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In the roadway at the head of the street a slab was set to the memory of Wolfe Tone and he remembered having been present with his father at its laying. He remembered with bitterness that scene of tawdry tribute. There were four French delegates in a brake and one, a plump smiling young man, held, wedged on a stick, a card on which were printed the words: VIVE L'IRLANDE!
Beneath him the sea was a sparkling plain. The Gentleman was kneeling beside his dead. He closed her eyes, and kissed the cold muzzle. "Adieu, ma mie," he whispered. "L'Irlande n'oubliera jamais." Then he put on his hat, and braved the sunshine. "Take my arm, Little Chap." So the two faced the hill. A question bubbled to the lad's lips. At last it blurted out. "How did they catch you, sir?"
The legend at large was to be: L'independence de l'Irlande Liberte de Conscience; a motto which certainly told the whole story. The First Consul also suggested the formation of an Irish Committee at Paris, and the preparation of statements of Irish grievances for the Moniteur, and the semi-official papers.
The legend at large was to be: L'independence de l'Irlande Liberte de Conscience; a motto which certainly told the whole story. The First Consul also suggested the formation of an Irish Committee at Paris, and the preparation of statements of Irish grievances for the Moniteur, and the semi-official papers.
Some one has said, "L'Irlande est une maladie incurable mais jamais mortelle"; and, if she can survive the present regime, no one will doubt the truth of the saying. In May, June and July, 1914, within three months of the war, every donkey in London was cutting, or trying to cut us, for wishing to settle this very same Irish question.
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