The Ketchum keystone. [volume] (Ketchum, Idaho) 1885-1899, 1892-07-02
SMITH o'BsiEn.
The Story Of His Exile to Austria.
ua---The Old Apple Woman.

O~btW - OUse0eUS
The Story Of His Exile to Austria
ua---The Old Apple Woman.
It was in drawing room. The
delightful atmosphere of home
which prevails in an English home
had rubbed out all Of everybody's
little cares and annoyances and
contentment reigned. The hostess
was pouring the tea and Oscar
Wilde was talking. When Oscar
Wilde talks every one listens to
that wittiest, saddest, most cynical,
most original talker of London
society, the reviver of an almost
lost art. The subject was "Poor
Ireland" her oppressors, her hope
less revolutions, her helplessness,
and last Of all, the Irish character.
Oscar Wilde is an ardent lover OF
his country and his compatriots,
and he warmed to his subject.
When was there ever, said he, a finer,
braver soul than Smith O'Brien's?
Is there another country where in
this century you find men like him,
who fling aside power, influence,
wealth, position, all for the sake Of
their struggling country? Nol it is
out of fashion to be patriotic when
patriotism runs counter to your in
terests. You may laugh if you
please at Smith O'Brien's bloodless
revolution, but the spirit Of the true
Irishman-brave, self-denying and
impetuous-was in him. | will tell
you story to show you how the
people appreciated him. You all
know how O'Brien was exiled to
Australia, and how on his return
fortune and many friends had gone
from him, his life was weary and
monotonous. ! was q little lad, nine
or ten years old, and favorite with
him. My fathers house was one of
the houses he visited, as he had q
great admiration for my mother.
He found me one day pouring over
Plutarch, to whom | had just been
introduced.
"Shut the book, lad" he said,
"and let me tell you story of pat
riotism, the like Of which you'll not
find in Plutarch or anywhere else.
It was ten years ago, before ! was
sent out to Australia. You know
the story of the rebellion-the hopes
that were fixed on its results, the
ambition for country, the longing
for a free Ireland that gave strength
and purpose to us all. You know,
too, alas how it failed. One by
one I saw the little band of my fol-
lowers suffer for their boldness and
temerity, and at last I was alone
and with price of 10000 upon
my head. One night, discouraged
and worn, angry with myself and
resenting my precarious life spent
in hiding, determined to surrender
myself to the constabulary, and
resolute in this decision, walked
out boldly into the night. It was
dark and lowering. Few people
were about, frequent threatening
showers had driven nearly every
one indoors. Only the poor and
the homeless were in the street. |
trod along the wet pavement, brood
ing over my troubles and wonder
ing vaguely what the future held,
and thinking, indiferently enough,
too, of my fate.
"Suddenly, huddled up against a
doorway, l saw an old apple woman.
Her wares were sheltered under q
huge cotton umbrella, and she her.
self, her plaid shawl wrapped tightly
about her shoulders, sat in the
porch, protected little enough from
the rain and cold. She was old, and
her face was weather beaten and
haggard her hands were wrinkled
and shriveled into the semblance of
claws, Her gray hair was dishev-
eled and stray locks hung about her
cheeks. A sudden impulse took
possession of me. Ten thousand
pounds! A fortune! | have q dis
tinct commercial value. What q
dazzling vista even the fiftieth part
of that sum would open for this
poverty crushed old woman. Why
should she not deliver me up to the
authorities and receive the reward? !?
/ stepped up nearer to her, and
stood in the full glare of the flick
ering street lamp, pushed back my
hat from my forehead and waited,
looking her full in the face. She
gave start, her mouth twitched and
her glittering eyes, under their
sunken lids, riveted themselves
upon me.
"Do you know who I ami" I
asked presently.
''Do I know who ye are? Smith
O'Brien. God bless ye, the man
who gave all up for his country
and got nothin'. Nothin' but bad
luck and MISFORTUNE for it. All
yes, sure, yer honor, / know ye."
Eyes" / answered, Il am Smith
O'Brien. All the poor lads who went
out with me are dead, in prison or
in exile. The struggles all over,
and there's but one thing to do now
rive y,ovaolf m