The lost rosary;

Dedication

TO THE EVER FAITHFUL IRISH GIRLS IN AMERICA, WHOSE AFFECTIONATE DEVOTION TO THEIR KITH AND ION IN THE OLD LAND,

HAS PROVED THAT VIRTUE AND CHARITY,

THE RESULTS OF PIOUS AND CAREFUL TRAINING IN

Preface

At the suggestion of Patrick Donahoe, Esq., the eminent Irish and Catholic Publisher of America, and aided by his wise experience, the Author devoted himself for a short time to the production of this volume.

The Story is necessarily a simple one, although it is to be hoped that the style and aim of the writer will prove sufficiently attractive to redeem the book from the charge of weakness or tameness.

Those who have made the question of which it treats, a study for themselves or others, cannot fail to recognize in these pages a few, at least, of the startling truths which it reveals.

Emigration from Ireland to America has not been, and is not, either a permanent or an unmixed good. True, it has given to many the means of a better material existence, sometimes, it must be acknowledged, at a fearful cost, namely — the loss of faith. From this it must not be inferred that a large number of Our Irish Girls have fallen from their religion, or, the practise of those virtues which adorned them at Home. Whatever experience I possess — and I flatter myself it is somewhat extensive— leads me to an opposite conclusion ; and I am happy and proud at the opportunity thus afforded me, of bearing my impartial and unprejudiced testimony to the pleasing fact, that our emigrant girls have, in the face of many troubles and vexations, heroically adhered to that Faith, and to those rare virtues which were their distinguishing traits in Ireland. Even some of our best intentioned writers, from some cause or another which vi Preface.

appears plain to no one but themselves, have lamented the fall of the poor Irish emigrant from the high, estate of virtue and religion. It is not true. If, in this instance, we look for angelic perfection, we shall be disappointed as we would in any other case ; but if I am to believe the evidence of my own senses, and the willing testimony of many good pastors, I emphatically assert that the emigrant Irish girl, taking that body as a whole, is equally as careful of her religious training and the duties of her state, as the most ardent friend could desire.

There is a very prevalent fallacy in Ireland on matters under this head. Some people there believe that life in America is destructive of morality. This betokens either a want of faith or ignorance. In nearly every instance, the opportunities of attending to all essentially religious duties in America are just as good as at home. There are some exceptions undoubtedly ; but these very exceptions are as much in favor of America, as others may be in favor of Ireland.

It would be folly to deny that temptations in our large cities, and those especially on the eastern seaboard, are more numerous than may be found in the towns of Ireland. That only proves that in the midst of a teeming population, there is more vice and wretchedness than in the smaller country towns and country places where temptations less abound. The genuinely true hearted Irish girl is safe wherever she goes. Her virtue is a wall of adamant, supported by the Sacraments of the Church, which are as effectual here as elsewhere .

We would guard the Irish maiden, whether alone or protected; and we feel confident that the perusal of this book will afford something to feel thankful for, whether,, on the part of ourselves or others.

The title of this book is divided as to Ownership. There is not much in that, but I choose to notice it here.

Vll

Preface.

“ The Lost Rosary ” belongs to the Author ; “ Our Irish Girls, their Trials, Temptations and Triumphs,” belongs to the Publisher.

The very title is indicative, in some measure at least, of the nature and character of the Story.

I am not aware that the subject has been treated by others. It is a fruitful theme ; and a vast, unexplored field is still open for others to cultivate. The majority of our Irish Girls are honest hard workers. Their leisure time for pleasant or instructive reading is rather limited. This, in itself, is an evil ; and all such evils recoil, less or more, on the heads of families and others in whose employment they are engaged.

I trust it will not be deemed impertinent in the Author of this volume to bespeak at the hands of the employers, and especially Catholic employers, of our Irish Girls, a careful and kindly supervision, which will include opportunities of attending to religious duties. Such kindness brings its own reward, besides fostering virtue in the minds of those whom we are bound to protect. Opportunities should be given for reading and for learning to read ; and I venture to hope that heads of families, and guardians of children, will freely give all the aid in their power to have this book widely circulated.

