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Updated: May 24, 2025
"I twig something there," he whispered. "What will you bet me, D'Arcy, that Mr Vernon doesn't splice that same young lady, now? It's a regular case, depend on it. I thought there was something going on, he's been so constantly on shore since we came into harbour. He's a right good fellow, and I wish him joy."
Everything valuable had, however, been carried away, the more cumbrous articles alone remaining. Mr Vernon looked round with deep anxiety depicted on his countenance. "Yes, D'Arcy, this is indeed the Ariadne. I know her well," he whispered. "I myself put up that book-case, and screwed in those hooks for a cot in the state-cabin. Oh! what can their fate be? I must ascertain it without delay."
Pen something. Pendennis? My memory is getting. Pen ...? Of course it's years ago. Noise of the trams probably. Well, if he couldn't remember the dayfather's name that he sees every day. Bartell d'Arcy was the tenor, just coming out then. Seeing her home after practice. Conceited fellow with his waxedup moustache. Gave her that song Winds that blow from the south.
Mackenzie, "some of the offices, sinecures, and pensions of the Government were divided as follows: No. 1. D'ARCY BOULTON, senior, a retired pensioner, £500 sterling. 2. HENRY, son to No. 1, Attorney-General and Bank Solicitor, £2400. 3. D'ARCY, son to No. 1, Auditor-General, Master in Chancery, Police Justice, etc. Income unknown. 4.
Watts-Dunton would give the memoir of his great friend to the world, but there is such a thing as knowing a man too well to be his biographer. It is, however, an open secret that a vivid sketch of Rossetti's personality has been given to the world in Mr. Watts-Dunton's well-known romance Aylwin, where the artist D'Arcy is drawn from Rossetti.
D'Arcy always spoke of Sinfi in this way. She seems to have done something of a peculiarly noble kind for him and for me too, but what it is I have tried in vain to discover. 'And a few days after this we started for Wales.
And if, as the spectators said, his eyes haunted them about the room, what ghosts must they not have summoned to haunt Mr. Ford's client as he gazed? "Mais c'est Monsieur D'Arcy!" screamed the French governess. And Amabel said, "It's Bogy; but he's got no leaves." Lady Adelaide was quite composed.
At this moment, M. d'Arcy, who had lost his pupil in the melée, and who was seeking for him with a detachment of light horse, came up, just as, in spite of their courage, the prince and his companion were about to be killed or taken. Both were without wound, although the prince had received four bullets in his clothes.
It was replaced by song, "Rule Britannia"; then, as the space to the shore widened, "Auld Lang Syne"; and finally, when the figures lining the quay were growing invisible in the darkness, those on board heard thousands of Loyalists fervently singing "God save the King." Dr. D'Arcy, now Primate of All Ireland. The Times, September 30th, 1912.
There was a brilliant Irishman, Thomas D'Arcy McGee, poet, historian and orator, who had been in his rash youth obliged to fly from Ireland to the United States on account of his connection with the rebellious party known as Young Ireland during the troubles of 1848.
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