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Updated: May 19, 2025
Dirty Dan O'Leary had volunteered, had been mesmerized after a struggle, and, upon being told that he was Dick Whittington's cat, had proceeded to cut some feline capers that would have tickled the sensibilities of a totem-pole. Mr.
O'Leary; and, as he is destined to occupy some place in the history of these Confessions, I may, perhaps, be permitted to do so at more length than his intrinsic merit at first sight might appear to warrant. Mr.
Yeats, in spite of his secession from politics, loves the old passionate Ireland, is clear from the poem called September, 1913, with its refrain: Romantic Ireland's dead and gone And with O'Leary in the grave. And to this Mr. Yeats has since added a significant note: "Romantic Ireland's dead and gone" sounds old-fashioned now. It seemed true in 1913, but I did not foresee 1916.
Mat Bailey had reported that nothing had been heard of the highwaymen "from that day to this." But John Keeler's work had not been done in vain. O'Leary of You Bet, the Nevada City jail-bird, had been duly impressed with the handsome reward offered for the apprehension of the murderers. So every time he met an old acquaintance he talked about the murder of Will Cummins.
The newspaper men left this conference heartened by the reply he had made to O'Leary and with the firm conviction that the Democratic candidate was just "playing" with Hughes and would pounce upon him at the psychological moment.
Now the metamorphosis was reversed: need it be wondered if I were sad? So completely was I absorbed in my thoughts upon this matter, that I had not perceived the entrance of O'Leary and Trevanion, who, unaware of my being in the apartment, as I was stretched upon a sofa in a dark corner, drew their chairs towards the fire and began chatting. "Do you know, Mr.
Ram's recovery, and accordingly seized the opportunity to march on with O'Leary, who turned the corner of the Rue Rivoli, under a shower of "meurtriers" and "scelerats" from the mob, that fell fortunately most unconsciously upon his ears. The possibility of figuring in such a procession contributed much to the force of Trevanion's reasonings, and I resolved to leave Paris at once.
A. O'Leary, Jefferson Medical College, of Philadelphia, says: "The best things in the healing art have been done by those who never had a diploma the first Caesarian section, lithotomy, the use of cinchona, of ether as an anaesthetic, the treatment of the air passages by inhalation, the water cure and medicated baths, electricity as a healing agent, and magnetism, faith cure, mind cure, etc."
Bingham's apartments, we found that she had just left home to wait upon Mrs. O'Leary, and consequently, that Miss Bingham was alone. Trevanion, therefore, having wished me a safe deliverance through my trying mission, shook my hand warmly, and departed. I stood for some minutes irresolutely, with my hand upon the lock of the door.
"Faites votre jeu, Messieurs," said the croupier. "Wait a bit till I change this," said Mr. O'Leary, producing an English sovereign; the action interpreted his wishes, and the money was converted into coupons de jeu. I now discovered one great cause of the mirth of the bystanders, at least the English portion of them. Mr.
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