The Irish standard. [volume], April 17, 1886, Image 1

About The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920

Image provided by: Minnesota Historical Society; Saint Paul, MN

                
Li.
ft-
i1 'j
''.VOLUME I.
Hi' ,,
IV
IVV
1"
(1*
rl
IN IRELAND'S CAPITAL CITY.
Tiie Tomb of O'Oormell—"Great, Immortal
Tribune, Sleep on Till the Angel of the
4
H-
1
I!
Resurrection Summons Thee."
ALLEN, LARKIN AND O'BRIEN.
The Tomb of John Philpot Ourran, the Cele
brated Advocate, Who Defended the
Leaders of the United Irishmen.
DUBLIN, March 26.1886.—Back again
in the old city, where England's head
quarters in the castle on the top of
Cork Hill, and the Irish National Lea
,gue headquarters at 39 O'Counell
'r, street, on the other aide of theLiffey,
confront each other. The one repre
sentative of the cruel, pharasaical in
,, vader, and the other of the indomitable
I perseverance and marvellous tenacity
h'-t of national life which has so won
"f' drously eharactorzed the. Celtic race
through the long, dreary struggle of
}{j over seven centuries. As I sat down
to write this letter the new lord lieu
tenant, the Earl of Aberdeen, sur
rounded by a troop of cavalry rode by
on His way from his vice-regial residence
in the Phoenix Park to the castle. As
watched the cavalcade for a moment,
and heard the clang of their English
ttWbres, the blood of the motherland
coursed faster in my veins through a
feeling of intense pride, as I thought of
the magnificent, though desperate, re
sistance made by the people of my race
to the devilish power whose orders
those troops obey. How freely they
poured out their blood resisting his
rule and his king-made religion I They
would not be denationalized, and the
deposit
of.
i:?
faith whioh Patrick prayed
in his dying iiour might never fail
thorn, they have preserved inviolate
and unspotted as when he first an
nounced to them the glad tidings of
salvation. The cynical rationalist of
to-day, who has suddenly discovered
that his paternal ancestor was a mon
key and his maternal Gne a jelly-fish or
an oyster who calls virtue utilitarian
ism, and smiles at the mention of a
miracle, will find it exceedingly diffi
cult, nay impossible, to eliminate the
miraculous element from the preserva
tion of the Catholic faith by the Irish
people. They had everything in the
natural order to gain by conforming to
the religious notions of Henry VIII.,
his daughter Elizabeth and their royal
Jf successors. They had everything to
lose—property, earthly comfort, even
.'|
life itself—by standing firm in the faith
I I delivered to the saints by the victim of
.f Calvary. They preferred the latter,
with its direful consequences. The
-Xk sword and axe, the terrors of the gal
lows, and the fiendish ingenuity of the
terrible penal code, smote them to the
earth through many generations, but
never, even in the darkest hour, when
no single ray of hope illuminated the
heavens when the martyred nation
might well cry out from the depths of
her agony in the words of the expiring
.Master "Lord, Loid, why hast thou
forsaken me never even then, was
I the knee bent to Baal, or the right to
./?'tbe national patrimony renounced.
1
The heritage has been handed down in
tact by one generation to another to
„'l: I-''1the present time. The dying prayer of
St. Patrick has prevailed over the pow
I j^-VVers of earth and hell. Historians tell
us that Julian the Apostate, the power
]m,j'^ful Roman emperor who was brought
l\ .up as a Christian, was aided by demons
.refill his attempts tojdestroy Christianity
the early days of the church. He
'proposed, "with all the power of the em
pire, to uproot the doctrine of the
"Nazarene," as he termed in derision
i-the Sacred One made it a penal of
fence to invoke His holy name, and set
lajbkrat with the most diabolical yigor
|td restore the unclean abomination of
,jf|lpagan worshin. But in the hour of his
^.greatest success, apparently, the end
Sfi^i^had arrived. On a Persian battlefield,
at the head of his powerful legions,
^haying forgotten to put on his armor,
I ,3H^he was transfixed by a Persian javelin,
^pj^Bs^iung^at iandooi^ but very likely guided
^toy more than mortal aim. As he drew
£|out the spear his heart'sblood followed,
•, V-jind, falling from his horse, he shrieked
spoilt in despair, "Galillean, thou hast
I ''i^|^^^iueredrf
To my mind, and I am
means .credulous, but rather in
to the contrary, the successful
^W||^^tltoce:of the Irish, as borne witness
their' histbiy since the time of
evinces: most clearly the.
