AND ADVISORY COMMITTEE THE HON. JUSTIN MCCARTHY, M. P., EDITOR-IN-CHIEF MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN, LL.D., of the Catholic University, Washington LADY GREGORY STANDISH O'GRADY D. J. O'DONOGHUE Prof. F. N. ROBINSON, of Harvard University W. P. RYAN DOUGLAS HYDE, LL.D. JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE, LL.D., G. W. RUSSELL (“A. E.") Prof. W. P. TRENT, of Columbia Prof. H. S. PANCOAST JOHN E. REDMOND, M.P. CHARLES WELSH, Managing Editor Author of 'The Life of John Newbery' (Goldsmith's friend and publisher). Dr. George Sigerson . Stephen Gwynn A GLANCE AT IRELAND'S HISTORY. Charles Welsh BIOGRAPHIES AND LITERARY APPRECIATIONS BY George W. RUSSELL (" A. E.") W. B. YEATS THE SUNNINESS OF IRISH LIFE. JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE has said many hard things of Ireland—that is, of Ireland as the battle-ground of political and social questions-but he has paid an ungrudging and eloquent tribute to the charms of Ireland, of the mountain, the lake, and the valley, and of its light-hearted and humorous inhabitants. "We have heard much of the wrongs of Ireland, the miseries of Ireland, the crimes of Ireland," he writes; "every cloud has its sunny side, and, when all is said, Ireland is still the most beautiful island in the world; and the Irish themselves, though their temperament is ill-matched with ours, are still amongst the most interesting of peoples." Every cloud in Ireland has, indeed, its glint of sunshine. Thanks to the natural charms of the country, and the kindly, genial manners of the people, there is diffused through Irish life a warm, pleasant, stimulating influence, which is best described by the expressive and picturesque word "sunny." That delightful quality of sunniness in Irish life is most appreciated by those who know the strain on mental and physical energies of living amid the perpetual rush and noise and excitement of a large and busy English city. After such an experience, one feels, while in Ireland, that there is no country in the world so fresh and reposeful as the Emerald Isle, with its perpetual touch of spring-no race so leisurely and restful as the Irish-that there is no land. and no people so well adapted to reinvigorate an overworked frame or restore to cheerfulness a weary mind. What a consciousness of tranquillity, what a restfulness of spirit, one feels in Ireland! says one writer. What repose and quietude is inspired, mentally and physically, by the clear, serene atmosphere of the country; its soft lights; its expanses of blue sky; the refreshing green of its fields and trees; the varied tints of its mountain ranges; its wind-swept moorlands; its flat stretches of bog; its gorgeous sunset glows; the dreamy flow of its streams; the restful expanse of its broad lakes; and the soothing wash of the sea on its rugged cliffs and craggy strands! What a delightful picture of Ireland is that drawn by the ancient Irish student-poet in France: "A plenteous place is Ireland for hospitable cheer, Uileacan dubh O! Where the wholesome fruit is bursting from the yellow barley ear, Uileacan dubh O! There is honey in the trees where her misty vales expand, And if the stern rugged coasts, the heather-covered moors and mountain ranges, the vernal valleys of Ireland can vie with those of any pleasure haunt in the United Kingdom in health-giving air and pleasure-inspiring scenery, the characteristics of the Irish people are no less admirably adapted to refresh and amuse an overworked and weary mind. A few uncongenial visitors to Ireland-people, as a rule, without a glint of humor or inspiration, to whom the complex Irish character is a hopeless enigma-have been shocked by what they conceive to be the low regard for truth which prevails in the country. They say it is very difficult to get at the Irish peasant's real opinion on any subject. But I think it will be found that the Irish peasant's occasional picturesque indifference to facts is due, not to an ingrained love for falsehood and hypocrisy-as these critics too often suppose-but partly to his powers of imagination, and partly to his amiable desire to make himself agreeable. A man, weary after a long walk, asked a peasant whom he met on the high road how far he was from a certain village. "Just four short miles," was the reply. Now the place happened to be eight miles distant, and the peasant was aware of the fact. Why, then, did he deceive the man? "Shure," said he, when reproved for the deception, "I saw the poor fellow was tired, and I wanted to keep his courage up.' In this anecdote we have an illustration of the peasant's desire to say pleasant things on all occasions. This is the secret also of his general subserviency to one's expressed opinions. His sense of politeness is so fine that he positively thinks it rude to express disagreement with the views of a stranger, even though he is convinced that they are mistaken. And who has such a pretty faculty for paying compliments as the average Irish peasant? Two young ladies stopped to talk to an old man working in a potato field. In the course of the conversation one said to him, "Which of us do you think is the elder?" "Ah, thin, each of ye looks younger than the other," replied the gallant old fellow. An aged lady, getting into a cab in Dublin, said to the driver," Help me in, my good man, for I 'm very old." "Begor, ma'am," said he, "no matter what age you are, you don't look it." No one mingles fun with flattery so genially as the Irish peasant. You are never made to blush or to feel uncomfortable by his compliments. No matter how extravagant his flattery may be, it is so expressed that you are enabled to carry it off with a laugh, while at the same time you are bound to feel pleased with the spirit which dictates it. A lady who was learning Irish in London paid a visit to a Gaelic-speaking part of Kerry, and, in order to improve her colloquial acquaintance with the language, tried to carry on a conversation in the old tongue with one of the peasants. The attempt, however, was a failure. They could not understand each other. "Ah," said the peasant at last, "how could I be expected to know the fine Irish of the grand lady from London?" 66 A pat answer to be given by a native of the Emerald Isle is only in the eternal fitness of things. For example: An Irish laborer coveted a lowly municipal appointment in a certain borough, and called on one of the local town councilors to secure his influence in getting the desired job. "Is his worship at home?" inquired Pat. "He is not at home just now," replied the lady of the house, who had a very prepossessing appearance; "but perhaps I may do as well. I'm the wife of his worship," she added, repeating Pat's words quizzically. "An' sure, ma'am," said the applicant, by way of introducing his errand, "his worship isn't to be wondered at." Whether the town councilor's wife used her influence on his behalf or not, Pat never knew, but, all the same, he got the situation. A servant girl named Bridget, applying for a place, said to the lady of the house, "Yis, ma'am, I lived in me last place for three weeks." "And why did you leave?" inquired the lady. "I couldn't get along with the misthress; she was ould and cranky." "But I may be ould and cranky, too," said the lady. "Cranky ye may be, ma'am, for faces is sometimes decavin'; but ould, niver!" said Bridget. And Bridget got the place. Two kinds of conveyances are com |