Those who know the Author, will readily understand that there is no motive of selfishness in thus desiring a large circulation for such a work. Higher and, I trust, nobler aims were kept before the Author’s mind, in bringing out the work. It is difficult to speak on this delicate point, for the world is so fast verging on universal materialism, that the best motives and the best acts of some are misunderstood.

I bespeak for this book a kindly reception, therefore ; and I hope that our Irish Girls will profit by every line of what is written specially for their benefit.

viii Preface.

The general reader will not, I hope, feel less interest in following the history of the LOST ROSARY, any more than the class for whose benefit the volume is produced.

We all require encouragement in the discharge of our duties in life.

I have endeavored to do so in my line,— will the PUB- LIC— that great guide and mover of men’s minds — afford me some in return? There are many hard days of trial, in writing a volume, when every thought and word has to be carefully weighed, before it is put on paper; so that virtue and goodness of heart may be rendered beautiful for their own sakes. Compensation for all this, is seldom looked for in the commercial transaction that calls forth the work ; at least, it is not so in this instance ; but due compensation is afforded by the spread of the writer’s views, as an antidote to the filthy and deadly poison that issues in streams from the immoral and irreligious press of this country.

I feel confident that the Catholics of America do not sufficiently, as yet, realize the enormity of the evils that result from an impure literature. Many of them do ; but we should one and all do our part. Carelessness in this respect, is an unpardonable omission.

Should the present volume succeed in banishing some portion of the prevalent bad literature from the family circle, where it may inadvertently have obtained admission, and, above all, should it be the means of pointing the right way or guarding against evil in any shape, the Author will rest satisfied that his labor has not been performed in vain.

CON O’LEARY.

New York, Sept., 1869.

Marraige of the Rev. Ebenezer Sookes to his intended

Wife’s Daughter — A Breach of Promise Case 204

CHAPTER XXX. Weddings by the Pair — A Pair of Weddings 211

Conclusion 218

NOT EXPECTED TO BE UNDERSTOOD UNTIL THE READER HAS FINISHED THE STORY.

“ 1 would not give my Irish wife For all the dames of the Saxon land—

I would not give my Irish wife For the Queen of France’s hand:

For she to me is dearer Than castles strong, or lands, or life,—

In death I would lie near her,

And rise beside my Irish wife.”

“ Good evening, O’Leary.”

“ Good evening, Mac.”

“ Still busy at work, I see.”

“ Doing a little, occasionally.”

“ What are you up to now ? ”

“ Nothing particular— just thinking a little. I had the pleasure of a very lengthened conversation with Mrs. McAuley to-day, and I have been ruminating over it.”

“ She’s a fine woman, is Mrs. McAuley. I rather like that daughter of hers ; that is, when she is dressed up of an evening. But, hang it, she looks very like a country maid during the day, with her arms bare to the shoulders, and as red as carrots.”

“ Yes, she is healthy. Smart, too, don’t you think ? ”

“ Well, after a fashion.”

“Do you think she looks like one who would give much for your opinion of her ? ”

“ ’Pon my word, I never gave as many thoughts about the girl before. But what are you driving at ? Are you quizzing me ? ”

“ O, dear, no. I’m only wondering what the young lady would think if she heard you.”

“ Heard me ! Why, I believe she would be very highly pleased with any notice I might deign to offer her.”

“ Most likely.”

“ Look here, now. There you sit, O’Leary, in that confounded old machine of a chair of yours, wrapped up in your antiquated notions of things, not fit to understand a fellow, and persistently humbugging me whenever I speak a word.”

“ Heavy charges, Mac, very heavy.”

“ Well, why ; but you think and speak like an ordinary mortal ? ”

“ I don’t choose.”

“No. You don’t choose, because you cannot. You never go out of an evening. I never saw you, not even once, pitch your work overboard for a day, and mix in an hour’s gaiety.”

“ How long is it, Mac, since I first saw you? ”

“ About a year, I suppose.”

