Under them we not only had a good map of Ireland, but they taught us, in
our geography lessons, the correct Irish pronunciation of the names of
places, such as (spelling phonetically) "Carrawn Thooal," "Croogh
Phaudhrig," and similar words.

But our old master, Mr. Connolly, was a good man too, according to his
lights. Hearing of Father Mathew's visit, he asked how many of the boys
would go to Crown Street to "take the pledge"--their parents being
willing? Out of some 250 boys there were about a dozen who did not hold
up their hands.

It is unnecessary for me to say that my mother was there again with her
afflicted boy and the rest of her children, and again she pleaded in
vain. She was a courageous woman, with great force of character--and a
_third_ time she went to Father Mathew's gathering. This was in St.
Anthony's chapel yard, and amongst the thousands there to hear him and
to take the pledge she awaited her turn. Again she besought him to touch
her boy's foot. He knew her again, and, deeply moved by her importunity
and great faith he, at length, to her great joy, put his hand on my
brother's foot and gave him his blessing. My mother's faith in the
power of God, through His minister, was rewarded, for the foot was
healed.

I had an aunt--my mother's sister--married to a good patriotic Irishman,
Hugh, or, as he was more generally called, Hughey, Roney, who kept a
public house in Crosbie Street. The street is now gone, but it stood on
part of what is now the goods station of the London & North Western
Railway. Nearly all in Crosbie Street were from the West of Ireland,
and, amongst them, there was scarcely anything but Irish spoken. I have