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If a real rush of business were to come to Clones I would tremble for the consequences, for it is not used to it. I was quartered in the most loyal corner of all the loyal places in Clones. Every wall on which my eyes rested proclaimed that fact. Here was framed all the mysterious symbols of Orangeism, which are very like the mysterious symbols of masonry to ignorant eyes.
When his money was stolen, there seemed nothing to do, as he said to Michael Clones, but to become a footpad or a pirate. Then the stormy doors of the navy had opened wide to him; and as many a man is tempted into folly or crime by tempestuous nature, so he, forlorn, spiritually unkempt, but physically and mentally well-composed, in a spirit of bravado, flung himself into the bowels of the fleet.
Clones is a little town on a hill, with a history that stretches back into the dim ages.
As Clones sits upon a hill, and the fort sits on the highest part, it commands an extensive view. There is also an ancient cross in the market square, once elaborately carved in relief, but the figures are worn indistinct. There are the remains of an old castle built in among the modern walls and hidden out of sight. There are stories of an underground passage between the abbey and the castle.
Te Deum was chanted in the Confederate Capital; penitential psalms were sung in the Northern fortress. "The Lord of Hosts," wrote Monroe, "had rubbed shame on our faces, till once we are humbled;" O'Neil emblazoned the cross and keys on his banner with the Red Hand of Ulster, and openly resumed the title originally chosen by his adherents at Clones, "the Catholic Army."
"Sheila Sheila!" said Dyck Calhoun to himself where he stood. The journey to Dublin was made by the Calhouns, their two guests, and Michael Clones, without incident of note. Arrived there, Miles Calhoun gave himself to examination by Government officials and to assisting the designs of the Peep-o'-Day Boys; and indeed he was present at the formation of the first Orange Lodge.
In fact, they came on this underground way when levelling the market space, but did not explore it. There is such a romance about mystery that it is as well, I suppose, not to let too much daylight shine in upon it. Clones, with its abbey, was burned by De Lacy in the thirteenth century, which was, perhaps, its last burning.
I was glad on the evening on which I climbed to the top of the fort to find little gardens lying up the slope at the back of the poorer houses. Clones is better off in this respect by being behind the age. In Antrim and Down, in too many instances, the farmers have taken the cotter's gardens into their fields.
Tighernach, recorded, in one of those inscriptions as the person at whose cost, or by whose permission, the outer ornamental case was made, was, according to the Annals of the Pour Masters, Abbot of Clones, and died in the year 1353.
Walked about a little in Armagh between the trains, saw that there were many fine churches and other nice buildings from the outside view of them, and passed on to Clones. The land as seen from the railway is good in some places, poor in others, but in all parts plenty of houses not fit to be human habitations are to be seen.
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