The Irish standard., 1897-05-08
land, patience under trial and hardship,
daring in adventure, valor in battle
these ara found in all lands among all

daring In adventure, ValOr IN Dattle,-
these are found in all lands, among ali
peoples, though the Irish have dis
played them so conspicuously in all the
centuries that some-aye, many of oul
own people have come to regard them
as exclusively theirs. While good blood
will tell and bad, we must look to other
things, we must consider other causes
! than race and blood, If we are to under
stand the workings Of a mysterious
Deity and learn how He makes nations
and differentiates peoples.
The crude ore lies in the mines of the
hills all over the earth, potential in its
possibilities, yet heavy, dull, inert
awaiting the day when man shall dig II
from it's hiding place, try it in the fires
of the furnace, beat it on the anvil and
transform it into the polished rail that
ties together the ends of civilization
that will shape it into the massive en-
gines that carries the fruits of industry
and commerce to the uttermost parts OF
the world, that moulds it into the type
and press that spreads intelligence and
frees the soul, and that fashions it into
the sword that frees the slave. And as
the ore is so is the man; he must be
tried in the fires to be remade for the
work he is to do.
The elements lie everywhere; circum-
| stances and conditions weld and mould
him into nations. He may creep on in
to the centuries dull, heavy, oppressed,
carrying the thrall of the master, con-
tent that he shall eat and drink and
| sleep in peace and ignorance, content
that his master shall do his thinking
| and fighting needless who the master
is, for the hands of all are heavy; TAX
ing his religion and his lot from him
who rules and starves him.
Others there are who have lived for
centuries watching the tide of civiliza-
tion and higher life sweep by them, too
hotly engaged in the struggle Of life
and death to snatch the prizes as they
go by. Such land for the long CEN
turies has been Ireland. Several hun
dred years has Ireland felt the edge of
the sword, and for seven centuries she
has shown the naked breast and empty
hand to the oppressor, beaten but un-
subdued.
In the fires of hate and oppression,
into the hell of battle and persecution,
into the inferno of famine, misgovern-
ment, robbery, torture and all the evils
that cold, deliberate malice and wicked
ness could invent, Celt and Saxon, Nor
man and French, Dane and Morse, Eng
lishman and Scotchman were thrown to
be fused and mingled, that in the cool
ing God might draw from the ashes the
Irishman.
In all those long dark centuries his
courage never failed, his hope never
dimmed; his faith in God never fal-
tered; he never acknowledged the right
Of might; he accepted nothing from the
man who boasted himself the conqueror
of him who is today unconquered; he
believed the day would come, and it is
coming, when the forces of evil would
sink beneath the scorn of the world.
In this terrible school the Irishman
was made; here was learned the infinite
patience of his kind; here was bred that
mental alertness, that wit and humor,
tinged with the melancholy the world
calls typical Of the scenes his sires en-
dured; here he drank into his blood the
courage and flame of battle, that
marches him to death with song and
a laugh; here every fibre and tissue of
his elemental parts were made over, and
upon the green sod, that blood-soaked
soil, he preserved the virtues of the man
who lives with God and nature.
The man born on Irish soil, breath
ing Irish air, drinking in the beauty of
the hills and wales and streams and
loughs of ireland, listening to whisper
ing winds of Irish seas, hearing the
story and legend of the Irish days long
gone, his heart and soul responding to
the hopes of those around him, be his
father English or Norman, Scotch or
Welsh, Dane or Morse, French or Dutch,
that man will grow into an Irishman.
This Is the verdict of history; this is
the experience of seven centuries. Let
them come from where they will, those
who plunge into the Irish Lethe emerge
on the other bank Irishmen, better be-
times than the son of the older race,
more Irish than the Irish.
Conditions, climate, environment are
more potent than blood; they are the in
struments with which God works. The
normal man born on Irish soil and
growing to manhood on it is an Irish
man. Carry him to the most remote
quarter of the earth, and he is still Irish
and his children even to the tenth gen.
Grafton.
He Knew Where to Go.
The Boston Traveller recounts a funny
incident which took place in superior
court in that city in the trial of one
Bebro. A witness, after telling some of
Bebro's alleged faults, went on to re-
count an unpleasant experience he had