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"There is no greater instance of personal bravery, or gallantry equal to any emergency, than that related by Archbishop Purcell, of Cincinnati, in his account of O'Neill's encounter with Morgan, the famous guerilla; and as many of our readers have not read the partial account given in Mr.
When Elizabeth learned what had happened, she made up her mind that it would be best to concede O'Neill's demands, and induce him to visit England, while Sussex was actually trying to drive a bargain for his murder.
He was now safe in the dark snug of O'Neill's shop, and filling up the little window that looked into the bar with his inflamed face, the colour of dark wine or dark meat, he called out: "Here, Pat, give us a g.p.. like a good fellow." The curate brought him a glass of plain porter. The man drank it at a gulp and asked for a caraway seed.
If it's your own business you're coming on, he knows you'll find him; and if it's his business, then begorra let him find you!" Which quite reminded me of what the Irish elf says to the English elf in Moira O'Neill's fairy story: "A waste of time? Why, you've come to a country where there's no such thing as a waste of time. We have no value for time here.
On this particular Saturday of ninety-seven, the shopping multitude was already pouring from the Scylla of Simpson, Crawford & Simpson's on Sixth Avenue and its Charybdis of the Big Store past the jungles of Altman's, Ehrich's and O'Neill's to dash feebly upon the buttressed corner of Macy's, and then die away in refluent, diverted waves, lost in the fastnesses of McCreery's and Wanamaker's, far down Broadway.
And past Nichols' the undertaker. At eleven it is. Time enough. Daresay Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. Singing with his eyes shut. Corny. Met her once in the park. In the dark. What a lark. Police tout. Her name and address she then told with my tooraloom tooraloom tay. O, surely he bagged it. Bury him cheap in a whatyoumaycall. With my tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom.
It was also Sylvia's suggestion that led the little party of friends straight to Mrs. O'Neill's closed cottage. The doors and windows in front of the house were sealed, but Betty found the door of the old kitchen halfway open. And there inside on her mother's lounge lay Polly! She seemed to be almost asleep when the girls entered, but awakened immediately and in a wholly different frame of mind.
The rank and file of our people are true to the spirit that fired the O'Neill's and the Geraldines of old; and this being the case, the freedom of Ireland is secured beyond any possible contingency England is brought to bay at home and abroad.
"We have thus briefly sketched the principal incidents of General O'Neill's career, and, in conclusion, may venture to say that a more stainless, or meritorious, could scarcely be presented to the public. His whole history incontrovertibly illustrates as noble, determined and daring a character as ever led a brave but enslaved people to victory.
Captain O'Neill had lived only until his twin daughters were eight years old and since then the girls and their mother had kept up their small home together. "You are dead tired and Polly is cross as two sticks and poor Mollie does not know what to do with you. Would you rather I should go away? I only came to tell you something wonderful," Betty whispered in Mrs. O'Neill's ear.
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