The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1888-03-03

LII > tE6 ulOSL tuOELlL Lylu5 Ll4u1 lN
tbs world to me to be obliged to appeal
to charity again this year." said Father
0 Donoghue, after we had been warmed
and fed, 'sbut what can [ do? My pao-
pie are simply starving to death. The
potato crup has failed, and there is no
market for their kelp. They have not
the money for buying the elaborate and
expensive yessels and tackle necessary
to Gsh successfully in these stormy
seas, and the result is that our 5000
people are in absolute want. Unless
they get some seed potatoes and i'm
mediate relief frou, hunger, the death
rate will go On increasing appaliing}y. Z"
''Is there a work house here?''
mo, indeed The nearest one is
thirty-two miles away. If one of my
people goes III they might as wei! ali go
in> for the degrees Of poverty are very
slight. We are all Taxed to support
the work house, but I'm proud to say
that there is not man Or woman Of
Arran under the roof. Ill show you
how the poor laws work for the Irish
poor. 4 fisherman hare-ie good, steady
hard working Inan--fould things going
against him. Toll rs he would he
could not maxi, both ends meet. lie
worked night and day, Uace I cemena-
ber he caught 120 fish. He iourneyed
to Galway with them and sold them for
Ia shillings, Then lie tlaveled back
with his money, having done sixty
miles. In spite Of his struggles his
wife died Of priyation and the lack Of
The necessaries Of life. f4e was left
with four little children On his hands,
besides his invalid sister. "A man can
struggle to the linn;t--no more. T.
could not help HIM because my money
is long since gone, and there are hun
dreds OF pressing cases. The fisherman
was desperate. His chiluren cried all
| day for food. Finally one OF them fell
ill, and This decided flim. He took
them all to the work house. When he
got there at last thsy refused to take
the children in, despiue their pitiful
condition, unless the father would 60
! in with them and work iox bheir sup-
port. OF course he couldn't do this,
for ms invalid sister would have died
without his care. Hs begged TO have
the youngest child taken i'll, even it the
others were not. All Of no avail. He
Was turned away without a copper to
help him on his long journey back
Here he is at home again, willing to
work himself to the bone, and never
complaining of his responsibilities, but
his lot is hard enough Tae youngest
child died not long since. lie sent Tor
mo, and I was going to bis cabin when
you arrived tonight
eve will go with You," said Mr.
Davitt.
It was after 10 o'clock ard the wind
was whistling furious!y around the lit
tie one-srory cabin as we started out.
We started briskly down the path
aftel the priest, who strode sturdily
along rocky road chat ran by the edge
OF the bay. The mountain of rocks rosa
on one size, The sea stretched out On the
other. We marched thus in single file
for half an hour, aud then, approaching
small village, the priest led thu way
to one OF the huts-that occupied by
John Brabazon. the fisherman whose
story he had told us.
Tue cabin was small. The earth
formed the floor. I've pieces Of peat
burned in the fireplace. The smoke
hung about the ceiling Of the room.
''Is she bad to night?'' asked The
priest.
"Faith she is, father. I bin fur TWO
nights tryin' t. keep ker warm this
way"
He was on his knees in front Of the
little fire holding square bit of carpet,
about rs big as napkin, so as to warm
it thoroughly. He had ali honest and
prepossessing face, but the lines of suf-
fsring were drawn clear and sharp, He
rose as he spoke and stepped across the
little hut to sort OF doorway cut in the
wall. He motioned US to follow.
''You kin look at tn poor GIRL" he
said. "Faith she'll not know it, fur
her stren'th has so far gone that she no
longer opens her eyes,"
Within the stone doorway was an al
coYe about the size If mans oot1n and
perhaps four feet high. Stretched out
in this living tomb was Brabazon's sis
ter, lying On her back on the earth with
some moss under her head. AS the light
fell on her it startled US. Sne wore no
chemise or nightdress, though she was
partially covered with rags and bits of
carpet. Her breast, shoulders and arms
were oare and wasted away beyond be-
lief.
The face of the dying woman was
livid. could not look at her, and I
went out into the night. leaving the
wretched family with the priest, for
Dayitt had followed me. Presently the
priest came out and led the way silently