night of storm when she gave her last gleam of strength in giving
him life! In storm he was born: in strife he would live. The mark
was on him.

Now he came to the little schoolhouse where he first learned to
read. Facing it Father Cahill's tiny church, where he had learned to
pray. Beyond lay the green on which he had his first fight. It was
about his father. Bruised and bleeding, he crept home that day--
beaten. His mother cried over him and washed his cuts and bathed his
bruises. A flush of shame crept across his face as he thought of
that beating. The result of our first battle stays with us through
life. He watched his conqueror, he remembered for years. He had but
one ambition in those days--to gain sufficient strength to wipe out
that disgrace. He trained his muscles, He ran on the roads at early
morning until his breathing was good. He made friends with an
English soldier stationed in the town, by doing him some slight
service. The man had learned boxing in London and could beat any one
in his regiment. O'Connell asked the man to teach him boxing. The
soldier agreed. He found the boy an apt pupil. O'Connell mastered
the art of self-defence. He learned the vulnerable points of attack.
Then he waited his opportunity. One half-holiday, when the
schoolboys were playing on the green, he walked up deliberately to
his conqueror and challenged him to a return engagement. The boys
crowded around them. "Is it another batin' ye'd be afther havin', ye
beggar-man's son?" said the enemy.

O'Connell's reply was a well-timed punch on that youth's jaw, and
the second battle was on.

As O'Connell fought he remembered every blow of the first fight