The Irish standard., 1908-09-26
AN IRISH VILlAeE
Its Grandeur and Beautiful Sim.
plicity Pictured,
There You Will Find What is
Simple, Noble, Good.

1t is an Irish village, writes Father
Tom" in the Salt Lake City Inter.
mountain Catholic:
1t does not matter where, suffice Il
to say, 1t is in Ireland, and every vii.
lage there is like it, if we would only
open our eyes and see. but unfortu.
uately the most of us keep them closed
snd hence never see the grandeur, the
beautiful simplicity, the strong, strong
love, the pervading sanctity, the deep
humor of those who live around us.
We read the lives of the saints of otil-
er days, and never dream that; there
are saints next door. who in their own
simple way are as true, heroic and
good as any that we find in the pages
Of Butler. A smile lights up the face
of the most serious Of us, when we
take up a work of Mark Twain's or
Allan Ramsey's,, and the natural wit
and humor that we hear daily spok II
almost in every word, we heed it not.
We pass our hours of idleness over
novels, whose evening dressed heroes
make sickly love to decolleted jewel
decked women in a way that would
(pardon the expression) make a dog
laugh. and forget that we have such
priceless treasures as ''Knocknagow"
and "My New Curate." For self-sac.
rifice, piety, deep lasting love-, humor
in its richest, simplest and puress
sense, seek it not in books. NO! Ope.,
your eyes and look around you, and
there you have it, at your very doors.
In every Irish village you will find
everything that is noble, simple, good
and humoroussome in man represented
there in people, who themselves are
unaware that they possess such price.
less treasures. Out of this village
that write about let rue take sam
pie from the various walks. of life
there and give you a portrait of the
man as I saw him. The king Of every
Irish village is the parish priest. Let
It's begin with him. To know, aye, to
See Father Tom was to love him.
Eighty summers and winters with all
their yicissitudes have gone over his
head. All, if that dear old man would
only write, what a story he could tell
Of those past years. 1t would be a
tale of hopes and disappointments,
famine and sickness. eviction and
cruel wrongs, t6e :pinings and striv-
ings of people for their right, all
this more, for what our race endured
can never be. written. And Father
Tom journeyed with his people. like
another Moses, through : their long
night of suffering, sorrowing with
them in their sorrows, cheering and
helping them on in their diff1cultiec,
and pouring ont the balm of spiritual
consolation on their weary, worn
hearts. 1t is summers morning and
Father Tom opens the wicked gat,
that leads out on the street. He is
after his mass and frugal breakfast
I see him come down the uneven foot
path to the school, with the burden Of
eighty years on his shoulders, straight
still as the pine, with those large gray
eyes and broad. kindly smile. He stops
at the doors and has kind word for
the mothers standing there, and lays
his hand in benediction on the heads
Of the infants in their arms, those in
fants that will one. day be the future
men of Ireland and will know not
Father Tom. except in memory. And
on the Sunday see him seated on a
chair on the altar after mass, driving
home the truths of his loved religion
in his own simple style to the peo.
ple's hearts and punctuating his re-
marks with homely illustration.
And reader, it is Friday evening, come
for a short while and take your stand
with me near Father Toms hall door.
The good old man is after his dinner.
He is standing on the steps of the hall
door and the large gray eyes are
ablaze with delight. Why? There is
Ia long line of poor there waiting for
his reverence He g. welcomes them
with sweet smile, he; has kind
word and something for each of them.
the young curate, fresh from May.
nooth, neatly gloved and natty'
dressed, passes out, and shakes his
head meaningly at some of Father
Toms poor. for he has seen two. or
three of them-well-s dan
gerously near the public house with
very unstable equilibrium. Smart, pre-
else, made. for those days of progress
and motion. he moves with them, AMI
the soft spot is found in him only by
well-reasoned syllogisms. Great men
and earnest workers they are, but oh:
and know they will pardon me for
saying it, they will never surpass. if
I