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Updated: May 19, 2025
With the rich brogue of Ireland rolling from his tongue, he avowed himself an American. He declared that he was a better American than many present, as he was an American from choice, and they by necessity. Terrence was an orator, and with his ready wit, soon had the audience roaring and wild with enthusiasm.
He really writes some remarkable verse... when he does write; but he prefers to dream and live in the jungle with Terrence and Aaron. He was tutoring immigrant Jews in San Francisco, when Terrence and Aaron rescued him, or captured him, I don't know which.
And their father and mother were Terrence and Biddy of Meringe. And Jerry is our Sing Song Silly. And this dog sings. And he has a crinkled ear. And his name is Michael." "Impossible," said Harley. "It is when the impossible comes true that life proves worth while," she retorted. "And this is one of those worth-whiles of impossibles. I know it."
Home industries having been fostered by the war, American manufactures promised a bright future. Sukey was for many years a prominent minister of the Gospel in Ohio. Terrence studied law and became a leading member of the Philadelphia bar. Mariana is now no more. Time and disaster have swept it from the peninsula, and to-day it remains only in the memory of the oldest inhabitants.
The captain, in his excitement, had drawn a pistol and was cocking it. Terrence at this moment escaped. With a yell, the old gentleman dropped the candle, which lay on the floor, the thin blaze ascending upward and dimly lighting the scene. At his yell, there suddenly rushed into the cellar half a dozen stout men, armed with guns and pistols, and the supposed burglars were arrested.
Dick was as robustly controversial as usual, locking horns with Aaron Hancock on Bergson, attacking the latter's metaphysics in sharp realistic fashion. "Your Bergson is a charlatan philosopher, Aaron," Dick concluded. "He has the same old medicine-man's bag of metaphysical tricks, all decked out and frilled with the latest ascertained facts of science." "'Tis true," Terrence agreed.
"Now to the rest of the plan." Lord Kildee was none other than the rollicking Irish student Terrence Malone. In a few moments, he had divested the captain of his coat, trousers and vest, which, with his chapeau, he rolled up in a neat bundle and hurried away to his friend Fernando Stevens.
He found Lieutenant Matson somewhat of a sport, and soon interested him in stories of duck shooting, all of which were inventions of his own ingenious brain. Miss Morgianna praised the wild ducks of Maryland and thought their flesh equal to English Capons. The lieutenant, in his gallantry, vowed she should have half a dozen brace of fowls before he left, and Terrence volunteered to assist him.
Like many farm-house cellars, there was a trap door opening on the outside. To this cellar door they made their way. Terrence, who was accustomed to such affairs, had provided himself with a lantern, which he was to light when they entered the cellar. They descended the steps and had scarcely reached the floor, when footsteps were heard descending a flight of steps from the inside of the house.
Consider yourself acquainted. And, oh, if you encounter our sages more intimately, a word of warning, especially if the encounter be in the stag room: Dar Hyal is a total abstainer; Theodore Malken can get poetically drunk, and usually does, on one cocktail; Aaron Hancock is an expert wine-bibber; and Terrence McFane, knowing little of one drink from another, and caring less, can put ninety-nine men out of a hundred under the table and go right on lucidly expounding epicurean anarchy."
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