Thomas Francis O'Brien

“ O’Brien appears to have owed his preservation to the humanity and intrepidity of Lieutenant Tatham and a boat’s crew belonging to the Lion hired armed cutter, by whom he was rescued, together with the few men under him, only three minutes before his stone-ship went to the bottom.
Mr. O’Brien next joined the Amphion 32,and served in that frigate; under Captains Richard Henry A. Bennett [2] , Alexander Frazer, and Thomas Masterman Hardy, until the renewal of hostilities with France, in 1803. He was then removed to the Hussar 38, Captain Philip Wilkinson (now Vice-Admiral Stephens) ”

“ Wexford, in September 1792, was son of Michael Burke O'Brien, a corporation officer, with the title of deputy sovereign of New Ross, who died in 1826. His mother, Dorothy, was daughter of Thomas Kough. The father, who came originally from Clare, was descended, although himself a protestant, from a Roman catholic branch of the great O'Brien family, which had been deprived of its property by the penal laws; he was well educated, but more convivial than provident. The son was educated at the endowed school of New Ross, and entered Trinity College, Dublin, as a pensioner in November 1810. ”

“ At that time the direct ancestor of our lucky actor was a member of that ancient family of those O'Briens, who generally contrived to take opposite sides in every quarrel. William O'Brien's grandfather was faithful to the cause of James II., and on the capitulation of Limerick, made his way to France, where he served in the Irish brigade, under O'Brien, Viscount Clare. That brigade, many of whose members "took to the road" in France, in order to support themselves, turned out first-rate fencing-masters, who lived by teaching. ”

“ Over in the velvet depths of the sunken tennis courts, the fireflies flashed their lanterns incessantly. Somewhere in the distance a guitar sounded now and again, and a woman's voice rose and fell softly. It was very peaceful and pleasant, and Imrie, thinking of the hot city and the morrow, drew a deep sigh. No power on earth could prevent him from going back—but he did not pretend to think that he wanted to go.
"Don't you ever wonder what those crickets are saying?" asked Judith, conscious instinctively that her companion's eyes still burned with the same light. "Just listen to them." ”

“ But it's no use. I can't. Even my work's no help. You're between me and it all the time. I hoped it would bring me nearer to you. But something—someone—it simply can't go on. I can't stand it. Either you marry me—or we've got to separate for good. I..."
"Arnold—what nonsense!" cried Judith. "Why..." As she lifted her eyes and felt his hot gaze upon her, she caught her breath and was silent. Neither spoke for what seemed hours, the only sound the ticking of the great clock in the hall. Then, with a suddenness that stunned, Imrie's strong arms were around her. ”

“ Tomé was dealing out tobacco when we reached his store. His wife and baby, an Irish-Penrhyn baby, were now eating a can of salmon and Nabisco wafers.
“Who is this gentleman, Mr. Eustace?” I asked, pointing to Momuni.
“He’s an omadhaun, a nuisance, that he is, sure,” said Tomé. “He’s a Mormon deacon that peddles bread an’ buys his flour from some one else because I won’t trust him. He’s the only Mormon in this blessed 38island. Every last soul is a Roman Cat’lic, except me, and I’m a believer in the leprechawn. Has that hooligan been thryin’ to work ye for a bottle of rum? ”

“ I'm glad he does, too. It shows he's grown up. The best thing about The Dispatch is what it's done for Roger."
"No, it isn't," said Imrie soberly. "That's a good thing, of course. I'm delighted. But it's not the best thing—not by a long way. Frankly I was sceptical about The Dispatch at first. I thought your friend Good was just a crank. But the paper's gone ahead so splendidly. It's done such a really wonderful work—and then, you see, when I waked up, I saw things differently. The people I've been in contact with lately have made me understand Good. ”

“ Imrie listened attentively, and as he caught the significance of the idea his manner changed from scepticism to something approaching enthusiasm. Then his face slowly hardened and a semblance of a sneer formed on his lips.
"Telling the truth may get you into trouble," he said half to himself.
"Of course," cried Good, "it not only may—it's certain to."
Imrie turned to Judith. "Are you as optimistic as Mr. Good?" ”

