Southern Messenger (San Antonio and Dallas, Tex.), Vol. 18, No. 4, Ed. 1 Thursday, March 11, 1909 Page: 3 of 8
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ST. PATRICK’S DAY
ERECTED BY
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St.Mar/s
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I very much [ike a polywog;
I no doubt fait that if she
lid wiggle and wiggle, and at
|ry laason turn tail and flee,
| life ott the high tide of liberty
add be supremsly happy,
#he threw herself into a seat
M shoved her chin into her
|idf shrugging her shoulders
painfully while she surveyed
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ALAMO IRON WORKS 11
SAN AWOMO. TEXAS. .
Freel A good 2~foot four-fold Rule by mail if you scot 3c for postage ; /1 3j
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THERE IS STRENGTH 1
FOR YOUR BODY IN
THE PAT ANSWER.
Regularly, tw the 17th of March
comes around, the people of the
little green island blessed by St.
Patrick are celebrated in song
and story and dinner toast-
praised for their deathless faith,1
their indomitable courage, their
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ft was St. Patrick's Day in the! bsr surroundings,
y-riing, and the air was singing
Ijd'hsd jus? passed the con-
st, and the great study hail
lined duller than ever. Katli-
|n twisted and turned rastlesuly,
E at last, finding the exquisite
liny of silence too much, oh-
bed permission to go down
|rs for a few minutes. She
Fried with her, secreted in the
bacious folds of her blouse, a
|en flag and, before any one
|ld see or prevent it, was oat1
| side door, down through the
|k and up on one of the lower
[nehes of a. hemlock tree that
fod by the convent wall facing
I street,
I'here she sat and dangled her
It, shook her green be-ribbon-
| curls, waving her flag and
Ited. Presently, as she had
licipated, the Hibernian band
girned. The bright green flag
Meeting from the black green
Shock was rather conspicuous;
I when the band came up
I sprang down on the wall and
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|-ed it vigorously. The boye of the laws of gravity—the Kerry
ftd their hate, and she cried
ft merrily to each diviaion:
WBoyB, I wish ye the top of the
I'lm’."
Bll saluted the standard and
Sled up at the pretty little
Sidard bearer. The great
Sris of the Hiberoiane were too
||of reverence for more than a
fery "God bless.her!” What
®renee “those boys” ever
Be for innocence, their mothers
|l Ireland I
when all had passed Kathleen
|| back to the convent and up
Bhe study hall, with its rowe
S rows of dainty, eober-clad
Bs; but not a whit too soon.
S waa to try over a piano eolo
B the evening concert at the
St bell, and it rang out ae she
Ms her seat, No one loved
feio better than Kathleen, and
| one hated music lessons or
®ic practice mors cordially.
B could play anything she
|rd; but as for practicing hap-
plies, melodies, chromatics,
I'da, fourths, sixths by the
|ir—she never could, or rather
| never would.
I'No, I don’t want to play it
I?. I can’t play; my fingers
|t sprawl out, and won’t go on
I right keys. Oh„ I can’t sit
g now. I have no inspiration I”
B away flaw Kathleen.
|k half hour later Sister Angels,
|p was presiding over punish-
Bit pupils, was alarmed oy the
Erance of Kathleen, Kathleen
&nt trouble. She felt she
Sid no more understand the
Svteen-yesr-oid, wiry, wiggling,
Sceless child than she could un-
Stand the anatomy or instinct
;tion arhidh gi’.— —........
and writers-:inexhaustible founts
of humor, unfathomable depths
of pathos. “Erin, the smile and
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a bright new farthing and .want p™™
on talking to :us,'apparently;:uh-: y
conscious of : his mis taka; The. s < : |
waiter stood - by patiently: till ■
there was a-pause in the conver-
sution. -
“ *1 beg your pardon, sir,’ ho
said,‘but have you no smaller
change?’
“As we came across . from
Holyhead the Irish ticket collec-
tor on the boat scrutinized our
return tickets cloaely.
“ •ThHv'rt. n fortnight old,’
they're wearin*
It was St. Patrick’s Day in the to pour forth < in the solemn
----:__.f ttnd Kathleen, just words. . Kathleen longed to an-
■ ’ Mass, tidied up ewer him i» the same swelling
.. . , :hen sat down by tones.
.....her pipes. The After Communion the leader
rling with heaps of the choir passed her a hymne.i
’ * ‘ ’ open at “All Praise to St. Pat-
rick.” Kathleen shook her head.
She had no need of a book. A
moment before the last Gospel,
just as ths congregation rose to
their feet, the organ pealed forth
the opening melody.
