The Irish standard., 1886-08-21
AN IRISH PATRIOTS LOVE.
A Pathetic Incident in the Life of John
C'Mahony, Que Of Irelands Most
De7oted Sons.
BURIAL OF CAPTAIN 0'R0URKE,
Sweet Thoughts, Bright Dreams, Ny
Comfort Be, All Comfort
Else Has Flown.

Comfort Be, All Comfort
Else Has Flown.
! John Locke, the sweet Irish poet and
charming novelist, recalls the following
| incident in the life Of one of Ireland s
most devoted sons:
GA few days ago | was reading some
reminiscent ces Of my dear and deeply
reyered friend, John O'Mahony, writ
ten by MIR. Luby, when there came to
my recollection an incident connected
with the chivalrous and noble-souled
deceased that cannot refrain from re-
lating. 'ln company with Mr.. o. O:Mahony
and Mr.. Timothy Co}lalan, now of Mid
dletown, n. T., attended the funeral
Of poor Captain O'Rourke, or-as he
was fanliiiar]y known-Baecher. O'bia-
hony entertained q very high opinion Of
O'Rourke. His energy, sincerity, and
the lea], unwaveripg fidelity with which
he clung to the good old cause had won
him q warm place in the big Celtic
soul Of the founder Of Fenianism.' ID
truth, C'Naliony's great, generous
heart warmed and coCtoncd to every
man whom he believed earnestly de
voted to Ireland. ue had been SO long
and so deeply engaged III Irish reyolu~
tionary effort himself, that he almost
regarded. every co~WorkeT as ts kinsman
ia blood, believe. He was deeply af-
fected by poor Beeeher's death. On the
way to Calvary Cemetery LIE at different
times feelingly alluded to the deceased,
and to his uasJ services in Ireland's
cause. 1T isn't here such men as
O'Rourke should die was q remark
ha made, and with such sadly-solemn
earnestness that I can never forget it.
Gould O'Mahony at the moment have
had any vague foreshadowing that it
was here. 600, in the strangers land,
far away FROM the hopes of his beloved
Galtees, his own heart would beat its
last vibration Difficult to answer.
O'Mahony was one OF those sad, soli-
tary souls that oftentimes scared be-
yond the gross, material things Of earth
to hold communion with the Genius OF
Solitude. What his intellectual vision
may OF may not have perceived III these
silent reveries, is not for Me to attempt
to conjecture.
"Ne reached Calvary, wound our
way over the sinuons avenues chat rl,n
in every conceivable direction through
it's somber domain, and at last was
landed beside the yellow mound Of
Long Island ioam that waste be heaped
upon the breast of poor Beecher. Soon
all that was mortal of our departed
friend was hidden from our sight for
ever. The grayediggers performed
their moody, thankless task. Tom
Burke spoke the panegyric, heart
prompted and deeply pathetic oration,
and we turned away once more from
tile city of the dead to the city OF the
living. We drove To Mr.. Cohalan's
house in Brooklyn. O'Mahony was Wis
IDLY depressed. We chatted upon va
rioas topics, and by easy and sympa-
thetic digressions, strove to lure
O'Mahony away from his sombre cogi-
tatlons. We partially succeeded, and
when supper was over Mr.. Cohalan
took up a copy of Hayes Book Of Bal
lads, and read for us some poems from
Tom Davis, of whom he was al enthu-
siastic admirer. The warm tount of
Irish feeling IN O'Mahony;s breast was
stirred into quicker flowing by our
hosts recitation, In a moment or two
q tall, dark figure arose from the table
and with pale, half-radiant face that
had seemingly caught tine glow of
sudden inspiration, and iii tones at
once thrilling and melting, OMahony
recited for us Tom Davis Lost Path
To the hour of my death, and l believe
long beyond it, my spirit will remem-
ber that scene. 1t was one Of those
sadly-grand spectacles hat once behe1d
cannot be forgotten. Nothing but the
pen Of q Balzac or the pencil OF REM
brandt could truly delineate it. It nlay
be fancied overdraw the picture, but
mono! Even now when I call up
from the depths Of buried years the re-
membrance of O'Mahony on that night,
the fine proportions of his imposing fig
ure, the light and shadow that alter
natelY swept across his countenance,
ms soul inwardly burning with a con-
sumlng love for Ireland, yet seeing the
Herculean labors of his years threat
ened with nullihcation-for the temple
Of Fenianism he had SC heroically
erected lay almost in ruins around his
feet at the time-when I cali up those
things to mental life again, and hear
the central figure of them repeat. with
an earnestness it would be blasphemy
to question, that heart-wail of Tom
Davis, I feel I am not overdrawing the
picture.
~,,,o o,,l