“About a year! — and your unmitigated puppyism makes you talk to me in that fashion. Why, my good fellow, I have mixed more in society— and, what is better, to some advantage — in six months, than you have done in all your life.”

“ I know you have. I was only jesting, and you knew it.”

“ To be sure, I knew it. But, didn’t I see your usual vanity spread itself over your nostrils, when speaking of Miss McAuley.”

“ I wouldn’t give a dollar for the girl.”

“ Nor she a cent for you.”

“ I'm not sure of that.”

Introductory Dialogue.

“ There it is again.”

“ There’s what again ? ”

“ Why, your vanity, of course.”

“ O, bother ! vanity ! I want no lecturing. Come, are you for a spell to-night ? ”

“Where?”

“ At the Athenaeum.”

“ What’s up ? ”

“A lecture on ‘Woman’s Rights,’ by a glorious creature.”

“ On ‘ Woman’s Rights ? ’ ”

“ Yes.”

“ I’m your man.”

“ At 8 o’clock.”

“All right.”

*******

Next morning, I received another visit from friend Mac. He was one of those who are easily caught by the noise and glare of new questions. He was also a sort of stickler for this thing called “ Woman’s Rights,” and I determined to have a turn with him on his pet subject. In he walked.

“By Jove, O’Leary, I’m as proud and as glad as possible, that I had the good luck to mention about the lecture to you yesterday. I saw you were pleased, but my

engagement with Miss , deprived me of calling for

you, and of hearing your opinion when all was over, about what you saw and heard. How did you feel ? ”

“ Disgusted ! ”

“ At what ? ”

“ At all I saw and heard.”

“ Ahem ! You weren’t disgusted with the company, I hope?”

“ Most decidedly.”

“And you, yourself, one of the party?”

“ Even so. I was disgusted at myself, too, for not rising and walking out.”

“ Oh, I see ; you’re in one of your sulky, cynic moods ; disposed to find fault with everything and everybody alike. Take rest and physic, O’Leary. Good morning.”

“ Oh, good morning, and good luck to you ! Be off as soon as you like.”

“ What if I, too, got ill-natured, like yourself. Now, that I think of it, I’ll do so. Here I am now, down in your best chair ; and, goodness knows, your best is bad enough. Come, now, I want your opinion candidly about ‘ Woman’s Rights.’ Don’t you think there was a good deal of truth in what the fair lecturer said last night? You remember where she said, ‘ The genius of the so-called woman’s movement is not generally comprehended.’ ”

“ Yes ; I remember that, and I agreed with her. It is not so easy to comprehend that which is incomprehensible.”

“But mind what followed. She maintained that it meant ‘ woman’s complete enfranchisement and emancipation from the control of her masculine master.’ Do you recollect that? ”

“ Oh, perfectly ! ”

“ And, don’t you think she was quite right, now ? ”

“ Oh, by all means ! and especially when she said, ‘ Woman’s Rights intended, among other things, that the selection of companions in the most sacred relation of the sexes shall not be the exclusive prerogative of man ; if, indeed, as physiological laws and comparison would seem to indicate, the first right to woo be not surrendered to woman.’ That’s the point, Mac, my boy.”

“ Well, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to be courted by a pretty girl, after all.”

“ What about the ordinary looking, or ugly ? ”

“ Not so pleasant, I confess.”

“ What about the bold and bad ? ”

“ Reject them.”

“But Woman’s Rights will enforce your acceptance.”

“I don’t like that part of the business ; but, as to the matter of courtship, a woman can reject a man if she don’t like him ; so that the present order of wooing is, after all, perhaps, the best.”

“ But worse follows. See with what emphasis the lecturer declared — ‘ I hereby warn all who are favorably inclined to this question, that in its granting, the knife is placed at the throat of the present marriage system. Those who would preserve that system inviolate as the keystone of the arch of social safety, should understand this.’”

“ Well, that’s a plain and candid avowal, at all events. You can’t deny so much.”

