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Updated: May 27, 2025
A solid stone, a bed-rock from the cradle of the idol-mountain it was contributed by nature to the memory of one of its noblemen, "Captain William Owen O'Neill," who crowned his life with immortality, suffering a soldier's death.
"Oh, I wish it had b'en, Miss Pray," gasped poor Wesley, with ill-timed sympathy; "I'm so much more used to bein' wet 'n you be." It was doubtful toward which Miss Pray was waxing most warm the recusant Belle O'Neill, or the stupid, open-mouthed Wesley when I stepped in at this juncture and entreated her with the Kobbes' invitation.
In the night O'Neill learned that no help was coming from the United States' side, while news reached him that a force of 5,000 Canadian and British regulars was advancing on Fort Erie. Accordingly, at 2 a.m. on June 3, he surrendered to the United States forces with 400 of his men, who were detained for a few days on the U.S.S. Michigan and then let go.
Conformably with his determination, he went to his quarters, where, after a fortnight, he prepared his resignation, and sent it to headquarters. In the interim, the Colonel sent one day to know if he would drill the regiment. O'Neill sent back to know if it was an order or a request; on being assured it was the latter, he complied.
Joan's quick stare of reproach brought the color to his face. "I I beg your pardon, Mr. O'Neill," he blurted. "He said he said he must have quiet." "It's all right," said Kenny ruefully. "Quite all right. You've been up?" he added quietly. Don dug his toe into the floor and a hot flush suffused his forehead.
"That is exactly like Polly O'Neill," she announced indignantly, "here she has done something she ought not to do without thinking, like spending that money without trying to find its owner, and now because she is so sorry she goes ahead and makes things worse for everybody instead of better." Mollie slid off her own hemlock bed and crossing the tent sat down by Betty.
We are always the last to leave the field. "We need and can use to the greatest advantage all kinds of supplies, and shall be glad to receive them. Money is practically useless here as there is no place to buy what we need." Dr. J. Wilkes O'Neill, of Philadelphia, surgeon of the First Regiment, is here in charge of the Philadelphia division of the Red Cross Society.
"All those present were aghast at what they heard, and the whispered comments I could hear around me showed me that public opinion, at least, did not uphold Mr. Murray Brooks' daring accusation against his brother. "But John O'Neill had not finished his evidence, and Mr. Walter Hibbert had a bit of sensation still up his sleeve. He had, namely, produced a paper, the will proved by Mr.
He stretched out one long slender hand in a sudden gesture of urgency. His face, upon the moment, recovered its wonted vivacity. "Go to her," he said. "Go to her, O'Neill; you are young and long- legged; you have the face of one to whom adventures are due. She will receive you. Speak to her; tell her tell her of this gloomy room and its booming echoes and the little white bed in the middle of it.
The Norman lords had meanwhile assembled and organized their retainers, so that there were now three armies in Ireland: the garrison of the Scottish settlers under Monroe, strongly in sympathy with the Puritans; the tribal army under Owen Roe O'Neill; and the army of the Norman lords.
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