Garnevilla," written in praise of a lady whom I had the pleasure of knowing, and with many members of whose family I have passed pleasant days. One of her sons is now a judge upon a colonial bench :

"Have you been in Garnevilla?
Have you seen, in Garnevilla,
Beauty's train trip o'er the plain,
With lovely Kate of Garnevilla.

Grattan, alluding to the defunct Irish Constitution of 1782, declared, "I watched by the cradle of Irish Independence, and I followed the hearse."

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It is to be regretted that when these flashes of wit set the table in a roar no one thought of jotting down the happy conceit, and few can recall them when the banquet is over.

I must conclude these records of the genius of this gifted member of the Munster Circuit with his impromptu lines upon hearing of the death of another distinguished member of the Circuit, upon whose tomb few complimentary wreaths are placed. When the Lord Chancellor, Earl of Clare, died, Lysaght wrote,

"Cold is thy heart, hush'd is thy voice;

Around thy sacred urn,

Rapine, and Fraud, and Guilt rejoice, While Truth and Justice mourn.'

Besides those I have enumerated, many others claim mention. The present learned and amiable Baron Fitzgerald is, I believe, a Clare man. Mr. Peter O'Brien, another worthy member of the family of Hon. Judge O'Brien, bids fair to sustain the credit of his ancient race. Nicholas Purcell O'Gorman, Q.C., for many years chairman for the county of Kilkenny, was a native of County Clare. We shall refer to him later

on.

The journey from Ennis to Limerick, now traversed by rail, was formerly a pleasant drive of a few hours through a picturesque and interesting country. The last time I traversed this road was in company with a highly intelligent magistrate of Clare and his accomplished wife. They were anxious to show me some beautiful ruins; and as a brief notice of them may serve to present a variety to the events we shall presently relate, I venture to give them place, as forming part of the Munster Circuit. Mr. Frost told me much about Ned Lysaght. Many members of the family are

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buried in the churchyard of Kelfenora. He copied one inscription, which is thus carved on the stone: "Non quisquam depandavi me sæpe fefelli Marte Baccho Venereque tributa dedi Patricio Lysaght obiit 1712. Etatis sic 85,"

While thus conversing about the natives of Clare, the stately remains of Quin Abbey came in view. Beautiful in decay, how noble must it have been in the days of its pride! I could not help thinking how little is known of the pious inmates of these cloistered walls, which in so many places in Ireland adorn the scenery. It is not so with the owners of feudal castles. Bunratty has its history, Creggan its story, but I failed to discover much about the Abbey of Quin. Possibly, the different ways in which the occupants passed their time may account for this. The warrior chief passed his days in war or rapine, taking enemies in the field, or preys of cattle from the plain; while the peaceful and uniform lives of the monks went tranquilly on, as the river that flowed beside them; and there was little to hand down to posterity save accounts of their piety or charity. With such thoughts we drove swiftly on. Having passed through the village of Quin, we reached the magnificent ruins of Quin Abbey. It was evidently one of the finest buildings in Ireland, and pleasantly situated on the banks of a clear rapid stream. This rivulet tumbles over the rocky bed with the same heedless impetuosity as it did centuries ago, when matin song and vesper hymn told, in notes of prayer and praise, the dawn and close of day. Sad and forsaken are the ruins now. It was not without a sigh over fallen greatness I mounted the broken steps leading to the interior. Judging from the outward walls, I was led to expect a rich treat of ecclesiastical architecture when I passed within. Nor

was I doomed to disappointment. When I reached the portal I paused to contemplate the spacious church, for the eye looked through the chancel-arch to the lofty mullioned window over the high altar, which still retains its place, though generations have passed since abbot or friar offered sacrifice there. Altars also yet stand on each side of the chancel-arch, and an arch of noble span opens the chapel to the south, most probably the lady's chapel. Here some altars yet remain. In the middle of the church, between the space in front of the high altar and the entrance, is a lofty tower, still showing its beautiful proportions to the surrounding country. Many remains of former decoration still survive the wreck of time and disfiguration of man. "The Annals of the Four Masters inform us the monastery of Quin (Cuinehe) was founded for Franciscan friars by Lioda Cam McNamara in 1402, but Father Wadding claims a yet earlier date for this foundation.

