Only a Little Child

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Irish Jesuit Province Only a Little Child Author(s): Thomas Kelly Source: The Irish Monthly, Vol. 41, No. 485 (Nov., 1913), pp. 603-608 Published by: Irish Jesuit Province Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20503477 . Accessed: 18/06/2014 01:00 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp . JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected]. . Irish Jesuit Province is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The Irish Monthly. http://www.jstor.org This content downloaded from 195.78.109.96 on Wed, 18 Jun 2014 01:00:40 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

Transcript of Only a Little Child

Page 1: Only a Little Child

Irish Jesuit Province

Only a Little ChildAuthor(s): Thomas KellySource: The Irish Monthly, Vol. 41, No. 485 (Nov., 1913), pp. 603-608Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20503477 .

Accessed: 18/06/2014 01:00

Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at .http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp

.JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range ofcontent in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new formsof scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

.

Irish Jesuit Province is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The Irish Monthly.

http://www.jstor.org

This content downloaded from 195.78.109.96 on Wed, 18 Jun 2014 01:00:40 AMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

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ONLY A LITTLE CHILD

By THOMAS KELLY

A PART from any considerations of family associations or

boyhood's recollections the scenery round Gurthcarrig Was, Vincent Moran musingly admitted to himself, worthy

of all the praises he had heard showered upon it. For, situated mid Limerick's nestling hills, Nature had lavished most of the charms of river, lake, and woodland upon it, and made it a spot

worthy of the praises of many a poet, the delight and yet the elusive puzzle of many an amateur artist, struggling to com

prehend Dame Nature smiling in many moods at the same moment. As the Great Southern " Special" ploughed care lessly on' through the mid-December sleet Vincent reclined comfortably in the second-class " smoker," with mingled feel ings of gladness and regret. He had just passed the farms of

his boyhood's days and was rapidly reviewing the well-known landmarks as the train reached his destination, the little station of Clonlee. Somehow he had tried, during the six-mile run from the previous statioi, to appreciate the landscape as an impartial observer, yet he could not feel but that it was much finer than anything he had seen on the journey, though he

kept repeating to himself that in the Southern Lowlands he had passed scenes more pretty. But his thoughts on scenery

were much disturbed by an inner conflict of feelings that would

not be suppressed. Four years ago he had been sent from the comfortable home

-of his ancestors to a well-known English college to complete his education, at the wish and expense of his godfather uncle. He had done so with credit, and now, a rising young barrister in Edinburgh, he was coming home for the Christmas vacation, not having paid a visit till he felt that he had carefully complied 'with his uncle's injunctions.

And yet as the train slowed up he felt as if he should like to run away, and shirk that meeting with father and mother, for-well, somehow, things were different now. He had been educated, or at least he thought so, beyond many of the

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innocent beliefs and ideals of the " country people." He had dabbled in one or two of the " isms," and was generally feeling very unsatisfied and unsettled regarding things spiritual. And then he felt that it. would be exceedingly difficult to fit in for three whole weeks into a groove out of which he had prided himself he had completely and irrevocably grown. Still there was no further resisting the letters from home, and here he was, so it was late for repining. Even now he recognised the diminutive porter's stentorian voice, " Clon-lee, Clon-lee."

He was rather overwhelmed by the reception he got on the station, for he expected that his parents and the younger brother who had come to meet him should have grown cold and aloof too. Yet their kindly and sincere greeting could not be mistaken, and Vincent wondered oddly how they could have retained all the old warmth and cordiality of welcome while he had begun to believe that they must have forgotten all about him by now. Strange how he could have been con vinced that only the poor and lonely have any genuine feelings of sorrow or joy. Their numerous questions as to his progress and 'life he found just a trifle irksome as he got near home.

Mothers will ask so many questions, and now and again some of them may be a little difficult to answer candidly. Still he

managed to satisfy their parental thirst for details of his exist

ence since he left them, albeit he did not feel exactly comfort able during some of the questioning.