“ The “front-room,” to the world denied, made snug for Father Pat.
We knew his distant hoof-beats; ay, and grief they could forebode;
So, when we heard a horse go by, clean-stepping down the road,
Round many a log-fire burning bright there passed the word along,
“There’s someone sick and sore the night; I’ll bet that’s Currajong.”
Whereat you’d hear the old men tell—perhaps a trifle add—
Of some sick-call remembered well, when “so-and-so took bad.”
“You couldn’t see your hand in front.” “ ’Twas rainin’ pitchforks, too.”
“The doctor jibbed, to put it blunt—but Father Pat went through.” ”

“ You see Weis has gone into politics rather more or less in his own city, and we're drifting that way, too. They want me to run for alderman. I live downtown now, you see. It's a bad ward. The decent people have never had a chance in it. Of course it sounds silly—but really—I think seriously of it."
"I don't think it sounds silly at all," she cried. "I think it's splendid. You can count on The Dispatch."
"But The Dispatch isn't partisan," he said with a smile. "It never takes sides."
"Well, it will this time," she declared truculently.
He laughed. "You're still a woman, Judith." ”

“ O’Brien is really too “pretty.” To most men he is almost—but not quite—as sickeningly sweet as Francis X. Bushman used to be. Perhaps this condition is aggravated by such titles—and such pictures—as “The Perfect Lover.” Mayhap, also, it is but the innate jealousy of the male beast.
Film Truth’s mail from all sections of the country is frank and outspoken—and a pretty safe index to public thought on films and film folk. Reading this barometer we find that Eugene O’Brien is regarded as not quite all “a man’s man.” ”

“ But here's the real favour. There's to be a clergyman out from the city, this morning, who is a friend of mine. Arnold Imrie is to preach, and ..."
"Is Arnold coming?" broke in Roger. "By George, I'll go myself. He's a wonder."
"That's what I wanted to find out," said Judith. "That is, I want to find out if you think so, Mr. Good. The people here think just that. I want to get your opinion."
"That's hardly fair, is it, Miss Wynrod? He's a personal friend of yours, and you know already what I think of church—yet you want my opinion of both."
"No—not both; just the man." ”

“ Nor was his impatience lost on Judith.
But Imrie never preached long sermons. In a very few minutes he had wound up with his usual stirring peroration, and left the pulpit. Good had an almost irresistible impulse to clap, not as expressing approbation, but admiration for a difficult task well done. He smiled—not wholly pleasantly—at the look of devout complacency on the faces of all the well dressed men and women about him. Not one, he reflected, who had listened so attentively to this stirring denunciation of idleness, knew what real toil was—or had any desire to know. ”

“ In the early nineties, while still on the Sun staff, he made two tours for Harper’s Magazine and wrote “On Canada’s Frontier,” “Our Great West,” and “Chicago and the World’s Fair,” the last of which was the official book of the Columbian Exposition. After his experiences in the Boer War he wrote “Towards Pretoria,” “War’s Brighter Side” (with Conan Doyle) , and “An American with Lord Roberts.” His other books are “Alone in China,” “Dixie; or, Southern Scenes and Sketches,” “People We Pass,” and a novel, “The Millionairess.” ”

“ He'll pull the wool over his eyes forty different ways."
"Faxon's a clever fellow," mused Jenkins mournfully.
Good filled his pipe and lighted it. He smoked in silence for a little while.
"The Lord's got to be trusted some time," he sighed finally; "I suppose it might just as well be now—but a little more priming would have helped. Just a little more."
"Oh, the kid will knuckle under, that's certain," snarled Bassett. "There's no doubt of that. This whole proposition is doomed to failure. It's too good to be true, altogether too good. I tell you, Good, you're asking too much of these people. ”

“ She's stuck to me like a barnacle. I didn't come out here for her. I wanted to see Judith. Why...."
Roger seemed suddenly to grow a head taller. His eyes flamed like banked fires, and his nostrils dilated. His fists clenched fiercely. "Cut that—cut it, I tell you," he ground thickly through his set teeth. "Don't you ever speak of my sister like that. By God, I won't stand it, you hear." His voice was low but clear and vibrant with suppressed passion.
Faxon recoiled, and his suavity left him. "Your sister is of age, I believe," he said with a steely evenness. "She needs no protector." ”