Be that as it may, to the house of McNamara belongs the fact of placing the friars of strict observance in this beautiful monastery, and the tomb of the founder still remains, close beside the high altar. The canopy over the tomb bears traces of rich sculpture in gothic carving and five clustered pillars, the sharpness of outline and solidity of execution bidding defiance to time. The inscription, in the gothic character, is not easy to decipher, but a more recent one is sheltered beneath the canopy. It is surmounted by the arms of McNamara, anciently a very powerful sept in Thomond, and still represented by several families of distinction. This tells us the monument was erected in 1433, by Macon Dall McNamara, Lord of Clancoileau, and was repaired by Captain Teage McNamara of Rannee, in 1714.

I am happy to learn that some

effort is about being made to rescue these noble ruins from the neglect and desolation in which I beheld them.

We next reached Six-Mile Bridge, called in Irish Amhain O'Gearna, from the river flowing through the country of the O'Gearneys, or O'Kearneys. A chapel and vicarial house of the Dominicans stood here in former days, but no traces linger now. Though the village is well situated, it does not show any signs of present prosperity. Some years ago, when Colonel Vandeleur contested the county of Clare on Conservative principles with the Liberal candidates, a melancholy collision took place here between some men conducting Colonel Vandeleur's voters to the court-house to poll with the country people. The military was ordered to load with ball, and fired among the people, and several lives were lost. A varied line of country brought us to a broad lake reposing beneath a ridge of mountains; and from its brink, boldly situated upon a lofty rock, rose, massive and strong, the tower called Creggan.

A few years ago this ancient specimen of a chieftain's stronghold was a mouldering ruin; sheep roamed at will from postern to bastion, the mountain goat cropped the ivy that clustered on its walls or the grass that grew over the empty moat; but its picturesque site and capabilities attracted the notice of an English clergyman, the Rev. John Harvey Ashworth, and, by the expenditure of a very considerable sum of money, and an equal amount of architectural skill, he has converted this fast tumbling ruin into a strong tower, likely to form for ages a comfortable dwelling. My host and I scrambled along the rough valley watered by the lake, over which stands the rock, crowned by the tall tower. The castle, almost

inaccessible, was surrounded on three sides by the lake, and then defended by a moat, now dry. There was no town or outworks that I could trace, and on gaining entrance we found ourselves in a good-sized hall, fitted up with a modern kitchen range and other appliances for cooking, of which the O'Briens or M'Namaras of former days had no experience. Instead of the spiral steps of stone leading to the rooms overhead we mounted wooden steps, and soon beheld a goodly apartment wainscoted with oak richly carved; bay windows of plate-glass afforded excellent light and extensive views of the surrounding district. Yet higher, we visited smaller chambers, evidently intended for bedrooms, but the good taste which regulated the rooms below did not soar so high. Common bedroom paper, of poor design, formed a strong contrast to ancient doors and stone casements. We climbed to the roof, and here my host pointed out the Broadfoot hills, the castles of Dangan, Kilkishan, Knappogue, and the beautiful ruin we lately visited, Quin Abbey.

Creggan Tower formerly belonged to the celebrated associate of O'Connell, Tom Steele. His mansion, Cullam, lay in the valley beneath; but this accomplished and very eccentric individual preferred to occupy the solitary tower, even before its present renovation, to his more comfortable house. He meditated restoring Creggan, but his eager desire for political notoriety caused him to abandon house and land, and to devote all the energies of his ardent nature to advance the cause of what he deemed nationality. This left the restoration of Creggan tower to English clergyman, whose taste and judgment is most creditable. How I wish other ruins in Clare and other counties in Ireland

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