The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1901-03-23

fashion last Sunday. At 1880 the de-
voted pastor, Rev. p. A. McCarron,
celebrated High Mass for congrega-
ton which filled the spacious edifice.
during which an able choir rendered
music specially prepared for the occa-
sion. After divine services were con-
cluded, a large number Of the parish
toner's partook Of bountiful dinner
ut the parochial residence.
In the evening an entertainment was
held at the church, consisting of excel
lently rendered vocal selections and
addresses suited to the festal OCCASION
Father McCarron delivered an elo-
quent and instructive panegyric on St.
Patrick, pointing out particularly that
his conquest of Ireland was conquest
Of love; that it was not accompanied
10y riot or bloodshed; and that Ireland
furnishes the only instance in history
where an entire race was converted by
one man.
At the conclusion of the reverend,
orators remarks, which were well re-
ceived and literally applauded, he in
troduced to the audience Attorney j.
l.. Mahoney, of Minneapolis. Mr.. Ma
honey adverted at some length to the
intellectual religious and martial
achievements of Ireland's scattered
sons in the ruling activities of the
world. He dwelt for some time on the
power and sweetness of her poets, the
artlor and fire of her orators and mis-
sionaries, the SURPRISING bravery and
intrepidity of those Irish soldiers
whose feats of daring ON the battle
fields of the world made the name
1rishman synonym for the word hero.
After paying a high tribute to all of
them, the speaker said, in effect:
but, however good, and great, and
grand, and brave are those historic
Irish celebrities, vet 1 must confess
that they do not appeal to me as fur
nishing the highest ideal of the truly
heroic in Celtic character. see, in my
minds eye, emerging from a matched
hut, the poorly-clad figure of a girl;
her body trembles in the throes of
passionate grief; her eyes are red
with weeping and her cheeks are wet
with tears; a gray-haired, bent, and
broken mother clings wailing at. her
breast, while father, brothers, sisters
add to the sorrowing scene the chorus
OF their griefs. Today she leaves the
home of her childhood in order that
others may live-she leaves because
the accursed oppressors of her native
land have left to her and hers naught
save the horrible heritage Of hunger
and despair. The ship tugs at it's an
Choir in the harbor; it sails today. IS
l see her again as she steps from Cas-
Tie Garden. The glinting, cleaning.
golden sunlight of Gods November
day lights up her face. 1t is fearless.
now, but composed and resolute. A
keen and cutting wind whips her light
garments and chills her with it's biting
cold. Hesitant she stops and takes
last look backward. Then, with her
head bent slightly, as though to cleave
her way through the chilling winds.
with her bundle in one hand and her
"beads" in the other, she moves on
ward to battle with Il world. For her
there is no rattle of the snappy drum
corps, no blare of the trumpeter. no
nerving quickstep of the brocaded
band. Solitary and alone, friendless
and homesick, and poor, she has to-
fight her fight. If she fail, her head
will find a pauper pillow in some rest
full potters' field. But she has no
thought of failure. Her heart is the.
homing-place of an abiding faith in
God and future, and even through her
lonesome tears her soulful eyes can
always see, even in the murky sky of
her troubled life, the twinkling star
OF beckoning hope. So it is that she
goes bravely into her fight with
strange world, with world which
jeers at and ridicules her, which insults
and salutes her as the ignorant Irish
Biddy' and the dirty papist.' She bat
ties with a world which at that time
is burning the churches and converts
Of her creed and stoning in the public
places the consecrated priests of her
faith. But she was an alchemist. She
transmitted hatred into love, contempt
into respect, suspicion into confidence.
She won, and she won because she was
honest, industrious, chaste; she won
because her campaign was the cam
paign Of faith, hope and charity; she
won because she could not lose such
faith while God ruled.
II am heartily with you when you
erect loves memorials to our heroes>
the Irish poets and prelates, states
men and soldiers. I only wish that
there were many more. But 1 must
insist that when you desire to honor
the highest type Of heroism in the Irish
race; that when you desire to give per-
petuation, in marble, in metal, or in
love, to the most sublime and unselfish
heroism; must insist, say, that you
pass onward and upward past the
resting places of your heroes, and lay
your hearts love-offerings at the grave
of her who made your heroes possible.