The priest had just finished the
Gospel as her voice caught up
the words, "All Praise to Si,
Patrick." Why he stood there
he did not know; nor did he
know be stood there. Out into
the dim cathedral came a voice,
fresh us the sir that drinks in
the dew from the green grass of
Ireland; deep and sad like the
sea, suggestive, too, oi its im-
mensity and power; true with
that instinctive trueness; rich
with the melody that stirs the
heart and elevates the soul.
Now rising, now falling, gather-
ing strength as it went, it burst
forth triumphant.
The voice of the singer seemed
to sob “for that green sunny
shore” and “the lund of his
choice.”
How it pleaded with those Hi-
bernians in the last verse; plead-
ed for virtue, loyalty and faith.
The congregation fell on their
knees as the priest now descend-
ed the altar steps. The Hiber-
nians tried to wink back the
tears, while the rector took out-
Ills handkerchief and passed Into;
the sacristy without genuflecting.:
Kathleen knelt down; tears were:
in her own eyes. She felt
strangely lonely, if her fattier
were only here!
“Excuse me, miss,” said an
altar boy, “Father wishes to see
you in the sacristy.”
Kathleen followed him silently.
At the foot of the choir steps was
Mr. Hogan, smiling brightly.
But her smile was all gone, and
only a little woa-begone face
looked up at the glam Hibernian.
It was very strange, yet some-
how it made his heart go thump
way down to see her sad. "She
must have felt all that, then,”
he thought. There were traces
of tears in hie own eyes; tears
he had tried to wink back, but in
vain. Why they came was a
mystery to him. Was it a feet
that he and his brother Hiber-
nians were in reality nothing
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“sunny shore,” the dear old Ire-
land?
“My dear child, this is some
mistake. I sent for Miss O’Brien,
who sang ‘Ail Praise to St. Pat-
rick,’ ” said the rBctor.
“I sang it,” tiadly. ------ -
“You! Why, you are only a blandly:
child I” *,ai”“
"I am eighteen, Father.”
“And you really sang thatl
Why, your true voice so carried
me back to the dear old County
of Tyrone! Again I was hunting
the cuckoo’e nest in the black,
sodden Mourns and heard the
lark singing for all Ireland.
Again, a barefooted boy, I ran
wren’s little nest, or mimicked
the corncrake in the hawthorn.”
Tears were in his eyes. “You
have made even me young again.
Will yotj sing it after Vespers
thia afternoon?”
"With pleasure, Father.”
And all the Hibernians were
there, and after Benediction Mr,
Hogan drove home with Mrs. .
and Mies O’Brien, which wasn’t pieces!
a bit fair, as all “the boys” said. Th« 1
But St. Joseph was not to be
outdone even by the wonder
worker, and on St. Patrick’s Day
in the evening!—JZ. tie Paul in
the Canadian JjpBSi’.it'jer of the
Sacred ifeart.
morning, arid :
home from early Mass, tidied up
the studio, and then sat down by
the window to bar pipes,
sun was struggling with heaps
and piles of deep, dark clouds—
those hostile, selfish clouds that:
rarely let us have s. bit of sun,
ever here on that day of days.
But this morning there was a wee
bit, and the air was whispering
spring. Kathleen threw open
the window. Oh, the sweet
morning air after that long win-
ter! It seemed to fly to her head
or heart, or both, for as she pat-
ted and rolled the clay in her
deft fingers she suddenly burst
into song. Swifter and swifter
flew her fingers as her heart
poured forth the “Praise to St.
Patrick.” When she had fin-
ished a greet clapping outside
made her look round. There
were the “Hibernian boys,”
decked in green, by hundreds.
They were evidently collecting
for parade, and, attracted by the
singer, had' waited silently.
Kathleen, seing such a display of
green, seized her flag and, wav-
ing it out the window, cried:
"Boys, I wish ye the top o’ the
marnin’.”
“Kathleen, Kathleen I” called
her mother. "Whatever are you
up to now?”
The street resounded with
cheers for St. Patrick and the
singer, and then, st command,
the Hibernians fell into line.
One of them, in full uniform,
camo into the studio.
“Pardon me, young lady, but
our boys would like that hymn
for their concert to-night. Could
you—that is, would you—sing it
for them? Ism president of the
Hibernian Club,” giving her
mother his card.
“I am very sorry, Mr. Hogan,
but I would rather not,” as
visions of Kathleen in a faded
gown rose before her eyes.
Kathleen’s eyes were danc-
ing. She still kept patting the
clay in ber hands.
