The Irish standard., 1907-05-11
THE IRISH MOTHER.
Her Affection is AS Fixed as tn,
Stars.

: Stars.
wonder IT she is still in the old
land, the blessed Irish mother, who
put cap around her comely face be-
tween the twenties and thirties and
covered her brown waves from sight,
writes c. Horgan, we'll known writ
er.
To her simple soul marriage meant
conservation: the man who chose her
need not concern himself about the lit
tie tenderness-her affection was as
fixed as the stars. He might be un-
reasonable, exacting-nay, in trying
times he might be cruel-but her faith
in the divine right of husbands was
unshaken.
She would have the children rever-
entail to their father even if she
should have to romance a little to eff
feet it and with what loving sophistry
she explained away his weakness!
She never understood constitution,
political or physical but when sick
ness was in the family her pathetic
care made the poor broth strengthen
ing and the bitter medicine sweet. No
sleep, no rest, no peace for her while
the shadow Of death lay across the
threshold. and how hard it was to die
under her beseeching eyes; but IT a
summons had really come she would
hold crucifix to the dying lips, and
the beloved son or daughter carried the
sound of her voice with them to heav-
en-, for what Irish mother but could
say the prayers for the departing soul?
Not even the story Of her country's
wrongs could embitter her guileless ma
ture. The mantle of her charity COW
cred even the bloody Sassenach. and at
times, secretly, daring not to let 1t be
known, she recommended them to the
Virgin Mother. If her belief in her hus-
band was strong, who would measure
the confidence she reposed In the brave
DOyS VIII OkcIlOppCu A1SA Nv oANA~>SAA'
Anything evil in them, her glory and
her delight? Impossible! They We're
always white boys in their mothers
eyes, however dark and desperate in
the sight of those who dwell in palaces.
Her unquestioning truth and earnest
teaching kept them pure and honest in
their early days; and later when they
discovered their dear mother was only
a simple, illogical, unlettered woman
their loyalty and devotion deepened to
find what wonders she had worked
with her few talents. What tragedy
Shakespeare could have woven around
her. haunted all her life by a phantom
ship at anchor in some harbor waiting
till the children of her love were old
enough to take passage and leave her
forever. How sorrowful must have
been her JOY on seeing them rise to the
stature of men and women!
| wonder if she is still in the old
land, stealing out of the lonely hcme at
nightfall. and looking with her tender
eyes, always westward? And when M
one is by, falling on her knees and
lifting her hands in such intensity of
supplication that they touch the hem
Of His garment. and her blessing falls
on her flesh and blood in the far-off
land: her faith has made them whole.
If flowers embematic of their lives
could spring from the dust beneath, 1t
would be easy to find the grave of the
Irish mother. Roses would be clustered
on the emerald moss about the head,
violet at the feet, and among the
sweetest of the clover blossoms. Just
above the heart. there would be lilies.
MCGOWAN & Mahoney, fire insurance.