Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1890-05-11
IRISH RURAL MAIDS.
The Duchess Sketches the Typical
Heroine Of Her Novels.
A SLAVE TO THE FARMERS WIFE.
Diversions in Church on Sundays and
Dancing on the Road.
FROM BIG HOUSE TO LITTLE CABIN
WRITTEN FOR THE DISPATCH

Ihe Irish peasant womau-I allude to tb
laboring class-is. as q rule, an almost fixe,
one, distinctly respectable, both in min,
and conduct. While still little slip of
girl, say 13 or IA, she begins life-that is
work. She is then draughted from he
mothers cabin into. the house of the neares
farmer, there to learn how to milk cows
clean pans for the dairy, feed pigs see t,
the poultry and the eggs, boil potatoes, cab
bage and bacon, and learn besides to wasl
and dress the ''gossoons" (little boys) aut
the "colleens" (ittle girls) of the family
and, in fact. do all that has to be done ir
the house, helped, of course, by the mistress
the farmers wife, who works as hard as he,
maid. For this our little enterer into lif
receives but poor, wages, or, perhaps. nc
wages at all for the first year, her keep ant
houseroom and permission to learn beiue
accounted equivalent to salary. Of latt
years, however, the latter arrangement ha.
fallen through, the salary, however small
being always demanded, and with Justice
too.
Barefooted and with the short blue flannel
skirt that they weave themselves with 6
small handloom, and that reaches barely ur
to the knee at first, and becomes considerably
above 1t as youth asserts itself and the
inches grow, our little heroine scrambles
through a long days work-in slipshod
fashion at first, no doubt, and with many an
angry word from the mistress and often an
indignant push. But time rounds all things,
even the hardest pebble, and after while
the small, Insignificant creature becomes
somebody-''The Girl" At first she was
only Biddy, or Kitty, or Maggie; now she
is 1.-The Girl"-a great distinction. All
through the week she labors cheerfully,
merrily, with jest for every one and a
sweet word always for the babies.
IN SUNDAY ARRAY.
And now comes Sunday. that blessed day
of rest, without which surely the world of
toll could not have lasted. In its institu-
tions lies an infalllble proof to my mind of
the divinity that shapes all our ends that
rules the earth, and reduces the sea to its
limits, and guards ana regulates each
movement of each pigmy who struts his
| little hour upon our human stage. Well,
this Sunday is the one recreation Of the poor,
both in town and country. But with the
country only am dealing now.
Our little heroine with the first streak of
dawn rises, filings aside the toil-worn gar
ments she has worn during the past week
| and will wear for SO many weeks again,
and dons new skirt, of the same texture
and hue. however, and (this is the crowning
| glory OF her toilette) encases her feet that
for six long days have run uncovered in
stockings and laced shoes. To appear in
chapel without shoes and stockings would
| be indeed a disgrace. One must save,
starve, scrimp to go decent to mass on Sun
do, 1,- H. -.
mired in this regard for decency, this de-
termination to appear in ones best bib and
tucker on the Lords day, to do honor to
| Him.
And now arrayed in Sabbath clothes.
| away to the parish chapel-a bare, bald
edifce, situated close to the little village
that hangs over the sea ON a picturesque
spot that is dear to me Tor thousand rea-
sons, that I was born there among others.
Up over the trees of the schoolhouse rises
the spire of the church, an ancient cathe-
dral dedicated to some old Irish saint whose
name was st. Faughnan, and whose image
carved in stone is sunk in the wall beneath
the belfry. The crows cav all day long in
the schoolhouse trees, and the two bells,
chapel and church, commingle as the Prot
estants and the Roman Catholics all stream
down from the hills that adorn the little
seaside town on all sides to their several
places of worship.
THE HAPPENINGS IN CHURCH.
Our little heroine, now pretty colleen
bswn" of 16, makes her way, accompanied
BY throngs of friends, all Roman Catholics.
to the chapel, there to hear Father Jerry, or
Father Michael, or Father John, as the case
may be, humble through the Latin prayers.
that not one member among his congregation
can understand. She kneeIs, she sits, she
glances round her, she works through her
"beads" most systematically and earnestly,
and having done her duty, rises to 20 out
into:the churchyard, where, having before SER
vice sprinkled herself with the holy water in
the stone outside, she now feels herself free
to receive the attentions of the "boys," who,
if she is pretty, as many of the peasants are,
will surround her, and pay her extravagant
compliments.
At times, however, the service within does
not end thus tamely. A "great divarsion"
occurs that fills all hearts with delightful
expectation, As, for example, when the
priest is known to be about to denounce
from the high altar some culprit among his
flock. The unlucky or guilty one has dur
ing the week forgotten to pay his dues
(money collected from the parishioners ac-
cording to the amounts of their several in
comes, which with fees in weddings and
funerals make up the priests stipend). or
else has defrauded his neighbor, or stolen
something he is determined not to return, or
otherwise broken the law. Breathless is
the excitement as the priest arrives at that
point when his denuncation may be ex-
pected and cold grow the hearts of the cul-
prit's friends and relatives. The culprit
himself has generally bad cold or head
ache on these occasions and is confined to
his own house or cabin.
THE CULPRIT WILL HEAR IT.
This fact, however, does not stay the
priests wrath. He well knows that eyerv
word he utters will be carried home to the
criminal by his neighbors and will rankle
there until remorse and the fear that his
spiritual pastor and master will refuse to
atten nd his death-bed when his last hour
arrives drives him to make confession and
pay what is stolen or owing. After this de- I
lightful excitement our colleen will prob |
ably wend her way to the place where the |
nearest pattern" is taking place. This |
SPOT will be named "The Cross" or "Sam's |
Cross" or "Fitzgerald's Cross" or any |
other "cross," according to the traditions OF |
the neighborhood where it stands. 1t means |
a square spot where four roads meet, and |
the "pattern" means simply dance"
Here all the young people meet on Sun
day or a holiday, and, circle being formed |
by the onlookers, trip it to and fro upon |
the hard aud dusty road with all the deter |
mination and twice the gusto that one NAV |
see in polished and fashionable ballroom. |
OF late years this custom, that was very
pretty and harmless and innocent, is diving
out; but remember my father telling me |
of very celebrated old peasant (Flaherty
was his name) who was master of this cere- t