“How is that?” holding up s
ehamrock pipa.
“You don't mean to say you
make those ugly things by just
patting theml”
“There’s a good deal in a Pat,
Mr. Patrick Hogan!" smiling up
at the gian t.
"That depends on who gives
it, I suppose,” laughing.
“Or who wears it, eh? See, I
have two hundred shamrock
pipes. I sell them to the boys
for a dollar apiece, but to a
•Prof for five.”
“Allow me to ba a ’Prot,’ ”
said Mr. Hogan, picking up one
of the pipes and depositing
crisp fiver on tne table.
“Oh, no," cried Kathleen. But
he wae out and on the march.
Needless to say, all “the boys”
were ad monished to buy a hand-
made shamrock pipe, and before
: evening most of the two hundred
were gone.
At ten o’clock Kathleen re-
ceived a note from the rector of
St. Patrick’s requesting her to
sing “All Praise to St. Patrick”
at the close of High Mass. The
“boys,” he said, were very
anxious for it. Kathleen was
rather excited. She hud never
sung anywhere except in the
convent chapel at home. She
looked down ruefully at her fast
fading shamrock.
When she and her mother
were starting for the church a
carriage drove up to their door.
A trim footman stopped down,
and, bowing to them, opened the
carriage door. He then banded
a bunch of fresh shamrocks to
Kathleen.
"This is some mistake,” said
her mother, drawing back.
"No, madam; Mr. Hogan sent
it for Mrs. and Mias O’Brien,”
bowing.
Aa they neared the church
whom should they meet but the
long line of Hibernians. Hun-
dreds of them—who had heard
her sing—lifted their hate, and
she bowed and emilod and gayly
. At the
end of she line was Mr. Hogan,
but somehow, of course by aoci-
debt, she did not see him; Mrs,
O’Brien bowed, but, somehow,
he did not see her, He left the
ranks, and' when the carriage
stepped opened the door.
Sim-Metd Worker. ‘ h“d’wltli the
APS ihow you the
| FROM J
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" ‘They’re a
said one of us.
“‘Bedad then _.T
their age well,’ he replied de-
lightedly. ,
"A friend of mine who was
very enthusiastic about things
Irish, herself being an English
woman, was driving on an out-
side car in Dublin. She .was
praising everything to the' car-
man, and among the rest the
famous Dublin etout with which
she had just become acquainted.
“ ‘What an excellent dijink it
is,’ she said. ‘Why, it’s peat
and drink, too.’
“ 'Thrue for you, ma’am,’ re-
plied the car driver, an’ a night’s
lodgiEi’, too, if you only drink
enough of it.’ ”
It has been said of the Irish
(doubtlessly by one of them-
eelves !) that even an Irish
"bull” or blunder bus more wit
to it than the average un-Coltic
bon-mot, Funny enough is. the
tale of the Irishman who, seeing
a donkey ready saddled, ana
thinking of having a cheap ride,
jumped on his back. He had
not gone far when the dbnkuy
started kicking and jumping
about, so much so that he got his
hoof hung up in one of the stir-
rups. “Sure,” says Pal, “if
you’re going to get on, I’m go-
ing to get oft.”
A Dublin temperance leader,
who, as ho said of himself, had
taken "no pledge against a
joke,” told one on himself some
time ago. Once he was ad-
dressing a crowded meeting and
arguing against the assumption
that stimulants were necessary
to health.
"Look at me, boys,” he said.
"Here I am, eighty years old.
I’ve been a total abstainer all
my life, and could you see any
man of eighty healthier than I
am?”
“Yerra, Mr. B.,” eaid a voice
in the crowd. “If you’d taken
your glass like a man ’tie a hun-
but exiles—exiled from the bright dred you’d have besn by now.”
‘‘ : -Le Fanu tells about the host
hi the country hotel who, when
an angry English guest informed
him that he had put hie boots
outside his bedroom door every
night of the week and they had
never been touched, replied
ilandly:
“Sure, that’s nothing at all.
We’re the honesteet people in
the world in this country. You
might lave your goold watch
there, an’ it’d never be touched,
let alone your boots.”
Several anecdotes are narrated
of the too-impudent but suffici-
ently witty Irish beggars. “May
„ _____________- ____ the blessing of God go after you,”
along the ditches, spying out the says the beggar,with outstretched
ra.nn’n in tin npBt. nr mimicked hand, and when you have passed
without giving any alms, "arid
neverovertake you.” :■ 7
“How’s the Dane (Dean) to-
day?” asked one beggar of an-
other in Cashel,
“Fine, praise be. I jfsht saw
him go by, and he stepped out
so janty (jaunty) that he only
touched ground in ths high
"teeee!”
