IRISH NEWS

New Zealand Tablet, 28 June 1917, Page 45

IRISH NEWS

■The young Irish priest. Rev. Andrew O’Kelleher, of Ballyvourney, County Cork, who is in charge of the chair of Irish Language and Literature in the University of Illinois, is B. C. L. of Maynooth, and a B.A. of the National University of Ireland. He was for some time a lecturer on Celtic subjects at Liverpool University and a frequent contributor to French and German magazines. He is thirty-four years old and has been nine years in the priesthood.

SLANDERING IRISH PRIESTS. In the Month, Father Finlay, S.J., replies to.the article in the January English Review on “The Catholic Church and Home Rule.” Though signed “Sacerdos,” the article was evidently written by a Protestant. Father Finlay deals with the accusation that “The more far-seeing of the clergy . . . dread the coming of Home Rule.” On this point, he says that the charge “is only put forward to base on it an accusation of insincerity and double-dealing.” It is, of course, perfectly possible for any honest Irishman to entertain doubts as to whether or not the masses of our people are sufficiently advanced in political experience to wisely select their own rulers under a system of national self-government, butif he does— should, at least, refrain from advocating the entrusting to them of a responsibility he thinks them unfitted to discharge. . The charge is, however, a really preposterous one, and Father Finlay goes on to say: “The Irish Catholic clergy attend and speak at Home Rule meetings; in their majority, they belong to Home Rule associations, of which they are generally officers; they support Home Rule Parliamentary candidates on the platform, and in the polling booths ; the families from which they themselves come are almost without exception eager partisans of Home Rule ; yet we are asked to believe, on the word of this unknown and singularly ill-informed writer, without any syllable of proof, that ‘ the Irish Catholic clergy are not genuinely anxious for Home Rule, as they most of them pretend’; that, in fact, they ‘ dread its coming ’ ! Can he really expect his readers to hold the entire body of Irish priests guilty of. such a wholly unnecessary and improbable hypocrisy?” The assertion is both a lie and a libel on the face of it, and one which—if the people believed—would make impossible the participation of our clergy in the movement for the restoration of the national Parliamentary Constitution—a Constitution for the maintenance of which a Papal —Rinuccini—and the Catholic Confederates battled 300 years ago. The slanderer in the English Review went on to say that the secret of priestly fear of Home Rule is that they dread it would “mean the end of Rome Rule,” that is, “of the priests over an ignorant peasantry.” Sacerdos further gloats over the alleged circumstance that already “the purely spiritual power of the priests is very much on the wane.” To these wild assertions the anti-Catholic tone of which is alone sufficient to show how false is the alias “Sacerdos” Father Finlay replies by saying: “The plain truth is—as all know, who live and move among Irish Catholics—that at no time, within the past 50 or 60 years, has the union of priests and people been so close as it is at present. Misunderstandings have died down; an acute sense of injustice—religious, social, and politicalhas drawn them together; the spread of education, the improvement in economic conditions, have given them very many interests in common. Even in secular matters—in education' committees, co-operative societies, asylum boards, political organisationswhatever the people are free to choose their representatives we find the Catholic clergy in considerable numbers and in prominent positions. Politicians knew well the temper of Irish Catholics, when, to secure the favor of the English- Nonconformists, they excluded clergymen from urban and county councils in Ireland by an Act of the British Parliament.

DARK DONEGAL. There is no county in Ireland but is proud of its past, but for wealth of historic association, of romantic glamor and majestic scenery to dark Donegal pride of place belongs. _ She has had chieftains and warriors whose names will never fade in the pages of Irish history; from the Four Masters to Pat Mac Gill she has been represented by men of learning and genius and, last but not least, among the valleys and mountains, and along the seagirt shores of dark Donegal there remains purer and stronger to-day than any* where else in the world the old deep, true, unflinching spirit of the Gael. Many exiles will welcome the following simple stanzas written by one who, like themselves, left his heart in dear, droll, dark Donegal:

An Exile’s Reminiscences of Donegal.

The lakes of sweet Killarney our poet Moore hath praised, Avoca s Vale, enchanting Moyle, to deathless fame be raised; But yet one spot he left unsung, whose charms I’d fain recall. It lies obscure— far, far away, ’tis ancient Donegal.

Twas there my youthful boyhood days in pleasure passed away, With gay companions of my youth I round thy banks did stray; Those lovely banks and sea-girt walks would poets’ minds enthral, In raptures would they gaze upon thy beauties, Donegal.

From the summit of thy witching banks ’tis charming to behold The lovely bay, with islands green, and rocky barriers bold ; The deep blue sea, whose angry foam beats round the Abbey wall. In vain it strives that dear old pile to sweep from Donegal.

Oft when the sun’s declining rays a hallowed grandeur shed b 0 er that old pile, I’ve wandered there where sleep illustrious dead, Who bravely fought for Erin’s rights against the Saxon’s thrall—Their radiant deeds a lustre shed around thee, Donegal.

The castle, too, a stately pile, doth grandeur still impart, And wakes sad stirring memories in many an Irish heart, Who ponders on the glorious days ere Erin’s hapless all When brave Red Hugh Tyrconnell’s" chief, possess’d thee, Donegal.

No more from out that ruined pile the harp’s sweet echoes sound; • > No more, alas ! at trumpet’s call thy clansmen gather sound ; No more brave chiefs and ladies fair sport through thy princely hall ; No more thy conquering banner waves, historic Donegal.

Like Tara, now, thy harps unstrung, and mute the war-like lyre. The maidens hands are cold in death that swept their chords with fire, The valiant chiefs sleep far away who spurned the Saxon’s thrall ; Some sleep on Rome s Imperial hill, some sleep in Donegal.

Buithe.