The Finishing Of The Rounded Top Of
This Tower Was Done By An Apprentice Who Was Likely To Rival His Great
Master.
He, in a sudden fit of jealousy, before it was quite finished
pulled away the scaffolding and the too clever apprentice was killed.
There is a ruined abbey adjoining the round tower. It is roofless and
open, yet still an iron gate opens from one part to another. Here in
this abbey has been the burying-place of many of the sept of the
Fitzgeralds, and it was interesting to pass from tablet to tablet and
read of the greatness that had returned to dust. The most remarkable
dust which moulders here is the celebrated George Robert Fitzgerald, a
man who was handsome, well educated, who had spent much of his time at
the French Court. In Ireland he felt himself as absolute as King Louis
(le petit grand). In pursuance of a private feud he arrested his enemy,
and with a slight color of law murdered him. The act was too glaring, he
was tried and to his great surprise hung. The rope broke twice, and the
country people believe that the breaking of the rope gave him a right to
a pardon. They tell me that the sheriff, a personal enemy, in spite of
the signs and tokens of the breaking ropes, hung him while he had a
reprieve in his pocket. There is a kind of Rob Royish flavor about the
memory of this man in the country side.
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