The “jarvey,” or cabman, in
Ireland is expected to bandy wit
with tourists, who generally offer
him less than they mean to give
eventually, “just to see 3 what
he’ll say.”
"Oy, ya’il not ba giving me
anything bo onlike youraali
sir!” proteste the jarvey, half in
earnest. “Sure, I’ll not believe
it of your honor. Your honor
looks like a dacint man!”
To a close-fisted Ssotehmsn
who could not be induhed to givh
uieir laavnnutyie vuur>Kv, w«i sigh, giving up “a bad'job” at
generouBjhospitahty and for the jagtf .»YePPS>.tf ye-rB -satisfied
quick and sympathetic imagine-, with yerself, after that, I’ll lave
tion which gives .to Irish orators you H|m Ulet WBde
humor, unfathomable depths tep0 in tb/eFt of polite op^pli-'
pathos. “Enn, the smite.and mf)nL Onc? of ..ib6 beaujful
mirth st wilk- Yet, every one ®^enf U»M^lS^5g
11
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■■ -■■■■:'/.:'te?
„ LteUd to tte s .< of hriri
frning, and the air was singing} “Sister!” atie called, after a
ill jubilation. The Hibernian I moment. “This is a stupid
‘ ■ 1 " ' ------1 ” ‘ — place; but why do they call it the
puni’fehiid room? It’s not the
room that’s punished 1”
“I’m not eo sure of that, Kath-
leen,’* said the Sister, as she
drew from a box some colored
chalk. “Will you come and help
ma decorate the blackboards? I
want all kinds of brownies—red,
yellow, pink, green—ovsry kind
—along ths tPP <’! that board.”
Kathleen jumped up, delight-
ed. Along the top of the black-
board eoon trippad the brownies
in sprightly mazes. Here a troop
of Yankees were driving ahead
at a tremendous, rate. It was
labelled “Progress.” Some were
stepping up perpendicularly,
clutching at the stars—evidently
astronomers; others were delving
down, straight down—geologists,
probably ; others were preparing
to leap into unknown space—
scientists perhaps; but one and
all meant business. QuUe near,
in striking contrast, regardless
dancers perhaps. Over a little
dash of water puffed and ooureod
the Highlanders in wonderful
plaids—a Highland fling.
At first the teacher's only
thought was to keep the culprit
out of mischief, but soon she
saw she had an artist. Ah;'busy,
happy, careless, heart-free, gold-
en days for Kathleen 1 Alas I
they passed too soon. But when
the crush came, when her father
died, leavingadelicate, penniless
widow on Kathleen’s eighteen-
year-old hands, she turned to
her beloved art with new zest.
“Wo must go to a large city,
mamma.”
"But there will be no demand
for those crazy clay things you
makel"
“Then I will make a demantll
I tell you Its my vocation, mam-
ma, and I will make it a success.
St. Anthony will find me custom-
ers, and St. Joseph a husband—
perhaps a rich one, too,” laugh-
ing.
They were barely settled in
their new home when Kathleen
had an inspiration, so she said.
It had come to her as she knelt
before a Status of St, Anthony,
to thank him for the customers
he had found. It was early in
February, and she therewith be-
gan to manufacture pipes. There
were In a few week#, in the little
studio, alt kinds of pipes, and
the wildest kinds. The profile of
one bowl was a huge, .hooked,
high-bridged Roman nose re-
posing on the triune leaves of a
shamrock; the stem waa a long,
thin, nervous finger with a crook-
ed nail. There were bowls with
polywog. In fact, Kathleen full faces, grotesque; but one
-----------, . ...i------- ai)(j R]| ;1R(j it0 bit of ehamrock.
Mrs. O’Brien, in despair, won-,
de red what next. She was gat-:
ting anxious. Sales had been,
so far, small; but Kathleen was
a dreadful optimist. Nothing
could shake her firm belief that
St. Anthony would find her cus-
tomers for her wonderful clay
creations,
3 DECERLtoiG^a^; w„ed
her shamrocks.
11 a'ful'L 'zasoRTMEfivViv; end. of she line_ was Mr
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Campbell, William. Southern Messenger (San Antonio and Dallas, Tex.), Vol. 18, No. 4, Ed. 1 Thursday, March 11, 1909, newspaper, March 11, 1909; San Antonio, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1247074/m1/3/: accessed July 17, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; .