of a more than
thly power. I wish that a large
iljkber of my young readers would
^j&diire at some library, and carefully
L'dyer the chapters relating to Ire
"4ii William H. Leckey's "History
England in the JBighteenth Cen-
g&^^Mitchell's "History of Ireland,*?
i£ei&/ Waged for faith and father-
land against such overwhelming odds,
and I doubt not they too would begin
to realize that august presence in the
conflict which animated the Theban le
gionaries, gave victory to Constantine,
and broke the Mohammedan power at
Lepanto. I hope my young friends
will take the hint. The elders will be
also benefitted thereby, and get up
from a careful perusal of the three
works named with flashing eyes and
manly pride at learning the exact na
ture of the stuff of which their race
was composed when subjected to pro
bably th3 most trying ordeal which a
peoDle ever experienced. What a sing
ular train of thought the passage of the
lord lieutenant's troopers outside my
window has instigated. During the
wi ola forenoon of to-day I have been
acting as cicerone to an acquaintance
just arrived from New York, whom I
met accidentally on the street yesterday.
We jumped on a horse car, or tram car
as it is called here, and rode up to Glas
nevin cemetery. The New Yorker de
aired to look first upon the face of the
great Liberator, O'Counell, where he
reposes in the crypt underneath the
white round tower, which, shooting up
to a great altitude, at the same time
serves as a monument, and symbolizes
the greatness and stature of him who
lies below. Down a long flight of stone
steps, and we enter the crypt. My
friend, with uncovered head, gazed
long and reverently through the glass
plate inserted in the head of the coffin
at the massive, placid features, so well
preserved, so life-like, that the sleeping
Titian looks as if he had just lain down,
and might spring to his feet, in a mo
ment to hurl his withering invective,
burning sarcasm and biting ridicule at
the Randolph Churchills and Chamber
lains, and spineless Hartingtons of to
day, who dare to stand up in the way
of Ireland's march forwrrd to freedom.
Great, immortal Tribune, sleep on till
the angel of the resurrection summons
thee The cause which you advanced
so far is in safe hands, and the eventual
triumph within measurable distance.
Up from the presence of death, out
through the irou gateway, and with a
sharp turn to the right, we come in a
couple of dozen of paces to the memo
rial Celtic cross erected to the memory
of Allen, Larkin and O'Brien, who
were hanged in Salford jail, outside the
city of Manchester, on Nov. 23,1867.
Three men of a common type were
they. They died on the English gal
lows, after embracing each other and
crying out in prayerful defiance the
last words spoken aloud on earth, "God
save Ireland."
A. little farther on we come to the
grave of Under-Secretary Burke, whose
throat was cut along with Lord Caven
dish's on May 6, 1882. This Under
Secretary was the one who really ran
the castle machinery for Buckshot
Forster and his predecessors. A pause
for a moment at the tomb of John
Philpot Curran, the celebrated advo
cate who defended in court the chief
leaders of the United Irishmen, and
flung back the teeth of that judicial
ruffian, igprbury, the taunts and sneers
which he^ieaped upon the unfortunate
victims in the dock. In the wild,
stormy period during which Curran
lived, the exigency of the times de
manded from the popular advocate an
heroic nature, bold to speak the truth
and ready to accept the consequences,
and I think that in the whole range of
forensic eloquence there can be found
no finer examples of concentrated pas
sion, with fearless assertion of rights
and vindication of principles, than in
the small collection of his speeches
which have been handed down to us.
We now come to a large grave lot at
the intersection of two of the neatly
kept pathways. No memorial arises
here to tell us the name or character of
the occupants who rest beneath the
green turf on which the shamrocks
look so fresh this spring morning. Un
derneath, side by side, repose the bones
of John O'Mahoney, Terence Bellew
McManus and Sergeant McCarthy. We
both knew John O'Mahony personally,
and valued him at his real worth as one
of the truest and noblest Irishmen of a
generation which is fast passing away.
At the decadence of Fenianism the en
venomed tongue of slander assailed the
good name of O'Mahony, and how often
1 have heard the little spasmodic pa
triots charge the old chieftain with
misappropriating the funds of the
brotherhood. He was charged with
being the owner of an enormous iron
foundry in Jersey City, purchased with
those funds. At length, crippled by
rheumatism, he died, almost unnoticed
and alone, on a dreary day in a dreary
attic room on Hudson street New York
city. Hia personal necessities he re
fused to make known to the friends
who would have readily assisted him.
