Philo-Celts.
Now that the cool weather has set in we hope all
our Gaelic students will apply themselves earnest¬
ly to study.
We may say that all our Brooklyn friends have
now returned from their vacations save Rev. Fath¬
er Fitzgerald, who is in Ireland, and Brother P. S.
Graham, who is out in Winnipeg, where he has
purchased a farm. Brother Walsh has come back
from Ireland, hale and healthy.
President Gilgannon anticipates a successful sea¬
son for the Gaelic cause.
Miss N T Costello has come home and will be no
small addition to our vocal entertainments.
The Misses Dunlevy attend well to the business
of the Society.
Miss Guiren is making excellent headway with
the Gaelic.
Miss Rogers is also doing well
We miss the Misses Donnelly much lately
We shall in future take note of obsentees so that
they will have to look sharp.
Ex-President H C Finn calls now and again.
M J Heaney is losing ground. He wants to look
out or lose his prestige
Brothers O'Donnell, Hyland, Kinsella and O'¬
Leary attend very well
Vice-Prest, Lacey is always on time
The Society is under much obligation to Mr T
P Lacey, who at all times presides at the piano
during entertainments. Also, to Miss and Master
Gibert, the accomplished son and daughter of
Professor Gilbert
We are glad to see Brother J Byrne back again.
Brother Baldwin's attention to study manifests
itself. He gave us a gentle rebuke for classifying
him as a foreiger. We gladly accept.
Brother and Miss Mullanney attend all the time
Brother Morrissey and his Italian friend, Brot¬
her Fabrizio, call on time.
Miss Nelly Crowley, our accomplished elocution¬
ist, is absent quite often.
Miss Moran, our talented poetess, takes a deep
interest in the language.
Brother Martin delights in dealing heavy orator¬
ical blows to the Sasannach.
We like to see M F Costello attending again
The first place visited by A M Deely after his
return from the Old Sod was the Gaelic hall
Brother Flaherty will, he says, mend in his att¬
endance
President McEniry and Sec. Murphy, of the Phi¬
ladelphia Society, called a few days ago, they are
full of hope in the cause
From the blowing of the New York Gael some
time ago we trembled for the fate of our little Gael
thinking that its puny columns would be left in
the shade by the brilliant outcome of their public¬
tion, but we now find they resemble "The Moun¬
tain in Labor" — out pops — What? Whether you
like it or not, N Y friends, you will have to take
a seat behind Brooklyn in the Gaelic cause. The
successful prosecution of that cause calls for items
which you cannot, or are not disposed to, supply,
THE EXILE OF ERIN.
Written for the Gael by John Coleman.
Dear native land, an exiles heart, with sighs, rem¬
embers thee —
Thy mild evenings calm and still when the sun
sinks 'neath the sea.
Does the twilight still fling o'er each hill, its soft
smiling day?
While birds the grove's music fill, and flowers
perfume the air, —
Do the cattle low, and streamlets flow, as when I
was there?
Memory paints your ruins old, with shadows o'er
the grass,
The raths, and wells and blossom bowers, where
sporting fairies pass.
Does the same thrill the pure hearts fill - our bash¬
ful loving maids,
Are their cheeks aglow with beauty still, 'neath
dark flowing hair.
Are their steps light, and their souls as white, as
when I was there?
Do the old tell of former times, of great soul'd men
of might,
Of Ossian's fame, or Oscar's stroke or Fenian host
in fight,
Are those tales told in our tongue of gold, while
joys round it play
To make time fleet by, with laugh and sigh, while
youths frowning stare,
With a crashing blow, for the foreign foe. as when
I was there?
And as the day, at length does close and night un¬
folds his pall,
Do the Gael's der tongue still breathe the prayer
in cot, keel and hall, —
Do their dreams trace the lean brown face — the
exile far away.
Do they crave his aid — his willing blade - to strike,
rend and tear
The tyrant's rag from tower and crag, as when I
was there?
Your rivers' winding course I see, your bays and
sunny shore,
And in dreamy fold I now behold your flowery
fields, asthore,
This heart for you is rent in two, while far away
I sigh.
Like keen edged steel, death's chill I feel, which
fill this brow with care
He'll tear apart this soul and heart, while I am
far from there.
Sweet storied land of music soul, of scholar, bard,
and sage,
Of Brehon, Druid, and sprid and fay, and saints
of latter age,
Of lake and lee, and warrior Ree, and soldier
Galaglass —
Oh! for a birth 'neath shamrock-earth, made light
with pleading prayer,
And the heart's sigh, and tearful eye, O, happy
sleeper there,
Counsellor J C McGuire, P Crean, P Cradack
Hon. W H Martha, and Judge Walsh have made
full return for picnic tickets sent them by the So:
