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"Full of vigor and song and the breath of the sea." St. James Gazette. "A real tale of the sea which makes one feel the whiff of the wind and taste the salt of the flying spray such is Mr. J.B. Connolly's new book, 'The Seiners. ... Certainly there is not a lover of the sea, man or woman, who will fail to be delighted with this breezy, stirring tale." London Daily Telegraph.
But the pony did no wrong, and you've hurted him!" "Bad again!" groaned Terry; "and I felt so good. You are not a kind man," she added, looking at him with big tears in her blue eyes. "I'm not going to ask you to do anything for me. Only, if you would just tell me where Connolly's farm is perhaps I can get there if the fog would only go. I can walk Jocko there, and Connolly will take care of him."
They are told by the wharf-rat in dialect with a casual reportorial air which is tolerably convincing, and it is clear that they are based on a background of first-hand experience. Mr. Connolly's hand is not entirely subdued to the medium in which he has chosen to work, but the result is a certain monotony of interest. These twelve portraits which Mr.
That night I rode into the Greenwood clearing on Dunlap's Creek without having seen any Indians along the way. A night at the Greenwood cabin and I resumed my journey to Salem on the Roanoke. Near this hamlet lived Colonel Andrew Lewis, to whom I was to report before carrying or forwarding Doctor Connolly's despatches to Governor Dunmore.
It was the shifting of the weight that seemed to bring home to the grey filly the true facts of the case, and with the discovery she shot straight up into the air as if she had been fired from a mortar. The rope whistled through Johnny Connolly's fingers, and the point of the filly's shoulder laid him out on the ground with the precision of a prize-fighter.
"Why the misfortunate crathurs a daughter of her father's, ould Mick Duignan, of Tavenimore." "An' what about her, Phehm! What happened her?" "Faix, ma'am, a bit of a mistake she met wid; but, anyhow, ould Harry Connolly's to stand in the chapel nine Sundays, an' to make three Stations to Lough Dergh for it. Bedad, they say it's as purty a crathur as you'd see in a day's thravellin'."
It was at the close of a long day's ride over grassless, sun-smitten country, that he came in sight of Chinkie's Flat, and the welcome green of the she-oaks fringing Connolly's Creek and soughing to the wind. The quietness and verdancy of the creek pleased him, and he resolved to have a long, long spell, and try and get rid of the fever which had again attacked him and made his life a misery.
I tried to sit on them all, but I couldn't, for they were too wide. Then I spied the donkey. There was no saddle for him, so I took him as he was. And how did you like Connolly's farm, Terry? And is this Connolly?" "Oh dear no, Turly! This is Mr. Reilly. Jocko and I were lost in the fog, and we didn't get at all near Connolly's. And Mr. Reilly found us and got me some eggs.
Up to this Terry had been allowing the highway to carry her anywhere it pleased, but now at last she came to four cross-roads, all seeming to lead into fogland, and she stopped short. "Now I wonder where is Connolly's farm!" she said; but the pony only tossed his head and shook his ears, and was not able to help her.
The battery at Chinkie's Flat stood apart from the "township" on a little rise overlooking the yellow sands of Connolly's Creek, from whence it derived its water supply when there happened to be any water in that part of the creek.
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