He was modest as a maiden regarding
himself. And thus he died. Iear,
dead rebel, goodbye to.thee. God rest
the faithful.—Special Correspondence:
Boston Republic. A..
The. Catholics of the
number about 1^50,000.
suss
FAMOUS IRISH WARRIORS.
Brian Boroimhe is as Historical a Person
age as O'Gonnell or Grattan, or Silken
Thomas, or Shane O'Neill."
HE WAS BORN IN THE YEAR 941.
From His Earliest Boyhood He Hated the
Danish Invaders, the Scourge of the
,Hative Irish Princes.
Many persons of playful tempera
ment and unincumbered by any wealth
of historical or other information are
accustomed to ailude to Brian Boroimhe
in all lightness of heart, as a move or
less mythical individual, whose deeds
and words are to be placed on the same
footing as those of Cucullain or Finn
MacCoul. I am not at all prepared my
self to abandon the right to distinct
historical recognition of so distinguish
ed a warrior as Cucullain or so eminent
a monarch as Finn. In an age which
excavates Troy and unearths from the
dust of Mycenae the mouldering re
mains of the King of the Men, the
scholar would be rash, indeed, who de
nied to the Feni and their forefathers
the respect due to the heroes of Homer
ic epic and Athenian tragedy. But while
we may frankly admit that the case for
the historical existence of Oisin or Der
mot is not yet conclusively made out,
we must insist, wherever such insis
tance is necessary, upon the very differ
ent decree of authencity which attaches
to the memory of the famous and fear
less king who made himself the terror
of the Danes, Brian Boroimhe is as his
torical a personage as O'Connell or
Grattan, or Silken Thomas or Shane
O'Neill. To relegate him in any way
into the ghostly company of Ossianic
heroes, who haunt the twilight regions
of romance, is to commit a grave of
fence of lese majeste against that most
high and potent prince. Brian Bor
oimhe, or Brian otthe Tribute, was
the greatest king of the old Dalcaasin
line, which v/as founded by Cormac
Cas, in the third century. In alterna
tion with the princes of the Eug&nian
line, the Dalcassian princes haft ruled
over Munster for seven centuries, when
a son was born to Cinneidigh, who was
christened Brian. Before I explain the
signification of the surname, which
was afterwards given to the glory of
the Dalcassian House, I may not inap
propriately quote a passage from O'Cur
ry's delightful lectures, in which one
valuable social reform, in itself enough
to illuminate a kingly house, is set
forth:—
"Previous to the time of .the Mon
arch, Brian Boroihrne—about the year
1000—there was no general system of
family names inErinn but every man
took the name* of his father or his
grandfather for a surname. Brian,
however, established a new and most
convenient arrangement—namely, that
families in future should take perma
nent names, either those of their im
mediate fathers or of any person more
remote in their line of pedigree. And
thus Muireadhach, the son of Carihach,
took the surname of MacCarthaigh
(now MacCarthy)—'Mac' being the Gae
lic for'son.' Toirdhealbhagh, orTur
loeh, the grandson of Brian himself
took the surname of O'Brian, or 'the
grandson of Brian'—O' being the Gea
lic for 'grandson Gathbarr, the grand
son of Donnell, took the name of
O'Donuell Donnell, the grandson of
Niall Glendubh, took the surname of
O'Neill Tadgh, or Teige, the grandson
of Conor, took the name of O'Conor of
Connacht Donogh. the son of Mur
chadh, or Muroch, took the surname of
MacMurogh of Leinster and so as to
all the other families throughout the
kingdom."
Brian was born in the year 941. When
lie was ten years old his brother Mahon
succeeded to. the kingship. At that
time the Danes were the scourge and
dread of $he native Irish princes. Their
wild Vikings came from the far north,
in their long ships, and settled eagerly
upon the smiling Irish shores, plunder
ing and devastating in all directions,
and encroaching more and more upon
the soil, and pushing the lines of their
settlements further and further away
from the sea. From his earliest bey
hood Brian seemed to have been ani
mated by the fiercest hatred against the
invaders, and by consuming indigna
tion at the humiliation involved in the
presence of their marauding encamp
ments on Irish soil. Hitherto no prince,
or league of princes, had been found
strong enough to drive the Danes back
over the swan's hath to their homes in
the frozen North. The desperate cour
age, the vast physical strength, the gi
gantic frames of the Northmen made
them exceedingly dangerous adversar
ies, and, moreover, they settled upon
the country in such numbers as made
any attempt to overthrow them difficult
in the extreme. Brian's patience seems
to have given away wh^a Mahon, in his
MINNEAPOLIS AND ST. PAUL, SATURDAY, APRIL 17, 1886. NUMBER 24.
sovereign capacity as King of Munster,
withdrew from what looked like a hope
less struggle with the Danes, and
entered into a solemn treaty with them.