He wondered how his younger sister had grown in the interval; he had expected almost to find her with her hair in

plaits still. And now she made a matronly bustle in preparing dinner for him. But the welcome of a tiny sister, whose advent on the threshold was one of the many changes since his

departure, quite took him aback. She was quite prepared to

meet him with extended hands and a merry, " Ah I Vin-thentr thoop, till I give oo a kiss!" and with merry prattle Baby Eileen quite monopolised the talk for some time.

Christmas Eve falling on a Sunday, and Vincent having arrived on the previous Monday, his father and brother had planned for him a busy week-most of it, though, being mapped out for expeditions across bog and moor in search of any sport that offered. And so after dinner, acco mpanied by his father,

Vincent took his gun and started out in quest of the many species of birds that abounded round the farm and its environ

ments. Grossing a road, they came upon the genial soggarth of the parish, Father Delaney, who after the usual greetings

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and having warmly and sincerely congratulated Vincent on his progress, introduced the subject of, the present position of

Catholicism in Scotland. But, to his great surprise and his father's infinite amazement, the young man rather haughtily

informed the priest that " such matters had little interest for

him," and really "he was so busy that he had no time for the consideration of such matters." And this from Vincent who, four years ago, was such a prominent member of the Clonlee Sodality! The good priest, seeing to the root of the evil, in vited the young lawyer roand for a chat some evening, but ' he

feared he would hardly have time for visiting." And even Vincent's father was too astounded and confused to interfere arnd smooth matters out a little ere the young man had gone off with swinging, impatient stride.

"Why, man, what's the matter, what has come over you ? We never knew a thing of this. What have you been doing,

to talk to a priest like that ? "Well, father, it's best to reason the thing out coolly. I've

been reading a lot lately about the clergy in Ireland, and most

of it written by Irishmen, too-their names were Irish enough anyway, and they explained that they were Catholics them selves. And really, with all they say, there must be more than the clergy at fault, the religion must be at fault too. Then, see the power the priests wield, the way they influence elections and all that kind of thing. I think they should keep to their own particular mission, and not mind outside business at all."

"Well, as you say, we shall have a cool discussion on the matter if you like-certainly the day is conducive to coolness anyhow. But to begin. You have been reading the out pourings of a certain few so-called Catholics, have you ? Did any one of them make any definite charge or allegation that could be refuted if such a thing were possible ? They assured you the clergy were all black sheep, of course. Yes, I can say all Englishmen are liars and murderers, and people will laugh at me. But tell a certain type of audience that all priests are scoundrels in disguise, and they say, ' Well, that must be the truth, else why would he say it ? ' Beautifully simple, isn't it ? Now, if I make a similar charge against only one solitary Englishman the chances are that I will taste the justice of the English law, and live to repent of my utterance. Let one of your journalistic guides and informants make a specific charge of the type they prefer against our clergy as a body, against one priest by name or in a su'fficiently definite way, and I'll

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guarantee that when the matter is settled that Catholic's jour

nalistic career will have got a sudden check, and his publishers an awakening. I shall show you something to illustrate this

when we get home. And, of coulse, you remember the type of bird that pollutes his own nest. I imagine, though, that your common sense will help you to pause on your allegations as to the faults of the religion we profess. Where do those turn who wander from the Church? Where do you imagine you would turn ? Ah ! you're not sure yet. Just so. And once in the wilderness a decision is more difficult still. You see we have the dogmatic teaching that is at once the admira

tion, the bughear, and the despair of outsiders. Where do you propose, then, to start from ? Yes, I suppose it's a bit difficult

'to decide, but would it not be well before deciding on a chase to know a little of your starting and finishing points? Then, of course, yoU've got our old friend, the influence of the clergy. Well, could they come so near the daily life and

trials of a people without being sympathetic, without tendering advice when they deem it necessary, or trying, in many ways, to better the status of their flocks. They have influence

"Then why can they not use it in the right way ? Look at these awful roads, for example!"

Now, Vincent, you suggested a cool discussion, but, steady there! One of your contentions was, I think, that the clergy had a special mission, and really even your journal istic guides would hardly include the upkeep of roads in that

mission, would they ? And you seem to forget our County Council, too. Oh! you don't? But you would haidly expect the priests to serve on the County Council, would you ?

"No, I wouldn't ask them to do anything like that; they should have no contact with public business at all.."

