heir
names and those of their partners in marriage inscribed upon the marble.
It was of this earl that Oliver said: "Had there been an Earl of Cork in
every province, there had been no rebellion in Ireland." Several Earls
of Desmond are also buried here, including the founder of the church,
and under a monumental effigy in one of the transepts lies the wonderful
old Countess of Desmond, who having danced in her youth with Richard
III. lived through the Tudor dynasty "to the age of a hundred and ten,"
and, as the old distich tells us, "died by a fall from a cherry-tree
then."

In the churchyard is a hillock, bare of grass, about a tomb. There lies
buried, according to tradition, a public functionary who attested a
statement by exclaiming, "If I speak falsely, may grass never grow on my
grave." One of his descendants is doubtless now an M.P. Mr. Cameron had
kindly written from Cork to the officer in charge of the constabulary
here asking him to get me a good car for Lismore. So Father Keller very
kindly walked with me through the town to the "Devonshire Arms," a very
neat and considerable hotel, in quest of him. On the way he pointed out
to me what remains of a house which is supposed to have served as the
headquarters of Cromwell while he was here, and a small chapel also in
which the Protector worshipped after his sort. Off the main street is a
lane called Windmill Lane, where probably stood the windmill from which
in 1580 a Franciscan friar, Father David O'Neilan, was hung by the feet
and shot to death by the soldiers of Elizabeth because he refused to
acknowledge the spiritual supremacy of the Queen. He had been dragged
through the main street at the tail of a horse to the place of
execution. His name is one of many names of confessors of that time
about to be submitted at Rome for canonisation. We could not find the
officer I sought at the hotel, but Father Keller took me to a livery-man
in the main street, who very promptly got out a car with "his best
horse," and a jarvey who would "surely take me over to Lismore inside of
two hours and a half." He was as good as his master's word, and a
delightful drive it was, following the course of Spenser's river, the
Awniduffe, "which by the Englishman is called Blackwater." Nobody now
calls it anything else. The view of Youghal Harbour, as we made a great
circuit by the bridge on leaving the town, was exceedingly fine. Lying
as it does within easy reach of Cork, this might b