The treaty could not bind Brian. He
rallied around him a mere handful of
the bravest and most desperate chief
tains, and fought the hostile Danes
whenever and wherever he could, and
to such good purpose that he succeeded
in restraining their onward advance.
Fired by the courageous example of
Brian, his brother Mahon iand other
princes took heart and joined together
in a comprehensive bond against the
common enemy. Limerick, in which
the power of the Munster Danes was
massed, was assailed and carried after
some hot fighting, and the Irish found
themselves masteis of many prisoners
and a vast quantity of treasures. Still,
in spite of this signal victory, such was
the power of the Danes, and such the
strength, of their arms from constant
reinforcement, and 3uch the dread of
their desperate reputation, that after a
while they were permitted to re-enter
Limerick as traders, and became mas
ters of the town again.
The reinstated Danes were full of bit
ter feeling towards Mahon as head of
the great enterprise which had, for the
time, struck so heavy a blow at their
influence and they determined on re
venge. A conspiracy was formed be
tween Ivar, head of the Danes ol Lime
rick, and a renegade Irish Prince, Mol
loy, son of Bran, Lord of Desmond,
who had long been a jealous rival of
Mahon, whom Mahon had expelled
from Desmond, and who was thirsting
for revenge. Between the pair a scheme
was laid for the assassination of Mahon,
which was carried out under conditions
of peculiar and revolting perfidy. Mol
loy summoned Mahon to an amicable
conference at which the claims of the
two rival Princes might be discussed
and settled. The meeting was to be
held at the house of Donovan, a Eugen
ian Prince. Mahon went to the meet
ing without any suspicion of the medi
tated treason be was immediately
seized, made prisoner, hurried to the
mountains and slain.
News of his brother's death was
brought to, Brian at Kinkora. Every
historian has recorded the passion of
grief and rage which seized upon the
young prince.
Rousing all his followers, he
flung himself first upon his Danish
foes, under Ivar of Limerick, and
routed them completely. Ivar, the
chief of the traitors, with his two sons,
was slain. Then he turned the edge
of his sword against the false Eugeniem
Donovan. Donovan raised a mighty
power of his own people and of Des
mond Danes, but they could make no
head against Brian they were scattered
like chaff, and Donovan himself was
slaia. One alone now remained of Ma
hon's murderers, Molloy, the son of
Bran. Brian sent him a summons to
fight, which Molloy answered by taking
the field with a swollen armament. But
these, too, like the others, were dis
persed and scattered by Brian's army,
and Molloy himself was slam in the
thick of the fight by Murrogh. Brian's
valiant and high-spirited son. Such
was the swift fate that overtook the
slayers of Mahon.
While this blood-rfeud was being con
summated, Brian's dominions were in
vaded by Malachy Mor, the famous
Malachy of the Collar of Gold. The
precise cause of the quarrel between
these two illustrious princes seem now
to be somewhat uncertain, but it must
have been fierce, indeed, when it
moved so gallant a warrior as
Malachy to the ungenerous action of
cutting down the sacred tree of Adair,
under which Brian himself, and the
long line of his Dalcassian ancestors,
had been crowned. As soon as Brian
had his brother's vendetta ofE his hands,
he turned the strength of his arm
against Malachy, by ravaging West
meath. FOr some time the quarrel be
tween Brian and Malachy raged with
intermittent fury, victory sometimes
inclining to one prince and sometimes
to another. At last however, a com
mon enemy united those hostile mon
archs.
Brian's reign as King of Ireland, was
brilliant and prosperous. Commerce,
arts, education,all flourished, and the
wealth and peace of the country be
came proverbial. Bnt the old hatred of
the Danes, long smouldering, blazed at
last into a determined insurrection.
Aided by treason among the Irish
chiefs and princes, a formidable army
was levied against the aged King. But
age had not cooled^the fiery courage of
Brian's nature.. He raised all his ow
er and met his foes at Clontarf, on
Good Friday, the 23d of April, 1014.
