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O'Grady, "fetch Mary Ellen as quick as you can." "Is it Mary Ellen?" "It is. Get her at once, and don't argue." "But sure Mary Ellen's not the grandniece of any General." "She's the only grandniece we can possibly get on such short notice," said Dr. O'Grady. "I don't know," said Sergeant Colgan, "will Mr. Gallagher be too well pleased. Mary Ellen's a cousin of his own."
"A successful photograph, I hope, gentlemen," he said. "The people of Bolivia will be interested to see it. It will adorn the first volume of the General's life." "There!" said Dr. O'Grady to Sergeant Colgan. "That comes of not speaking out promptly. The photograph is taken now and whatever remark it was that you or Moriarty made will be entirely wasted."
Their legends, full of Irish poetry and tenderness, and not without touches here and there of genuine Irish humour, lie buried now, to all save antiquaries, in the folios of the Bollandists and Colgan: but the memory of their virtue and beneficence, as well as of their miracles, shadowy and distorted by the lapse of centuries, is rooted in the heart and brain of the Irish peasantry; and who shall say altogether for evil?
The children of the town, attracted by some new excitement, had left her, and in spite of Sergeant Colgan, were pushing their way towards Lord Alfred. Dr. O'Grady looked round him and frowned at the people. Then he took Lord Alfred by the arm and led him away to a corner of the square near the police barrack where there were very few people. "Now," he said, "we can talk in peace.
The MS., dedicated to O'Gara, is authenticated by the superiors of the convent; from that original two editions have recently been printed in both languages. These annals extend to the year 1616, the time of the compilers. Originally they bore the title of "Annals of the Kingdom of Ireland," but Colgan having quoted them as "The Annals of the Four Masters," that name remains ever since.
"Surely if you are able to ask people to give you alms for the glory of God, you are able to give a blessing." "Bodderation! are ye going to give me sixpence?" "No! here's a shilling for you! Take it and go in peace." "There's no pace for me," said Johanna Colgan, taking the money. "What did the monstrous female say to me?
Father Ward died in the early part of the undertaking, but Father Colgan spent twenty years in prosecuting the original design, so far as concerned our ecclesiastical biography.
Nevertheless, the critics of our days, finding nothing impossible to or unworthy of God in the large collection of Colgan and other Irish antiquarians, express their surprise at their exclusion from that of Bollandus. No one at least will refuse to concede that, true or not, the facts related in those lives are always provocative of piety and redolent of faith.
In Latin, the great tomes of O'Sullivan, Usher, Colgan, Wadding, and White, were written volumes which remain as so many monuments of the learning and industry of that age.
How far this tradition and the implied belief in Declan's priority and independent mission are derived from circulation of the "Life" throughout Munster in the last few centuries it is difficult to gauge, but the tradition seems to have flourished as vigorously in the days of Colgan as it does to-day.
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