s particular monument in Connemara does
not differ in any important respect from many others, but before it, in
the summer of 1886, there knelt, all day long, an old peasant woman. Every
morning she came from a hut in the glen near by and spent every hour of
daylight in prayer before the wooden cross. It seemed to matter little to
her whether it rained or the sun shone; in sunshine, the hood of her
tattered cloak was thrown back and her white hair exposed, while the rain
compelled her to draw the hood forward, but rain or shine she was always
there, her lips silently moving as the beads slipped through her withered
fingers, nor could any question divert her attention from her devotions.
She never looked up, never took the slightest notice of remarks addressed
to her, nor was she ever heard to speak aloud. Once a week provisions were
sent to her house from the nearest police station; they were left within,
and those who brought them went their way, for she gave them no word of
thanks, no look of gratitude; nor, for many years, had the constables sent
with the allowance made her by the government ventured to compel her to
speak to them.

Her story was told by a Sergeant of Police, and formed a painful
illustration of the poteen trade in the mountains. In the year 1850, while
the country was still suffering from the effects of the "starving time,"
she lived with her husband, Michael O'Malley, and four sons, on a little
farm near Lake Derryclare. Year after year had the crops failed, but the
little family held together, faring, or rather starving, alike. In the
year mentioned, although the country in general was beginning to recover
from the famine, this part of Connemara was still stricken, and the crop
seemed likely again to fail. Starvation stared the hapless family in the
face. The boys were well grown lads, accustomed to the hard life of
peasants, and willing to work if any could be found. All four left home,
the eldest going to Galway, the other three to the sea-shore, where they
found temporary employment in the fisheries. While so engaged, they
learned the secrets of the illicit distiller, and having, in course of
time, managed to procure a small still, they returned home with it, and as
the cabin was in a secluded quarter of a little frequented district, they
persuaded the old man to engage in the enterprise with them. The risk of
detection appeared so small, especially when compared with the profits,
that against t