Lord Clifden's b.c. Surplice, by Touchstone.......... 1 Mr. Bowe's b.c.

I may not come To catch, on Clifden's heights, the summer gale; I may not come to taste the Avon wave; Or, with mine eye intent on Redcliffe tow'rs, To muse in tears on that mysterious youth, Cruelly slighted, who, in evil hour, Shap'd his advent'rous course to London walls!

Only last summer, at Ballinahinch in Connemara, the present writer was told by an old man that he remembered being sent by his master on a message to Clifden, the nearest town, and seeing the people crawling along the road, and that, returning the same way a few hours later, many of the same people were lying dead under the walls or upon the grass at the roadside.

The City, and our supreme governors, the mob, are very angry that there is a troop of French players at Clifden.

AT CLIFDEN, IRELAND PREFACE

[Illustration: A REMARKABLE PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN OUTSIDE OF THE CLIFDEN STATION

AT CLIFDEN, IRELAND

Meantime he gave me a letter to a bachelor friend of his at Clifden.