The fortunes of that fight are a familiar
story. The Danes wrere defeated, but
victory was scarcely less terrible to vic
tors tnan to vanquished, for in the
verp ebb of the battle, a Danish chief
struck down and slew the greatest
prince who ever ruled Ireland, one of
the greatest monarchs whose name is
recorded in the history of the world.—
Justin Huntiy McCarthy, in United
Ireland,
srr$k
r,
forT
THE GRAND OLD MAN."
His Power in the British Parliament—The
House a Stupid Assembly When
He is Absent.
A GULLIVER AMONG LILLIPUTIANS
Sentiment and Shrewdness
riously Mingled in
Mental Control.
are
Ou-
His
No one, says a writer in last Sunday's
New York Times, can understand the
marvellous domination wh'ich Mr.
Gladstone has over Parliament until
he has seen the House ot Commons in
the two stages of its being—with Glad
stone and without Gladstone. The un
usual cold weather of the past few
weeks has, unfortunately, rendered it
very easy to view the house sitting
without its mentor, Nestor and dicta
tor. He has been ill with colds and
bronchial difficulties, and has wisely
kept within doors, nursing his health
and mediating on the great finishing
masterpiece of his career. To sf-e the
House on any evening when he is ab
sent, no matter, how interesting the
subject before it may be of itself, or
how well the reports may read next
morning, is to view one of the jeast in
spiring spectacles conceivable. Indif
ference is stamped on every face, on the
pose of every lolling iigare. Deadly
mediocrity rules on both sides and the
House yawns in bored acquiescence in
its supremacy. Opposition dullards
propound questions in perfunctory list
lessness ministerial dullards answer
with routine commonplaces. A spell
of drowsiness seems to hang over the
sparsely filled benches. Nobody listens
to the speaker or even pretends to be
interested in what he is saying. When
he pauses at the end of a rounded pe
riod to receive the sustaining "cheers"
of his party, three or four men say
"Hear! hear I" languidly, and the rest
wearily look at each other, at the gal
leries, at the ceiling, and slip further
down on their cushioned seats. The
few ministers who sit on the treasury
bench have their hats tilted over on
their noses, their chins on their breasts,
their legs stretched far out to the dis
patch table, their hands buried deep in
their trousers pockets. Nobody cares
for them, and they care for nobody.
The prosy orators drone away, mem
bers and ministers saunter out to gos
sip in the lobby or drink in the smok
ing room below, disappointed strangers
get up and tiptoe oat, amazed that the
parliament of such an empire should be
so stupid a place.
But go some night when the premier
is there—and note the difference It
is such a change as the fairy prince
wrought on. the enchanted palace. The
benches are well filled, and the mem
bers—especially the new members—sit
upright and with eyes wide-open. The
occupants of the front opposition bench
look nervously conscious and apprehen
sive. Every speaker—and particularly
if he be a new man—evidences by his
manner, his voice, his delivery, that he
is chiefly anxious to impress Mr. Glad
stone fayorably. and that he is really
speaking to no one else. If there is a
chance that the premier is to speak,
you will find a few loungers in the
lobby, fewer still in the smoking room.
There is an indescribable fascination in
watching the great man as he sits to
wards the outer end of the government
bench listening to a debate. It may be
that this is not his invariable rule, but
at least I have never happened to see
him in the House in any other garb
than evening dress—with a wider ex
panse of shirt front than is ordinarily
worn eyen here, where very much
inen is in fashion. He leans back
comfortably, with one thin leg over the
other and with his eyes musingly fixed
on the great mace on the table before
Mm, when in repose. The full top
light shows on his long, bald crown,
his clustering gray side lock3, and his
shirt front, and makes him the con
spicuous object of every eye. About
10 or 11 o'clock in the evening he al
ways writes his daily letter to the
Queen, using a pad on his knee and a
quill pen, and it is one of the
the most familiar of his curious ways
that this occupation never prevents his
hearing acutely all that is going on.
