Donahoe's Magazine, Volume 15, No. 1, January 1886Various
History
Donahoe's Magazine, Volume 15, No. 1, January 1886
Various
Periodicals
With that profound reverence for female honor which is still one of the
best characteristics of the Irish poor, she had seen the growth of her
beautiful daughter with a love mixed with terror, and guarded her child
as the tigress watches by her lair. Her own life had long since ceased
to be dear to her. She walked for hours through the streets, she pleaded
for custom, she smiled under insult, she bore rain and hail and snow, in
hope of the fulfilment of this great passionate purpose--to keep her
daughter pure.
The misery of the last six months had been aggravated by the dread,
growing in intensity with every hour, that all this endurance would be
in vain, that behind the wolf of hunger there stalked the more cruel
wolf of lust, and that her daughter was doomed. On this subject not a
word passed between the two women, for the delicacy of feeling which
marks even the humblest grade of Irish life sealed their lips; but the
dread was always there in the mother's heart, pursuing her as a
nightmare through the long watches of the darkness, and haunting her
every moment as wearily she carried her basket through the streets in
the day.
"Buy a few apples, yer honor, for God's sake," she often said to a
passer-by, in a tone that might have struck one as menacing, or at least
as entirely disproportionate to the urgency of the appeal; but in every
such prayer for pence the mother felt that she was crying for her child,
and her child's soul, and her accents came from the very anguish of her
mother's heart.
On this night--it was about a month after the election of Crowe--the two
sat together, buried in their own sad thoughts. They were suddenly
aroused by the floor becoming inundated, and at once knew what to
expect. The Shannon periodically rose above its banks outside Ballybay,
and then its waters overspread the "Big Meadows," and the railway arch
underneath which the widow and her daughter had taken refuge was, as
will be remembered, close to these Meadows.
They rose and rushed from the spot. They were now absolutely homeless,
without even a place on which to lay their heads. They went further on
to another railway arch, and at last slept. When the mother awoke in the
morning she was alone.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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