The Ottawa free trader. [volume] (Ottawa, Ill.) 1843-1916, 1883-10-20
SONGS OF IRISH HEARTS.
The Ballads Sold at Queenstown Popular
Sentiment in Verse.

EeuLlulenb III VtTSS'
Zone day." writes a Dublin cores
pondent of The Ftiiadelphia Press,
''when | had strolled along the Beach
street and had assembled to the parapet-
ed road on which the cathedral stands,
all at once my ears were assaulted by q
tremendous sound. 1t seemed rs if the
voice of Boancrgcs had suddenly thun-
dered in upon the scene. IL was q
singularly high voice. and it rang over
Queenstown ike the great bell of Mos
cow. Turning around Observed a
stOut-buiit old man standing near the
pavement, surrounded by a group Of
men, women, and children. He was
round shouldcred and had II stoop for
ward which he countcracted by the big
stick he held in his sturdy grasp. In
his left hand bunch of papers fluttered.
He was blind, and the papers were bal
lads, which he was singing with stem
torian energy. 1t occurred to me that
these ballads might give me n clue to
the innermost political sentiments of
the common classes of the country, and
| approached the singer and bought n
handful. remarkin@ that | would like to
take some Of his songs to America.
"God bless YOU. sorr?' he repeated
twice, land it's me that would like to
be goin' wild me ballads Then he
moved little distance on, still follow
ed by his knot Of admirers, with whom
he was oJvousiv popular character,
while | strolled back to the parapet and
glanced at the sheets. They were the
genuine old-fa,hioucd kind that | re-
member when II boy. There was the
thin white pa;er, there were the rough
and-ready printing, and the coarse and
wonderful Wood-cuts ut the head Of each
ballad.
| haurcned to turn round to look
after ny ancient m ustrel, whea ! oh
served II man whom had certainly
seen before bargalnins with MIN for u
set of Ballads and asking him some
question:. The man pushed The sheets
in his pocket and hurried dOwD the hill.
Curiosity tempted me 10 90 back to the
singer and ask what the stranger
who bad just ieIt him had been saying.
"Is il YOU, sorr. ihal said YOU was
fron Anrrlt:y II moment ago, and
bou p, lnr bailpds? Well. then, sorr,
that man KEN and asked me to sell him
IN exact set OF the same songs that
your honor had bought OF me. ="
That is strange, friend. What could
anybody in Queenstown care for what
songs | choose to buy? Do you know
the manp"
"Arrah, bad scran to him! know him
well enough, though perhaps he doesn't
know it. That Van, sorr, is n British
defective, and it's some dhirty work he $
after, shure.n
Surprised at this information for the
moment, | thanked the ballad-scllcr
and was moving away when he sudden
put up his hasd to his mouth and said:
''Whishpcr, sorr The dhirty thaie
didn't get the same ballads, afther all,
for sowld him a set just rs different
rs butthermilk from whishky; and, by
the way, | wouldn't moind u sup OF
potheen now just to drink bad luck to-
the blackguard." !, of course took the
hint, and he the coin, and then | saun-
tered back to my lodging, wondering
why the devil the police had becu kind
enough to place me under their surveil-
lance-for it was now clear enough to
my mind that | was being watched as
an American spy.
Police or no police, espionage or no
espionage, here goes for my ballads! |
read them through with the greatest
care, and found, rs l expected. that
they showed to 4 considerable eN ,ent
the drift OF political feeling among
those classes which have not yet had IN
opportunity of being actively identified
with any national movement. | had
the pleasure afterward of hearing some
OF them sung, or rather crooned, by
women and men in the Storage on my
return 10 America, so that no doubt
could linger in my mind that they spoke,
though perhaps in rough and humble
way, the feelings of the people. And
though these ballads did not have the
polish of Moore or the author of that
exquisit gem OF pathos, "The Exile of
Erin, yet they contained verses which
illustrated both the wit, the temper, and
the pathos of the genuine Irish caarac-
ter. 1t has been justly lsmented that
the art of ballad-writing is rapidly de-
caying, but it still fingers in the home
spun songs which are sung on the boys
and moors of the Celtic peasantry.
Let me take the first ballad that comes
to hand. 1t is called the "Emigrants
Return from America" The wood-cut
is an old worn block that must have
done service for many ballads in its
lime. 1t seems to representation j