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The poems of S., though well known in courtly circles, were not pub. during his life; 40 of them appeared in Tottel's Miscellany in 1557. He also paraphrased part of Ecclesiastes and a few of the Psalms. The Geraldine of his sonnets was Elizabeth Fitzgerald, dau. of the Earl of Kildare, then a lonely child at Court, her f. being imprisoned in the Tower.

The envelope was unstamped, and the scrawl was unfamiliar to Maurice. On opening it he was surprised to find a hurriedly written note from Fitzgerald. In all probability it had been brought by the midnight courier on his return from the duchy. "In God's name, Maurice, why do you linger? To-morrow morning those consols must be here or they will be useless. Hasten; you know what it means to me.

The great house resolved to frighten England again into a conviction of its helplessness; and a rising of Lord Thomas Fitzgerald in 1534 followed the usual fashion of Irish revolts.

Jeb Stuart led to it the lovely Louisianian. Mrs. Fitzgerald drew off her gloves and gave them to General Magruder to hold, relinquished her fan to Mr. Jules de Saint Martin, her bouquet to Mr. Francis Lawley of the London Times, and swept her white hand across the strings. She was a mistress of the harp, and she sang to it in a rich, throbbingly sweet voice, song after song as they were demanded.

I beg your pardon, but would you mind taking an end of this darned crate?" "Not at all." Fitzgerald was beginning to enjoy himself. "Where do you want it?" "In here," indicating the baggage-room. "Thanks. Now, if there's anything I can do to help you in return, let her go." "Is there a house hereabouts called the top o' the hill?" "Come over here," said the agent.

Fitzgerald, joined by O'Connor, proceeded to swear-in all such of the inhabitants of the pale as would unite against England; promising protection if they would consent, but inflicting fire and sword wherever he met refusal. The unfortunate people, warned by experience that no service was worse requited in Ireland than loyalty, had no spirit to resist.

The Chairman, Richard G. Adams, thought Mr. Fitzgerald's suggestion a good one. So it was, from the landlord's point of view; it being their policy to turn attention away from themselves and their shortcomings, and make the Board of Works the scapegoat of all their sins. Mr. Fitzgerald proceeded: the farmers, he said, were banking their money.

"Oh, you might do worse, you know. With us you'd only drink and play cards, and perhaps hear a little strong language now and again. But what's that to slander, and calumny, and bearing false witness against one's neighbour?" and so saying he ended that interview not in a manner to ingratiate himself with his relative, Miss Letty Fitzgerald.

As they entered Mr. Frettlby rose from a chair near the window. He appeared to have been reading, for he held a book in his hand. "What! Fitzgerald," he exclaimed, in a hearty tone, as he held out his hand; "I am glad to see you." "I let you know I am living, don't I?" replied Brian, his face flushing as he reluctantly took the proffered hand.

M. Ferraud did not smoke, but he dissipated to the extent of drinking three small cups of coffee after dinner. "You are right," he acknowledged there had been a slight dispute relative to the methods of roasting the berry "Europe does not roast its coffee, it burns it. The aroma, the bouquet! I am beaten." "So am I," Fitzgerald reflected sadly, snatching a vision of the girl's animated face.