“ He was chief of that valley, having been adopted by a woman of Vait-hua, but his father and his mother were of Taaoa. He had heard of the slaying of Beaten to Death, his kinsman, and he was hot in the bowels. Aue! The thunder of the heavens was as the voice of Tomefitu when angered. The earth groaned where he walked. He knew the Farani and their tricks. He had guns from the whalers, and he was afraid of nothing save the Ghost Woman of the Night. Again the warriors came to the High Place, and now there were many drums. ”

“ Ted Lancaster bowed gravely to her and with almost deeper gravity to Sheila Pat.
"That's another sister over there in the cupboard," Denis remarked. "Molly's fond of cupboards."
The two boys set to work and raised a fearful dust. Nell observed ruefully that the parts they were sweeping had been gone over once already.
Ted looked up earnestly, his brush pausing:—
"You must let us do it—O'Brien and me—every week, Miss O'Brien; our arms are stronger."
"I," said the Atom, weightily, "think you are a very nice boy." ”

“ Weis, a compact little man, with snapping black eyes and a combative mouth, listened attentively, never taking his half-smiling gaze from Imrie's face.
"The similarity is—remarkable," he said softly when the recital was finished. Then he added crisply: "Well, young man, what do you propose doing—next?"
"I came to ask you that question," said Imrie briefly.
The little rabbi pursed his lips thoughtfully. "So—you came to ask me. Well, I have answered it. I moved on—yes. But it is a hard answer—oh, quite hard." ”

“ To make things better, a party of twenty-five Canadians came to the tunnellers and we had some good old times together; but Mac and Skinny were still my best pals; many's the prank we played together. One of our favourite ones was to work the officer in charge for an extra ration of rum. The British Tommy was given his ration of rum as soon as he came up from the sap, but we Canadians had to wait for ours till we reached our rest billets, and it was served to us there by one of our own officers. The only exception made was in favour of those who had been working in a wet part of the sap ”

“ He then came to Canada, to seek his fortune in the backwoods, where I found him in 1833.
Mr. O'Brien's relations with his neighbours in the backwoods were always kindly, and gratifying to both parties. One evening, some friends of his heard voices on the water, as a boat rowed past his grounds. One man asked "Who lives here?" "Mr. O'Brien," was the reply. "What is he like?" "He's a regular old tory." ”

“ Good laughed as he bantered, but the light shining in his eyes showed the tenderness of his feeling for the younger man.
"You're a lucky kid."
"Rather. But I earned it. She's had me over the hurdles more than once. I never had a swelled head with Molly in the neighbourhood. She always swore I'd never do."
"What made her change?"
"No idea. Woman's way, I guess."
Good put his hand on Roger's shoulder, and his voice softened. "Poppycock," he said slowly. "She never changed. She was only waiting—"
"What for?"
"For you to grow up. You've been growing fast of late, my boy. ”

“ Then the sudden, strangled cry of a woman brought him to his feet, his heart pounding. For a moment he stood listening, every muscle in a tremble. The voices could be heard more clearly now, and they seemed to come from a small summer-house just behind him. He moved slowly toward it.
"I think we'll end this right here." He recognised the voice as Baker's, though unbelievably changed. The words seemed to come through clenched teeth. Another voice—a man's—made some reply, but the chatter of the crickets and the plashing of a fountain prevented him from catching what it was. ”

“ The facts of O’Brien’s life have never been set in order. Even the date of his birth in County Limerick is uncertain. His untimely death was at Cumberland, Virginia, from wounds in the Federal service early in the Civil War. The clearest impression of the man may be had from William Winter’s introduction to a collection of his verse and prose, published in Boston, 1881. He seems very like the Thackeray Irishman—generous, impulsive, extravagant with money and words. In the geniality that deserved their warm affection his somewhat Bohemian companions found a touch of genius ”

“ Pull one side there, Pat O’Brien, with your Old Mass Shandrydan.”
Pull! Bedad, he’d pull the town down when His Reverence hove in sight,
Pulled his hat off with the left hand, and pipe out with the right;
Pulled his family in the gutter, pulled the horses off their feet,
And a shower of small O’Briens went skedaddling from the seat.
Then they rattled loudly past us, and a wild stampede began,
For they all had family reasons to outpace the other man.
There were buggies, traps, and turnouts there of every shape and rig;
There were Murphys in a spring-cart, and the Caseys in a gig ”