[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic
text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
Our Little Irish Cousin
THE
Little Cousin Series
(TRADE MARK)
Each volume illustrated with six or more full page plates in tint.
Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover per volume, $1.00
LIST OF TITLES
By COL. F. A. POSTNIKOV, ISAAC TAYLOR HEADLAND, EDWARD C. BUTLER, AND
OTHERS
Our Little African Cousin
Our Little Alaskan Cousin
Our Little Arabian Cousin
Our Little Argentine Cousin
Our Little Armenian Cousin
Our Little Australian Cousin
Our Little Austrian Cousin
Our Little Belgian Cousin
Our Little Bohemian Cousin
Our Little Brazilian Cousin
Our Little Bulgarian Cousin
Our Little Canadian Cousin of the Great Northwest
Our Little Canadian Cousin of the Maritime Provinces
Our Little Chinese Cousin
Our Little Cossack Cousin
Our Little Cuban Cousin
Our Little Czecho-Slovac Cousin
Our Little Danish Cousin
Our Little Dutch Cousin
Our Little Egyptian Cousin
Our Little English Cousin
Our Little Eskimo Cousin
Our Little Finnish Cousin
Our Little French Cousin
Our Little German Cousin
Our Little Grecian Cousin
Our Little Hawaiian Cousin
Our Little Hindu Cousin
Our Little Hungarian Cousin
Our Little Indian Cousin
Our Little Irish Cousin
Our Little Italian Cousin
Our Little Japanese Cousin
Our Little Jewish Cousin
Our Little Jugoslav Cousin
Our Little Korean Cousin
Our Little Malayan (Brown) Cousin
Our Little Mexican Cousin
Our Little Norwegian Cousin
Our Little Panama Cousin
Our Little Persian Cousin
Our Little Philippine Cousin
Our Little Polish Cousin
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin
Our Little Portuguese Cousin
Our Little Quebec Cousin
Our Little Roumanian Cousin
Our Little Russian Cousin
Our Little Scotch Cousin
Our Little Servian Cousin
Our Little Siamese Cousin
Our Little South African (Boer) Cousin
Our Little Spanish Cousin
Our Little Swedish Cousin
Our Little Swiss Cousin
Our Little Turkish Cousin
Our Little Welsh Cousin
Our Little West Indian Cousin
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY (Inc.)
53 Beacon Street Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: NORAH.]
Our Little Irish Cousin
By Mary Hazelton Wade
_Illustrated by_ L. J. Bridgman
[Illustration]
Boston
The Page Company
Publishers
_Copyright, 1904_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
Made in U. S. A.
Published June, 1904
Fifth Impression, August, 1908
Sixth Impression, November, 1909
Seventh Impression, September, 1910
Eighth Impression, August, 1912
Ninth Impression, October, 1915
Tenth Impression, April, 1920
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. SIMONDS CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
INTRODUCTION
WITH the home of our Irish cousins we are not very familiar, but with
our Irish cousins themselves we have a better acquaintance, for many of
them have come over to settle in America, and they were among the
bravest of the American troops in the World War. Of the part in the war
taken by their people in Ireland we do not know so intimately, but we do
know that they sent many men to France to help England defeat the
Germans. They took our boys to their homes, and fed and clothed them;
they nursed them back to health and strength, and by so doing the people
of Ireland won their way into the hearts of the people of America.
Since the end of the war the bond between the two countries has grown
even closer, for, under the leadership of America, the nations of
Europe began to listen to Ireland's plea for home rule. This plea was
backed up by active Revolution, as was our own struggle for
independence. Finally the Imperial British Government, with the
interests of the Irish people at heart, granted them Home Rule, to
control their own destinies within the British Empire. Unfortunately,
however, even this did not prove a complete solution of Ireland's
difficulties, for some of the Irish people wished to remain attached to
England, and enjoy the advantages of her wise and just rule. These were
the people of Northern Ireland, called Ulster. So it has been agreed
that they shall remain under English rule, leaving Home Rule for
Southern Ireland.
Preface
YOU have often heard people speak of the Emerald Isle. When you have
asked where it is and why it is so called, you have been told it is only
another name for that small island to the northwest of the continent of
Europe called Ireland.
The rains there fall so often, and the sun shines so warmly afterward,
that Mother Nature is able to dress herself in the brightest and
loveliest of colours. The people there are cheerful and good-natured.
They are always ready to smile through their tears and see the funny
side of every hardship.
And, alas! many things have happened to cause their tears to flow. They
have suffered from poverty and hunger. Thousands of them have been
forced to leave parents and friends, and seek a living within the
kindly shores of America.
America is great, America is kind, they may think, but oh! for one look
at the beautiful lakes of Killarney; oh! for a walk over the green
fields and hills of the Emerald Isle. And oh! for the chance to gather a
cluster of shamrock, the emblem of dear old Erin.