“ I deny nothing, Mac. I defy any one to use worse language ; to propound any doctrine of a more hellish tendency. Its boldness, presumption, and coarseness are only equalled by the hidden villany contained in such announcements. ‘ Woman’s Rights,’ as understood by your fair lecturer, are devil’s rights, calculated to destroy virtue ; to prostitute all that we love and admire, even to the lowest depths of infamy ; to raze society to its foundations, and plunge the good and true into the same maelstrom of vice which the promoters of this question are creating ! ”

“ Strong language, O’Leary, very strong indeed.”

“ Admitted. How can we speak tamely and respectfully of those who talk about placing the knife at the throat of the present marriage system? ”

“ After all, you cannot deny that women are entitled to full and perfect freedom ? ”

“ They have that freedom, socially, as far as I can see.”

“ But, politically? ”

“ I’m not thinking, just now, of political freedom ; I have only spoken of social freedom, you’ll observe.”

“ But I go in for both.”

“ Go in for whatever you like.”

“ But women really deserve to possess the fullest freedom in all things.”

“No, sir. Neither men, women, nor children, deserve to possess the fullest freedom in all things.”

“ I have said what I believe.”

“Yes; but your belief don’t amount to much.”

“You are not over complimentary, O’Leary.”

“ No, nor didn’t intend it at the beginning of this conversation ; for the subject won’t permit me.”

“ Well, we’ll drop it, old fellow. I confess, candidly, I know less about it than I had believed.”

“ I know that. After all, I am rather pleased at its introduction.”

“ If you are pleased, so am I.”

“ Quite so. The question of Woman’s Rights, like many others of the present day, is one of those bubbles that float on the air as long as there is a ray of sunshine — public attention — to make it attractive. The first little breath of wind explodes the delusion, and — nothing remains.”

“ Well, then, seriously, what are your views on the whole question ? ”

‘ My views are simply these: — Woman has been raised to the highest pinnacle by the Church of God.”

“Ah! I like that.”

“ I knew you would.”

“ You are thinking of our Blessed Lady, now.”

“ I am. I am just thinking of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the Mother of God — I always chose to speak of her in that homely old Irish way — and, in consequence of the dignity attached to her name, to the mystery of her life, to the stupendous graces vouchsafed to her, woman has been raised to the most exalted position, and dignified beyond anything that society can confer.”

“It is impossible that I should disagree with anything you say, when you take such a standpoint as that.”

“ That is the proper standpoint to take.”

“ Catholics will be sure to agree with you in all you could advance on that subject. But there are others, not a few of whom will laugh at you ; some, again, there are, who will long for an opportunity to jump at you and clutch you by the throat.”

“And may there not be some, even non-Catholics, who will gently nod their heads, and say — ‘ He’s quite right?”’ *

“ T don’t doubt it in the least. Do you intend making public your views on this matter ? ”

“ I am not quite certain that I shall. I have had it in contemplation to write a work on our Irish Girls, and shall probably introduce it with a report of our conversation last evening and to-day.”

“ Qui bono ? ”

“ Well, I shall find an opportunity of guarding those who are yet clean of this social leprosy, against its contamination, and that will be something gained.”

“ Then you will introduce it into your new work ? ”

“ Not directly, perhaps. It is sufficient to make virtue attractive, without the diabolical subterfuge of exposing vice in all its deformity, in order to make our readers love the one and shun the other.”

“ True. But, in a worldly sense, there is little prosperity attends such a course. The use of a strong, brush in depicting the vices and follies of mankind, is better received now-a-days.”

“ That is the chief curse of the literature of the present day. It is so easy and pleasant to say — ‘ I am only depicting vice, good reader, in order that you may shun it.’ Many people hug this delusion to their hearts, who would otherwise have remained pure, and escaped the snare so artfully laid.”

“ You know the penalty, O’Leary, of appearing virtuous, I suppose?”

