that for the first, second, or bass voice, or upon the
concerted part for the three voices at the end of each verse.

Another fact is worthy of mention. Since meeting Mr. McCann I have often
noticed in Irish papers that when the air, as adapted by him, was played
at national gatherings, it was often given by the name of Scott's song
and Mazzinghi's composition. And when Mr. Parnell was in the height of
his popularity and attended demonstrations in Ireland, the air used to
be played as being applicable to the Irish leader, and given in some
papers as "Hail to the Chief," while others described the same air as
"O'Donnell Aboo!"

But if we cannot claim as an original Irish air McCann's song as it is
now sung, the same critical examination which brings out its resemblance
to Mazzinghi's music, also shows that the Italian composer most probably
got his inspiration from the music of the Irish or Scottish Gaels, as
being most suitable for his theme. So that, perhaps, we may take the
same pride in the present air as our island mother might in some of her
children who had been on the _shaughraun_ for a time, but had again come
back to the "old sod."

It may be that even before the era of Irish independence some inspired
poet may write, to some old or new Irish melody, a song which, by its
transcendent merits, may spring at once into the first place. But until
that happens, or till "we've made our isle a nation free and grand" I
think we may very well rest content with "God Save Ireland."

It has been suggested to me that it might form an interesting portion of
these recollections if I were to give some account of how we came to
start the "Emerald Minstrels," and what we did while that company was in
existence. I may say without hesitation that we got our inspiration from
the teaching of Young Ireland and the "Spirit of the Nation." We called
our entertainment "Terence's Fireside; or The Irish Peasant at Home."

We had most of us been boys in the old Copperas Hill school, then in the
Young Men's Guild connected with the church, and some of us members of
the choir. At the Guild meetings on Sunday nights, the chaplain, Father
Nugent, an Irishman, but, like most of ourselves, born out of his own
country, used to delight in teaching us elocution, and encouraging us to
write essays, besides putting other means of culture in our way.

After a time he founded an educational establishment, the Catholic
Institute, where, when he lef