AN GAOḊAL.
343
"A nation which allows her language to go to ruin, is
parting with the best half of her intellectual independence,
and testifies to her willingness to cease to exist." — ARCH¬
BISHOP TRENCH.
"The Green Isle contained for more centuries than one,
more learning than could have been collected from the rest
of Europe ... It is not thus rash to say that the Irish
possess contemporary histories of their country, written in
the language of the people, from the fifth century. No
other nation of modern Europe is able to make a similar
boast." — SPALDING's ENGLISH LITERATURE, APPLETON & Co.,
NEW YORK.
Who are the Scotch? A tribe of Irish Scots who crossed
over in the 6th century, overcame the natives, and gave
their name to the country. — J. CORNWELL, PH.D., F. R. S.'s
Scotch History.
The Saxons Ruled in England from the 5th century and
were so rude that they had no written language until the
14th, when the Franco-Normans formulated the English. —
SPALDING.
A monthly Journal devoted to the Cultivation
and Preservation of the Irish Language and
the autonomy of the Irish Nation.
Published at 247 Kosciusko st., Brooklyn, N. Y
M. J. LOGAN, Editor and Proprietor
Terms of Subscription — $1 a year to students, 60
cents to the public, in advance ; $1. in arrears.
Terms of Advertising — 20 cents a line, Agate.
Entered at the Brooklyn P. O. as 2nd-class matter
Thirteenth Year of Publication.
VOL 10, No. 5. JANUARY. 1894.
Remember that the First Irish Book is given free
of charge to every new subscriber.
Subscribers will please remember that subscrip¬
tions are due in advance.
The Gael offers its sincere condolence to O'Do¬
novan Rossa on the death of his beautiful boy.
To have the date in advance, we mark this iss¬
ue Jan. '94.
We have now received a supply of First Books
and those entitled to them is not served in a few
days would oblige by notifying us.
Brother Hagerty of Burlington, Ia., is the first
Gael to report action on the Gaelic League. He
got the programme published in the newspapers
of his City. That is like business.
We would call special attention to Goldsmith's
"Deserted Village" and the picture founded on
that part of it relating to the
"Village Schoolmaster,"
The pictures are in miniature on the back page
and show an outline merely of what the engrav¬
ings really are. We offer them as premiums with
the Gael, and give both for less than the price of
the picture. Ten dollar would not buy our set if
we could not replace them; their sight tends to
relieve the sadness superinduced by the reading
of the poem
We believe that any Irishman who can spare
$2.60 will get them, and the Gael for two years
A very anti-Irish book on Irish life was sent to us
for review the other day; and we would not notice
it because our doing so would advertise it. The
writer is a tory (so called) Irishman. In summing
up his case, if we may call it so, he congratulates
all concerned that Irish Nationality will be totally
dead in fifty years, "As the Irish Language will
then be dead, because it is not being printed in
books or newspapers."
What do you say to that, Irish Nationalists?
All that the enemies of Irish Nationality have
to do is, to let the language alone; to let it die,
and their object is attained. If we remind Irish¬
men who do nothing to preserve the language of
this, ten to one that they hint interested motives
to us, though we back the faith that is in us with
considerable pecuniary support; and no man out¬
side the walls of a lunatic asylum would suppose
that six cents a year could support a Gaelic
monthly journal with the circulation which the e¬
masculated Irishism of to-day would assure it.
But we leave ourselves out of the question, be
our motives mercenary or otherwise, and direct
attention to the warnings of the Rev. Fathers O'¬
Growney and Keegan, two Irishmen who have
chosen to shut themselves, so to say, from the al¬
lurements of the world, and whose object couldn't
be personal aggarandizement. No, but purely
the honor of their kindred perpetuated in their
ancient national sovereignty.
THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,
Where health and plenty cheer'd the laboring swain
Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid,
And parting summer's lingering bloom delay'd;
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, when every sport could please,
How often have I loiter'd o'er the green,
Where humble happiness endear'd each scene!
How often have I paus'd on every charm —
The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the busy mill,
The decent church that topped the neighh'ring hill,
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whisp'ring lovers made!
How often have I bless'd the coming day,
When toil, remitting, lent its turn to play,
And all the village train, from labor free,
Led up their sports beneath the speadind tree;
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
The young contending as the old survey'd;
And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground,
And sleights of art and feats of strength went round
And still as each repeated pleasure tir'd.
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd;
The dancing pair that simply sought renown
By holding out, to tire each other down;
The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter titter'd round the place;
The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love,
The matron's glance that would those looks reprove.
These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like
these,
With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please.
These round the bowers their cheerful influence shed
These were the charms, but all these charms are fled!
Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn,
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn;
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen,
And desolation saddens all thy green.
