Jasper County Democrat, Volume 17, Number 98, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 March 1915 — IRELAND’S SAINT, AND HIS WORKS [ARTICLE]

IRELAND’S SAINT, AND HIS WORKS

Colleen Tells the Story of the Life and Labors of the Beloved Preacher Who Brought Christianity to the Beautiful Shores of the Green Isle. BY A COLLEEN. Erin’s a spot famous for greenery. But we do not match with our scenery. We’re not so green we can make hay with you— - Says the colleen, “Ah, get away with you I ” —Modern Song. AND is it green you’re after thinking we are? Then turn your intelligent eyes upon us, for it’s probably due to us that you have an intelligent eye to turn upon anything at all! A fit of the blues and a streak of yellow may make one kind of green —the green young thing that hops out life at a halter’s end, mayhap; or the pale green of envy in a foolish eye. But the sweet, restful green that nature painted the isle was never that kind of a color. ’Tis the bright, cool and happy shade of the leaves and growing things like the bit of a shamrock that best tell the story of it And the story of the shamrock and the story of Ireland are the story of Saint Patrick himself. Are you telling me you never heard it? More shame to you that don’t know the praises of the greatest of saints. ’ Maybe you’re one of them that thinks the blessed man was born in France —France, ochone! Heaven save the mark, ’twas in Dumbarton, called the Rocks of Clyde, in what is now Scotland. His father and mother were Christians, after a fashion that is, and they were subject to the Roman influence, Scotland having been licked by the Caesar, which Ireland was not. A lad of sixteen he was when they nabbed him and, turning the prow of the coracle down the Clyde, headed for a spot near the Giant’s Causeway. Once landed it was not long before he was sold to Milchu, son of Hau Bain, who was king of Dalaradia. His duty thereafter was none other than the tending of cattle in the valley of the Braid, not far from Bretfgfishane In that valley there is still a town called Ballyligpatrick or Patrick’s Hollow. Six Years of Slavery. Six years he slaved and planned, and then at the age of twenty-two he ran away. Away from Milchu and the cattle and down to the sea at Killala in the County Mayo, he went. A boat was ready to sail when he reached there—it was about two hundred miles from tite valley of the Braid —but he had no money and the sailors refused to give him passage. Fearful of discovery, he went into the wood of Foclut, there to hide till he could get away safely, but the sailors’ hearts became softened, and they sent after him and gave him free passage back to his home . • ’ Home again after six years of bondage, you’d think he would settle down and be.content, now wouldn’t you. Bat no. Contrary to the wishes of his family he determined to go back to Ireland and be a missionary; and he began to prepare himself for it. Now the time when most boys of his age were in school he had been away tend- • ing the 1 cattle of his master, so it was small book-learning he had, and the task of preparing himself was a hard one, but he spent years in monastic schools and more than twenty of them had. passed before he set sail to an-

swer the “voice cf the Irish” that he declared was calling to him. He would bring happiness to the Isle of Destiny by way of Christianity —wasn’t that a noble mission? And they were ripe for his hand. He landed near the mouth of the River Slany, two miles from the place now known as Saul. At that time there were many divisions and as many rulers in Ireland, each brave clan being a law unto itself. St. Patrick made straight for the nearest chief, Dichu, who thought he and his companions were pirates and came armed to meet them, but when St. Patrick spoke to him the melting- sweetness of his message turned Dichu into a stanch friend on the spot, and straightway he gave a barn to be used as a temporary church and land on which to build a permanent one—and the place is known to this day as Saul,‘(Saul meaning barn). Peaceful Conquest of Erin. So the blessed man went up and down the island leaving the broad track of light behind him. He gathered together the chiefs and their clans that had been warring among themselves and he made them into one solid body. For the Irish never do things by halves, and their love and chivalry responded to the appeal of the apostle of Erin. It wasn’t giving to the church with one hand and snatching back with two they were—not a bit of it —only each one trying to outdo his neighbor in goodness and self-sacrifice. Don’t think that it was all easy sailing. The saint met with much opposition and had many threats made on his life, but that didn’t feaze him one whit. The strongest opponents he had were the Druids, as the pagan priests were called. He determined to put a stop to them, and went right into their stronghold at Tara, where they were holding high jinks, and began the celebration of Easter by lighting the Easter fire, for it was Easter eve. The royal command was sent to Patrick to present himself to the court at Slane. There he was received with dudgeon and welcomed by the royal bard Dubbthack It was just what he wanted and he began to preach to them and converted more than half of them on the spot, gaining the king’s permission to preach in any part of Ireland he wished. No need to tell him twice. From Connaught he traveled to the Lakes of Killarney, from the east to the west and from the north to the south, back and forth he Went baptizing thousands. His last years were spent near Saul, advising and teaching those who were to take up his work and follow after him. And on the 17th of March, in the year 493, “he was translated to heaven.” Much has been said about just where his grave is, but as long as we know that his ashes rest in the soil of Inisfail, what matter? And today Erin’s sons are scattered far and wide doing the world’s work. Literature, science and art have drawn from the Irish resources, not to mention that hardworking team, “Mike and Pat, that keep body and soul together for half of the vaudeville performers—•” nothing is so easy to attempt as the Irish brogue. Maybe you’ve noticed that the underdone bits are rarer than the overdone ones? Professional humorists, bad manners to them, would become extinct entirely if the same pair were not handy to have smart answers wished onto the ends of their tongues. ’Tis not saying the Irish are not witty I am, but only so good-nat-ured tuat the sins cf the world are grafted graciously upon them.