“ Oh ! hang your penalties, and your jeers of fools ; no man dreads them. There is no class of people I am so intolerant of, and impatient with, as those Catholics who consider it manly to prate in such fashion. ”

“ I see you understand me. ”

“ Perfectly. I know something of that class. Fellows who try to laugh if they hear you say you go to church of a Sunday; that you were present at Mass on a holiday; or that you considered it your duty, not to join them in eating flesh-meat on a Friday. ”

“ I hope you are not getting personal, O’Leary. ”

“ If you find anything I have said applicable to yourself, you may apply it or not, as you like. ”

“ Kemember we are in a free country, and people here are different from what they are in the Old Country. ”

“ I know it. But why should they be different ? Are their souls less valuable here than in Ireland ? ”

“ I should think not. ”

“ Yet it would appear so. Are our chances of salvar tion better here than at home ? ”

“ Not that I can see. ”

“ And yet, you talk of a free country as a sort of excuse for liberties taken, for duties omitted, and as entitling you to sneer at virtue and religion. ”

“ 1 must admit the truth of what you say, but is it not rather boldly announced ? ”

“ I like boldness in speaking of such matters, and for this reason : those whose practices are as I have stated, are hypocrites. They are also moral cowards, for moral cowardice and hypocrisy are nearly akin. Such people speak differently from the promptings of their own hearts, therefore they are liars, and in silence they regret their deviation from the line of rectitude to which they were attached by early training. ”

“ You will embody these things in your story. ”

I shall make the attempt. ”

“ Then I wish you every success, O’Leary. ”

“ Thanks, Mac. I know you do. We are friends after all— good-by. ”

OR,

OUR IRISH GIRLS: THEIR TRIALS, TEMPTATIONS AND TRIUMPHS.

Chapter I. May Eye — Sports Of The Peasantry

“ The young May moon is beaming, love,

The stars are gently gleaming, love.

How sweet to rove Through Morna’s grove,

While the drowsy world is dreaming, love. ”

May* Eve, May Day. May, the Mother of the Months! What sweet recollections spring up in the mind at the thought of May! Recollections dear to every heart, recalling the May of youth, the happy hours of innocence, ere yet the shadow of sin had obscured the bright hours of boyhood, or maidenhood; when the morning of life was tinged with the roseate hues and glowing charms of a vivid imagination ; when the heart thrilled in responsive melody to the music of the lark and the thrush, twin choristers of Spring. Dear to us all are such recollections ; dearer in consequence of those days being passed and never to be recalled, except in the

The Lost Bosary.

shadowy outlines of a memory made treacherous by its conflicts with the world.

Happy May ! When the bloom of the hawthorn offers its incense to nature, and gladdens every eye with its milk-white beauties.

Happy May ! When the light-hearted youths of Ireland, frolicsome and gleeful, go a-maying over moss and glen, to gather the golden flowers, whose magic spell around the cabin door preserves the humble home from all the spiteful influences and tricks of fairy-land.

It was May Eve, and old Corny O’Donnell determined to give the boys and girls of his neighborhood a night’s fun. Wise old Corny. He had a three-acre field, damp, sour, and marshy, over which he wished there were a dozen or two cart-loads of good dry ashes thrown. What so easy as for a lot of the boys to wheel a “ wheen o’ barrowsful” of turf and sods into that field? set them going in the morning, and, by evening, have the ashes scattered over the ground, thus giving good May sport to as many as wished to join in the work.

“Just as good as lime, every bit of it, an’ cheaper said Corny to himself.

That was the old man’s plan of converting a festive occasion to some account. The chances were, he would not have succeeded so well in making his arrangements, if he had not included the extravagant undertaking of providing a fiddler, and giving the use of his barn for a wind-up to the evening’s sports.

The cost of the fiddler was only a warm supper, and his “chances” among those who would “occupy the floor ; ” but, if blithe Barney McAuley or Timothy Heggarty could be reckoned on being present, the fiddler’s “ chances ” were good for half-a-crown.

Barney McAuley and Tim Heggarty were cousins, nearly of the same age, not unlike each other in features, about the same weight and height, and both capital

The Lost Rosary.

dancers. Few finer specimens of manhood could be found in their native townland of Magheramore, in the parish of Clonmany, Donegal, than Barney and Tim ; and any undertaking of the kind proposed by old Corny O’Donnell, was sure to be successful, if the cousins could be prevailed upon to join it, or give it a helping hand.