The little Irish cousin, who has never left her native land, may be
poor, and sometimes ragged, but her heart is warm and tender, and she
loves her country and her people with a love that will never change, no
matter where she may travel or what fortune may befall her.
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I. NORAH 1
II. THE THUNDER-STORM 14
III. ST. PATRICK 32
IV. DANIEL O'CONNELL 44
V. KILLARNEY 54
VI. HALLOWE'EN 70
VII. FAIRIES 80
VIII. BLARNEY CASTLE 96
List of Illustrations
PAGE
NORAH _Frontispiece_
"THE DRIVER STOPPED HIS CAR AND ASKED
NORAH HOW FAR IT WAS TO THE LAKES
OF KILLARNEY" 16
NORAH'S HOME 30
THE MONUMENT TO DANIEL O'CONNELL 52
NORAH AND MOLLIE AT LOUGH LEAN 62
MOLLIE AND HER FATHER VISIT BLARNEY CASTLE 100
Our Little Irish Cousin
CHAPTER I.
NORAH
"Londonderry, Cork, and Kerry,
Spell _that_ to me without a K."
"CAN you do it now?" said Norah, laughing.
"Can I do it? Yes, easy enough, for I've heard the riddle before.
T-h-a-t. There, Norah, you didn't catch me this time."
Molly laughed, too, as she spoke, and the little girls went on dressing
their rag dolls.
They were great friends, these two children of Ireland, and, although
they were ragged and dirty most of the time, and neither of them owned
hats or shoes, they were happy as the day is long. And, when I say this,
I mean one of the longest days of Ireland, which are very long indeed.
Norah had beautiful blue eyes and dark auburn hair. Her teeth were like
pearls and her cheeks were rosy as the brightest sunset.
"She is a true daughter of Erin," thought her mother, as she looked at
the child. "May God will that she grow up to be as good as she is
beautiful," she said to herself, making the sign of the cross on her
breast.
As for Molly, Norah's little playmate, her hair was black as night. Many
other lads and lasses of Ireland have hair like that. It is because,
long years ago, before even the Christ-child dwelt among men, Spaniards
came to the west coast of Ireland and settled among the people there.
They gave their black hair and dark eyes to the people already in the
country, most of whom were fair in face, hair, and eyes. So it happens
that sometimes they now have dark hair and blue eyes, and sometimes
light hair and dark eyes.
"Norah! Norah, darlint! Come and feed the pigs," called her mother.
"They are that hungry they would eat the thatch off the house if they
could reach it."
Norah jumped up, and running home as fast as her young feet could carry
her, took the dish of mush from her mother's hands. She was instantly
surrounded by a thin old mother pig and her ten little ones.
They were cunning little things when they were born, and Norah loved to
hold them in her arms and pet them. But they were big enough now to root
about in the mud, and the little girl held them no longer.
"Oof! oof!" grunted the mother pig. "Good! good!" was what she meant, of
course, as she swallowed her supper as quickly as possible, and the ten
babies followed her example.
Then Norah had to feed the ducks and chickens, and her precious goat.
"I love it. Oh, I love it, next to father and mother and the children,"
thought the little girl.
"How much it knows, and how gentle it is! And what should we do without
the sweet, rich milk it gives us!" she said, turning to Molly, who was
helping her in her work.
"It is a dear little creature" (Molly pronounced it crayther), "but I
love our pet cow better. I suppose the reason is because it is ours.
But, good night till ye, Norah. I must be after getting home."
Molly went running down the lane, while Norah entered the house.
House! It would hardly be fair to give it such a grand name. It was a
small stone hut, not much taller than Norah's father, with a roof
covered with mud and straw mixed together. Such a roof is said to be
thatched.
There was only one window in the hut, and that was a small one. The door
was divided across the middle, and the upper part of it stood wide open.
Yet, as Norah stepped inside, the air was thick and heavy with smoke.
Over in one corner was a fireplace, and in it cakes of dried peat were
slowly burning. It was the only kind of fuel Norah's mother had to burn,
so it was no wonder the air of the room was smoky.
Do you know what peat is? In Norah's country there are many square miles
of marshy land covered with moss and grasses. If it could speak to us,
this land would tell a wonderful story.
"Ages and ages ago," it would say, "great forests of oak stood here. The
trees grew large and strong. But the rain fell often and the air was
very damp. This is the reason mosses and other plants gathered on the
trunks and branches of the trees. They sent their roots into the moist
bark and fed on the sap that should have nourished the trees.
"The great trees became weaker and weaker as the years passed away,
until at last they sickened and died, and fell to the ground.
"Fir-trees began to grow in the places of the oaks. But they were
treated in the same manner. Their life-giving sap was taken by a new
growth of mosses. The fir-trees died, and added to the great masses of
decaying wood which now covered the damp ground.
"Then plants grew up. But they met with the same fate as the trees.
"Thousands and thousands of years passed by. The beautiful forests that
once covered the land were slowly changed into peat."