"But the roads, man; what do you call that if not a public

undertaking ?" 'I mean, though, that directly they should have nothing

to do with public life. Their duty does not lie in that direction. still they are responsible )" and Vincent seemed just a little at sea here.

"Just so, they are responsible for everyone's faults; they

should have foreseen things would happen wrong somewhere, and should have prevented it. And, of course, they shoulc never get credit for doing anything right?"

" No, father, you misunderstand me quite a lot." " Well, then, will you just define your position."

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But Vincent was not very displeased, perhaps, that the advent of a neighbouring friend upon the scene interrupted, at its inception, what he considered his " explanation " of his own views.

II

Vincent did not feel quite comfortable for the rest of the evening-, but still the insidious venom of perverted minds helped to allay some of his qualms of conscience. And, of course, he told himself twenty times that there must be something radi cally faulty with a Church that had so many critics. Those people must really, he argued, have grounds for their con tentions. But yet, that " still small voice " would ever and anon he heard.

His father, poor man, kept his awful discovery to himself, ,deeming extreme caution advisable in mentioning such a

matter, even to his wife. After supper came a lull in the Moran household, and then that grand reunion of heart and soul with the one so loved by Him. But that anxious paternal gaze was doomed to the disappointment it feared. He had half-expected Vincent's lame excuse of "feeling so awfully tired," so that, without wondering, he felt himself half-excusing him: " You must, indeed, after so long a tramp, and you not used to it now."

Yet the sadness of Vincent was heavy on his heart, for such a sundering of all those clinging associations and emotions was even more difficult than anything he had yet experienced. He found himself lying undressed on his bed, weary but strangely forlorrn. And now, with a curious insistence there floated to him on the calm night air those sounds he remembered so

well, those beautiful cadences of the Rosary he thought he had forgotten. Ah! well, he had done with such things now; he

would forget all that early implicit belief - The gentlest touch imaginable caused him to start. He

was vainly trying to sleep, and so did not hear the gentle patter of tiniest feet approaching. And now the confiding hand had reached his, while the lisping voice trembled querulously: " Vin-thent, why don't oo come down to the Ro-thar-ee ?

Can't oo say it, too. Vin-thent, are oo sorry poor mununy's crying ? Won't oo come ? " And poor Eileen had now so

many tears to wipe away that surely her childish heart must have been sorely puzzled. Still she probably felt consoled, for on each succeeding night of " Vin-thent's " stay she was

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provided with a cosy kneeling place by his side. And, strange to relate, Father Delaney had an unexpected visitor on Tuesday

who only the previous day would hardly have spoken to him at all. While all the shooting expeditions of the Gurthcarrig household were upset for the week preceding Christmas, and all owing to these same visits to Father Delaney. And unsus pecting Eileen went her prattling ways sublimely unconscious of all the upheavals she had effected, of the one wanderer to whom she had shown the Better Way, of the Christmas Day reunion with Him of which she was the unsuspecting medium

THOMAS KELLY.

RAMBLES ON THE DUBLIN HILLS

HE old tradition that once existed among a considerable T section of Dubliners of long walks amongst the Dublin

Hills must now be almost extinct. It is a rare thing to find any pedestrians upon them, and those one meets are generally to be found upon the high roads, whereas most of the beauty-spots can only be reached by leaving the beaten paths and scrambling to some vantage point over granite and heather. There are men still living who have tramped through nearly all the Dublin hills. They are generally open-hearted men whose.

minds have been broadened by the re'verence that communion with nature generates. It is, moreover, a commonplace that long walks, with a few choice companions, have often proved to be the inception of noble schemes and generous resolves.

The distances a skilful pedestrian can accomplish without strain are little short of marvellous. Of course one is apt to suspect all narrators of their own deeds as prone to exaggera tion, but the immense distances covered by troops in training show that the human frame can endure more than we com

monly expect. As long aswe remember our early studies we have the magna itinera of Caesar in our minds. And the parasangs of

Xenophon are familiar to every beginner of Greek. Yet, what is an ordinary day's march ? I find in an old Caesar a note saying that twelve to fifteen miles is an ordinary day's march for an army with kit. Twenty miles would be a " forced'"

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