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Updated: May 24, 2025
"Good-mornin', Miss Norah," we will suppose him to say, when meeting a good-looking arch girl of his acquaintance. "Good-morrow, Mr. O'Shaughnessy. I hope you're well, sir." "Indeed I am, at present, in superlatively ecclesiastical health, Miss Norah. I hope all your family are well?" "All very well, I thank you, sir, barrin' myself." "An' pray what's the matther wid you, Miss Norah?
It is perfectly certain that had Jane's family seen her then and been told that she was doing this remarkable thing for a woman she had never seen before that day, named Mary O'Shaughnessy, and also for a certain red-haired person of whom it had never heard, it would have considered Jane quite irrational.
My pale and haggard face, thus suddenly presented, having suggested to the worthy major the impression of a supernatural visitor, a hearty burst of laughter, which I could not resist, was my only answer; and the next moment O'Shaughnessy was wrenching my hand in a grasp like a steel vice.
She said the person who looked at the finger could then see if there was any poison. So the man placed his finger on the chopping-block and before he could bat his eye she had chopped off the black, swollen finger. It was so sudden and unexpected that there seemed to be no pain. Then Mrs. O'Shaughnessy showed him the green streak already starting up his arm.
"No, no, Beaufort, your reputation is very far removed from such a stain," said Conyers. O'Shaughnessy was perfectly speechless. He looked from one to the other, as though some unexplained mystery still remained, and only seemed restored to any sense of consciousness as Baker said, "I can feel no pulse at his wrist, his heart, too, does not beat."
Pixie O'Shaughnessy, having no adornment to do for herself, acted as lady's-maid to her bedroom, with much satisfaction to her mistresses, and credit to herself.
But it was not the O'Shaughnessy custom to break news gently, or in a circuitous fashion, and the moment Sylvia entered the doorway, Bridgie flew at her with outstretched arms, crying incoherently, and with sublime disregard of grammar "Oh, Sylvia, Sylvia, I'm engaged! That's him! It's been a mistake all the time, and we are going to be married at once. We are all going to be married!
"Yes," said Maurice, "for the benefit of self and fellows, let us hear the stratagem!" "The way of it was this," resumed O'Shaughnessy. "My father, who for reasons registered in the King's Bench spent a great many years of his life in that part of Ireland geographically known as lying west of the law, was obliged, for certain reasons of family, to come up to Dublin.
So did John Farrell, the author of the truly remarkable "Jubilee Ode" of 1897 and of a collection of poems which include the well known "How He Died." And so, long before, had the non-Catholic Irishman, Edward O'Shaughnessy, who went to Australia as a convict, but who laughed in lockstep and made music with his chains.
You have been very good to me, and I'm afraid I have been rather horrid sometimes. I thought of it when I was away, and determined to make a fresh start if you would forgive me this time. We are the only two left, and we ought to love each other." "I am sure I am very much attached to you, my dear. I was saying so to Miss O'Shaughnessy only to-day.
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