The peat-bogs are now so thick and heavy that the poor of Ireland can
dig twenty-five feet into them and cut out squares of the solid peat.
After drying them in the air and sunshine, the people burn them in place
of coal. This queer fuel does not make as bright and clear a fire as
coal, but it is cheap, and keeps the poor from suffering.
"Be patient and wait only a few more thousands of years," the bogs would
say to us if they could, "and you may have coal instead of peat. Father
Time will make the change without any work on your part."
But the people of Ireland cannot wait. Most of them are very, very poor.
They live from day to day, glad if they have a roof to cover their heads
and food enough to keep them from starving.
Norah's father hires the land for his little farm from a rich lord who
lives most of the year in England. The Irishman built the little hut on
this land for himself and wife, and his family of growing children.
"What use would it be to spend much time on it?" he would say. "The
better I make the place, the more rent I shall have to pay."
Every year he planted his patch of potatoes and cabbages for himself,
besides oats and turnips and other things for his fowls and pigs and
goat. He mended the thatched roof when it leaked too badly for comfort,
and they all tried to be happy. They succeeded pretty well.
When each new year came around, the home looked about as usual. It was
no better, and no worse, unless, perhaps, it was a wee bit more shabby.
But the children grew fast. They were merry and rosy, and thought very
little about the shabby stone hut they called "home."
"Sivin of us there are," Norah would tell you, "and baby Pat is the
dearest and best of us all."
As she came in to supper that night, her mother lifted the kettle that
hung by a hook over the smoky fire and made a pot of tea. Then she
placed a dish of steaming potatoes and a plate of dark, heavy bread on
the table.
"A good supper, indade," thought the hungry children, and in a few
minutes not a sign of anything to eat could be seen.
"Here chick! chick!" called Norah, dropping crumbs to her pet chicken.
It had kept close beside her during the meal, and once had grown so
impatient that it flew up into the little girl's lap.
An old hen had already gone to roost on the rung of a stool in a dark
corner of the room, while the much-loved goat stood munching grass at
Norah's elbow.
The child's mother did not seem troubled in the least by these things.
She was busy as busy could be, giving hot potatoes and slices of bread
to Mike and Joe, Norah and Katie, while she trotted baby Patsy on her
knee.
But when the whole flock of geese came running and flying into the hut
for their share of the family supper, it was a little too much.
"Away with you, noisy creatures!" cried the busy mother. "Away with you!
Mike, take the broom and drive them out. Joe, lend a hand and help your
brother."
When the room had been cleared of the greedy geese, every one went on
eating, until not even a crumb was left on the table.
The girls cleared away the dishes; the boys brought a load of peat into
the house, and placed it before the fire to dry for burning; the mother
rocked Patsy to Dreamland, and the father smoked his pipe.
Then, when the work was all done, he told the children there was good
news.
"What is it, what is it?" they all cried together.
"A letter from our own Maggie, in Ameriky. Sure, what else could the
good news be?" said their father. "Listen, and you shall hear it.
"'DEAR FATHER AND MY OWN SWEET MOTHER:--First of all,
how are yoursilves and the pigs and all the children?
I have a good place, and my mistress is very kind to
me. My work is not hard, and I am fast learning the
ways of this great country. My wages is now two
dollars and a half the week. In the money of good ould
Ireland, that is just ten shillin's. By bein' careful
since I last wrote ye, I have saved enough to send you
two pounds. My master got the money changed for me, he
was that kind. What will the money buy yez now? Mother
darlint must have two pounds of the best tay, and a
new red woollen petticoat. You, father, will have some
grand leather boots, and aich of the children must buy
something for the remimbrance of the sister Maggie far
across the great say.
"'Good-bye, and may the blissings of Hiven fall upon
ye.
"'MAGGIE O'NEIL.'"
As he came to the end of the letter, every one was silent for a moment.
The mother wiped away some tears which had fallen upon her cheek, and
her husband cleared his throat.
Two pounds! It seemed like a fortune to the little family. It was nearly
enough to pay the year's rent.
"But the pigs are doing well, and, if they keep on, there will be no
trouble when rent time comes," said the father, as they sat talking the
matter over. "The price of the pigs will be enough for the rint, I'm
thinkin'. It shall be as Maggie said. Let the childer go to bed and
dream of the fine things they will see in the town when they go
shopping."
Somehow or other the children were all stowed away for the night in the
small room next the kitchen, and Norah was soon sound asleep, and
dreaming a most wonderful dream.
It seemed in her dream that the goat was harnessed to the jaunting-car
belonging to the father of her friend Molly. He was a very, very big
goat in the dream, and he looked really handsome, as he capered down the
lane, carrying the whole family to market.
Norah's pet chicken was going to see the sights, for he was perched on
the goat's head. The old mother pig ran by his side, and the baby pigs,
with their curly tails high up in the air, were trying their best to
keep up. Everybody was laughing and singing to the tune of an Irish jig
that Norah's father was playing on the bagpipes.