ly bent on paying his rent.

While we wandered amid the ruins we came suddenly upon a woman wearing a
long Irish cloak, and accompanied by two well-dressed men. One of the
men started upon catching sight of Colonel Turner, who was of our party,
grew quite red for a moment, and then very civilly exchanged salutations
with him. The party walked quietly away on a lower road leading to
Ennis. When they had gone Colonel Turner told us that the man who had
spoken to him was a local Nationalist of repute and influence in Ennis.
"He would never have ventured to be civil to me in the town," he said. A
discussion arose as to the probable object of the party in visiting
these ruins. A gentleman who was with us half-laughingly suggested that
they might have been putting away dynamite bombs for an attack on
Edenvale. Colonel Turner's more practical and probable theory was that
they were looking about for a site for the grave of the Fenian veteran,
Stephen J. Meany, who died in America not long ago. He was a native, I
believe, of Ennis, and his remains are now on their way across the
Atlantic for interment in his birth-place. "Would a processional funeral
be allowed for him?" I asked. Colonel Turner could see no reason why it
should not be.

One exception I noted to the general slovenliness of the graves. A new
and handsome monument had just been set up by a man of Ennis, living in
Australia, to the memory of his father and mother, buried here twenty
years ago. But this touching symbol of a heart untravelled, fondly
turning to its home, had been so placed, either by accident or by
design, as to block the entrance way to the vault of a family living, or
rather owning property, in this neighbourhood. Until within a year or
two past this family had occupied a very handsome mansion in a park
adjoining the park of Edenvale. But the heir, worn out with local
hostilities, and reduced in fortune by the pressure of the times and of
the League, has now thrown up the sponge. His ancestral acres have been
turned over for cultivation to Mr. Stacpoole. His house, a large fine
building, apparently of the time of James II., containing, I am told,
some good pictures and old furniture, is shut up, as are the model
stables, ample enough for a great stud; and so another centre of local
industry and activity is made sterile.

Near the ruins of Killone is a curious ancient shrine of St. John,
beside a spring known as the Holy Well. All about the rude li