All at once you will see him stop writ
ing and screw his head to one side like
a wise old bird, and you may know that
he hi
him. it the
unusually J^oo^ ije w,ill„tiirn g,nJ loofe,at,
the^t4achlyi,. \i{ &fcyijjhte<ijkf
the dise&fafr $ aefoftalkie!' When 4e*s:
ser lights of the opposition—and the
name of these is legion—are attacking
him, he customarily draws his head
down into his collar and looks stonily
at them but if the assault be from
somebody worth, listening to, say
Churchill or jspjfclv he, listens more
heard
If the
gradou8ly,«xpxiaBsinglatliaf0,
4
ilJIJ
mobile face as the indictment goes on,t
all his emotions—amusement, interest,
dissent, indignation, scorn, elation. No
great actor ever knew better how
to show forth more varied feelings in
all their intensity on his face. And
then
to see him nod lus head, or slow
ly shake it, in response to some con
troversial assertion 1 Lord Burleigh's
nod could not have been more subtly
eloquent. When he rises to his feet a
great hush falls over the House. It
would not be exact to say that all eyes
are
turned
Soften enjoyable, because there is always Vv
the* (egbllection that they are&
juVd^Hfrap^peftj, and that a far greater/ 4%
znan is the responsible head of affairs^
'ft
A
upon him, because he is at.,
all times the focus of observation, but
a light of interested expectancy comes
into every face. He begins in a low
tone of voice, but there is such abso
lute silence that his first words are
never inaudible and raiely indistinct.
I-le has been making notes during the
speech he is to answer, but he will not
refer to them once he is on his feet.
His form, as he stands at the side of
the table, upon which he lightly rests
one hand, does not seem as tall as it
really is, so delicately is it propor
tioned. I wish there were words in
which to convey the sound and fibre of
his voice, for until you are able to as
sociate this with your image of the
man the mental picture fails. It is un
like any other voice, just as Sarah 'i
Bernhardt'? is it has in itself the
power of generating new sensations,
new thoughts in the listener's mind it
seems to have something of primordial
weirdness in its suggestions—like the
ocean or the "forest primeval.5' Of ora
tory, as such, there will not be .much.
There will be nothing at all to recall
Wendell Phillips or Webster, or to
suggest Castelar or Gambetta. It is
not even the eloquence of Bright or of
Joseph Cowen. There are no gestures,
save limited movements with one hand
there are no swelling outbursts of the
voice, no tricks of rounded elocution
ary periods. One feels only at the out
set that a great man is terribly in earn
est then, as the slow, careful, logical
sweep of speech goes on, one feels that
this earnestness is contagious—one
catches its spirit, hangs approvingly
upon its development, thrills with en
thusiasm at its climax of conclusions.
The great orators whom I havo named
could electrify a legislative assembly,
play upon its emotions at will, blanch ,.
its cheeks, quicken its pulses,
command its wildest plaudits—but
after the speech was over the votes
would be cast just as if it had not been
made. There are no such physical ex
citements in listening to Mr. Gladstone.
He does not storm your senses—he con-'
quers your reason, convinces your
judgment. This tremendous power of
persuasion is the key to the whole man.
It accounts for both his stregth and his
weakness. He is so superb, so match
less an arguer, that he can lead English
sentiment around after him wherever
he wants to go. But he is also so won
derful a casuist that he persuades even
himself out of his own judgment some
times, and then leader and led alike
go into the ditch. Sentiment and
shrewdness are curiously mingled
in his mental control. He is a vener
able Gulliver among Lilliputians.
Long since the query became familiar
to Liberals, Who will lead when Glad
stone dies? and the efforts to answer it
have only served to show the measure
of Harrington's incapacity, tide by side
with Chamberlain's unfitness. But a
more general question still forces itself
upon a student of Parliament here,
Who will render the Iious3 of Com
mons intellectually respectable even
when Gladstone is gone? And there
seems to be no answer at all to this
question. Every American is familiar
with the theory that the day of big men
is past in America and with the illus
tration which the personnel of the.
United States Senate is supposed to af
ford. The thing seems painfully true
hers, at least. There are some strong, or
relatively strong, men in the front ranks.
of the Liberal party—and the issue of.
the next few months may reveal that]
John Morley is more relatively strong.
But not even Mr. Morley, brilliant as
he is and great as he may become,^
shines individually beside the radiance,
of Gladstone's genius. And on the1
other side what is there? From sheer
destitution of leadership Lord Randolph .•
Churchill has been allowed to force
himself forward, and he unquestionably'
is the cleverest and readiest Tory on the "U )r'
front opposition bench. He aboutHf§
matches Chamberlain in debate and re
partee, and he more than matches bim
in outside popularity with the Vhoi.
jgoUoi." When they are pitted against.'^-/.
Jeafchother now the effect is interesting^ ,J
s'.'J
ve
-v
A
Jt
5%
'f,1
In the city of Madras in lndia^ there
are two convents of Presentation Nuns
from Irelana, anu enree,convents ofV^i
Hindoo Nuns. The
ively devoted to the education^ Hiri~i
dOo girls, while the* former'
day school and orphanages ft
opean andEast Indian