narmed people on the Curragh in
1798. Many of the men from the Curragh used to come to Mass on Sundays
at Suncroft, and often in his sermons--which were none the less edifying
because they were given in the same free and easy style as his gossips
with us on the road--he would tell his people of the talks he had had
with the men from the Camp, and what good Irishmen he found among them.
They, in their turn, were very fond of the good father, and most of them
took a practical way of showing their feeling when it came to the
offertory.

Dear old Father MacMahon! I took up an Irish Church Directory the other
day and looked for the little village of Suncroft, in the dioceses of
Kildare and Leighlin, to see if your name was still there, foolishly
forgetting that it is over fifty years since we met--you an old man and
I a young one. I am an old man now, and you--you dear good old
soul--must have gone to your reward long ago, where you in your turn
will be hearing from St. Brigid herself, and from the fine old Irish
king who gave the Curragh, the true story of the miraculous mantle; and
how the king did not make such a bad bargain after all, for, in exchange
for his gift, he now, doubtless, has what St. Brigid promised, a kingdom
far greater than even her mantle would cover--the Kingdom of Heaven.

On Sundays we used to have long walks. We did not often go near
Newbridge--it was too much like an ordinary English military station. We
preferred going to Kildare, where stands the first Irish Round Tower I
ever saw, and where the fine old ruined church of St. Brigid put us in
mind of the patron saint of Ireland; or to Kilcullen, where the brave
Kildare pikemen routed General Dundas in 1798; and to others of the
neighbouring places. We reviewed, too, every part of the famous Curragh
itself, so full of memories--glorious and sad--of Irish history.

As fast as we finished them, the huts we were building were occupied by
the military, and, whether regulars or militia, I found among them,
driven to wear the uniform by stress of circumstances, as good Irishmen
as I ever met. Coming home from work one evening, I met on the road to
the Curragh a party of them, carrying, for want of a better banner, a
big green bush, and singing "The Green Flag." Then, as they came in
sight of the famous plain itself, a man struck up:--

Where will they have their camp?
Says the _Shan Van Voct_

When, as if moved by one impulse, all