The Intermountain Catholic. (Salt Lake City [Utah] ;) 1899-1920, 1908-09-12
CHARACTER SKETCHES
OF AN IRISH VILLAGE
Gather Tom"
written for the Intermountain Cath
OliCO

II we would only open our eyes and
see, but unfortunately the most of us
keep them closed, and 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 other 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 seri-
Gus 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 spoken almost in every word, we
need it not. We pass our hours of
| ldleneSs over novels, whose evening
dressed heroes make sicxly love to de-
collected jewel-decked women in way
that would (pardon the expression
make dog laugh, and forget that we
nave such priceless treasures as
'knocknagOw and MY New Curate.' .
For self-sacrifice, piety, deep lasting
love, humor in its richest, simplest and
purest sense, seek it not in books. No!
| open your eyes and look around you,
and there you have it, year. at your
very doors. In every Irish village you
Will find everything that is noble, sim
pie, good and humorousome in man rep
resented there in people, who them
selves are unaware that they possess
such priceless treasures. Out of this
village that l write about let me take
sample from the various walks of life
there and give you portrait of the
man as l saw him. The king of every
Irish village is the parish priest Let
US begin with him. To know, aye to
see Father Tom was to love him. Eighty
summers and winters with all their
Vlclssltudes have gone over his head.
All, if that dear old man would only
write what story he could tell of
those past years. 1t would be a tale
of hopes and disappointments, famine
and sickness, eviction and cruel wrongs,
the plnings and strivings of a people
for their right, all this more, for what
our race endured can never be written
Sand 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 difficulties,
and pouring out the balm of spiritual
consolation on their weary, worn hearts
II is summers morning and Father
Tom opens the wicked gate that leads
out on the street. He is after his mass
L
down the uneven footpath to the school.
with the burden of eighty years on his
shoulders. straight still as the pine,
with those large grey eyes and broad,
kindly smile. He stops at the doors
and has kind word for the mothers
standing there, and lays his hand in
benedlction on the heads of the infants
in their arms, those infants that will
one day be the future men of Ireland
and will know not Father Tom, ex-
cept in memory And on the Sunday I
see him seated on chair on the altar
after mass, driving home the truths of
his loved religion in his own simple
style to the peoples hearts and punctu-
ating his remarks with a homely illus
tration. And reader ii is Friday even
ing, 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 grey eyes
are ablaze with delight. Why? There
is long line of poor there waiting for
his reverence. He welcomes them with
a sweet smile. he has a kind word and
something for each of them. The young
curate, fresh from Maynooth, 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 em-well-standing
dangerously near the public house with |
very unstable equilibrium. Smart, pre-
else, made for those days of progress
and motion, he moves with them. and |
the soft spot is found in him only by |
well-reasoned syllogisms. Great men |
and earnest workers they are, but OH |
and l know they will pardon me for
saying it, they will never surpass, if |
they come at all near, the old genera
ton of priests in those things that |
make priest loved and venerated by |
his people. I'm troubles of body. says
a tramp to me one day, closing one
eye and leaning on knotted stick, |
make for the parish priest. and in trou-
bles of soul 1 make for the curate, and
L find my system works WE'LL
Father Tom moves down the line of
poor with a benediction, soothing
word and an aims for each one there.
Tut, tut, Mary, don't cry, Paddy will
be on his legs again in a few days;
Boots bad. Jack, we'll I'll see have I
an old pair left; "Biddy, be sure to
send Nellie to school tomorrow, the in
spector will soon be coming" When
with On account of his
he would say: "Oh, bless
your heart, man, I'll have enough to
bury me-" and the housekeeper would
nave to lock up the meat or Father Tom
would give away the dinner. l see him
n the chapel yard among the flowers,
with a little hoe in his hand. and, the
Joung children of the village around
lin, and the youngest of them pulling
1t his soutane tails. When they CHANGED
Is children do to squabble with one an
,ther, the offended one would say, with
| Dout and a clenching of the little
land, "Pll tell the father ov ye." And, ;
res, when Mary came to complain of
Catty, or Paddy of Ned, for some real
n fancied injury done, Father Tom
would infallibly draw his snuff box
rom his pocket and, tapping the lid |
before opening it. he would take a
pinch, and, holding it in his fingers,
would say. Mary, that lad of yours {
s one of the brightest in the fourth {
lass. I'll be getting prize for him
When the bishop comes around at con-
or, Paddy. you're the very {
nan 1 want. 1 was thinking of max {
ng a few drains on my farm, and I
-ou're the only man in the village that |
Understands the working of drains. Be {
own there tomorrow" And thus oil I
vas thrown on the troubled waters Did +
ever see the serenity of Father Toms {
emper ruffled? Yes, only on one oc- '