Corny had a beautiful young daughter, whose bewitching smile had played all sorts of pranks with Barney McAuley’s heart. Cprny knew this, but nothing could be further from his mind than the idea of accepting Barney as a son-in-law. Then Mary O’Donnell had a cousin called Ailey, an orphan girl, who resided with a cross, old aunt, and Corny half suspected that Tim Heggarty had found favor in his niece’s eyes. At the interview with the young men, he slyly hinted that Mary and Ailey were sure to be at home that evening, and would tidy up the barn.

In consequence of this timely hint, Barney and Tim were easily prevailed on to transfer their allegiance from a neighboring dance, in order to light the Beltaine in Corny’s field.

As the morning of May Eve dawned, Barney and Tim, with over a dozen comrades, gladdened the heart of old Corny with a grand turnout of fuel for the fires.

“ Marciful gracious ! Biddy, look here,” exclaimed Corny to his wife, as he beheld no less than six cart-loads of good turf, and as many wheelbarrows, heaped and packed with the same sort of fuel, all wending their way to the appointed ground. Sods were speedily turned up by a dozen spades, and, in less than “ no time,” thirty or forty fires were set a-going, sending up their columns of fragrant smoke, and giving good promise of being in fine order for the evening.

Corny stood by, rubbing his hands in great glee.

“Boys, I see,” said he, “ that you intend to have some sport ere nightfall. ’Pon my word, it’s a good lialf-

The Lost Rosary.

guinea you ought to pay me for the use of such a fine level field, so it is.”

“Mind your eye, old weathercock, or half a guinea won’t free you in the expense of a treat, this good May Eve morning,” replied one of the party.

Corny chuckled at such an idea, but said nothing further, lest he might get himself into an “ unpleasant fixture,” as he termed it.

Some of the girls from the neighboring farm-houses observed the procession of turf-carts, and, knowing that wherever they stopped, there the evening sports would run fast and furious, had gathered together on the roadside to watch the operations in which the young men were engaged.

Corny was delighted to see them, and told them to be sure and deck themselves out in their best for the evening. These were his friends in the field over beyond, who had insisted on lighting their May fires there, and he wouldn’t be the least astonished if they forced him and Biddy, against their will, to yield up their barn to them for the evening.

“ Sly old Corny ! ” said one of the girls to a companion ; “ the barn is newly floored, and he wants it well beaten, without the expense of inviting the neighbors.”

“ Troth, an’ we’ll bate it for him,” said another ; “ an’ it’s maybe into holes we’ll bate it, afore mornin’.”

Evening came, and, a little after sundown, the young men who lighted the fires in the morning, hastened to see how sped the good work. The whole “ country-side was up.” Young and old were engaged in rambles and athletic sports, some in the meadows, some on the roadside, and some on the hills. Everywhere there was racing, and chasing, and harmless amusements. If those engaged in them had been asked why they did so, they would probably have replied— “ Because it was May Eve.”

The Lost Rosary.

“ But why on May Eve, more than on any other Eve ? ”

“Well, it is customary,” would have been the answer.

“Just so; and a right good custom it is; descended down from the time when our forefathers were Pagans, and in ages after permitted by the Church to continue as a recreation ; thus proving her wisdom in changing, and in many instances sanctifying, instead of destroying popular customs.”

Lots of exercise and fun — the best medicine and the best doctor ever yet discovered ; and these votaries of both were splendid examples of the care of the doctor, and the freshness and usefulness of the medicine. There they were, boys and girls, with breaths as sweet as the fragrance of the herbs and wild flowers crushed beneath their feet ; and with cheeks that bespoke the crimson and purity of roses and lilies in June. Girls romping about, neither last in the chase, nor behind at a good spring or hop over ditch or hedge; comely and beautiful, artless and innocent, but withal modest in speech and in act. Many of them had the hard and bitter struggle with life, — up with the dawn, and down with the starlight; concealing from the eyes of the world their struggles with poverty ; preserving a decent exterior, and, in not a few instances, the only support that was left to aged and helpless relatives.