So passed out of life a gifted young soul that had just begun to know the measure of its strength. Had O’Brien been spared, he might have taken the very highest rank among antiquarians and ethnologists; as it is, his fame must rest upon a single crude and imperfect work, written in haste, before his powers were fully ripe, or his learning properly assimilated. Beyond this, and his translation of Villanueva, he may be said to have left no trace behind. He had never married, though it is highly improbable that, with his ardent temperament, and that almost reverential admiration for the sex to which he gives frequent expression in _The Round Towers_, he could have reached the age of six-and-twenty heart-whole. From his portrait by Maclise (a copy of which forms the frontispiece to this volume), he must, one would think, have been a sufficiently personable man--though somewhat frail, and looking older than his years--not to have wooed in vain. But he has left no hint of a love affair, beyond occasional references to a mysterious “sorrow,” which may have been of this nature. No stain rests upon his memory; his habits were convivial, but not vicious; and he had a great reverence for his own religion, in no way weakened by his sympathy with other less perfect aspects of eternal truth. It may be said of him that he left the world without having done it any harm, and in the firm belief that he had nobly served the cause of human enlightenment,--which surely was no bad ending. * * * * *