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streams of their tears that she would ever cherish his mem-
ory, that she would never forget her hero boy who went to
his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to
a hurling match in Clonturk park. She brought back to his
recollection the happy days of blissful childhood together
on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in the
innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dread-
ful present, they both laughed heartily, all the spectators,
including the venerable pastor, joining in the general mer-
riment. That monster audience simply rocked with delight.
But anon they were overcome with grief and clasped their
hands for the last time. A fresh torrent of tears burst from
their lachrymal ducts and the vast concourse of people,
touched to the inmost core, broke into heartrending sobs,
not the least affected being the aged prebendary himself.
Big strong men, officers of the peace and genial giants of
the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their
handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was not a dry
eye in that record assemblage. A most romantic incident oc-
curred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for
his chivalry towards the fair sex, stepped forward and, pre-
senting his visiting card, bankbook and genealogical tree,
solicited the hand of the hapless young lady, requesting
her to name the day, and was accepted on the spot. Every
lady in the audience was presented with a tasteful souve-
nir of the occasion in the shape of a skull and crossbones
brooch, a timely and generous act which evoked a fresh
outburst of emotion: and when the gallant young Oxonian
(the bearer, by the way, of one of the most timehonoured