The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1885-11-18
rspecial correspondence Of the PRESS

6lOCh VI OllC AlSu olUpluS ouOlOo UOJOA0
them make delightful picture, long to be
remembered by the traveller who approaches
from the sea this well known and ancient
port Tenders meet the great steamships
constantly stopping off the harbor, to take
the mails and such passengers as wish to
land, or we should say, find it convenient for
their travels to go ashore, as everyone, even
the ''old Salts" seem jubilant at the thought
of landing. Upon one of these tugs we went
with crowd of poor steerage passengers
many of whom had been returned by our
commissioners, as paupers, to their native
land Amore pitiful crowd of human beings
one may not readily find than huddled
together on board the Cunard tender that
breezy morning. Many of them, finding they
would starve at home, had fled to America,
the paradise for the idle and lazy, but after
drifting about as strangers in foreign land,
they soon were seized, put into almshouses
for space-lest they should gain resi-
dence and become permanent paupers-then
shipped back to their own kith and kin in
Ireland, who instead of bid ing them vel
come, would meet them with an execration
for having returned to divide the last scanty
meal. One poor fellow was buried at sea
only the day before thus escaping the hu--
initiation which would have awaited him. A
painter by trade, he had managed to save
money enough to get across the ocean only
few months since, but falling into poor
quarters and finding little work, he lost his
health and sought shelter in hospital,
where he was pronounced in a rapid con-
sumption, and in this condition he embarked
for Ireland, hoping to see his mother once
more and die at home. 1t was not to be;
and at an early hour the bell tolled, the re-
volving wheels stopped, the passengers as
sembled to listen to few hasty prayers and
see his body slide from a plank into the
fathomless depths. The great ship sped on
its course; and the steward, as if nothing
unusual had happened, hurried away to ring
the breakfast bell.
One young woman, just dismissed from
Boston charitable institution, especially ex-
cited our sympathy. Her babe had died the
night previous, and knowing it would be
taken from her in the same harsh way, she
had, with the aid of the stewardess, con-
cealed its death and brought the lifeless
body, wrapped in shawl, on board the tug.
Whenever one of the crew or government
officials approached, she would rock and
sing to the babe and hide its face in her
bosom. The deception was not discovered,
as we kept close watch, until she had safely
passed beyond the grasp of the quarantine
officers, and was on the train for her home.
where she could bury her treasure without
molestation.
While one passed out of this world, anoth-
er was born, truly little stranger without a
native land, but launched upon life in the
midst of the mighty ocean. Thus we had
in that short voyage the whole of life, from
birth to death, with the intervening crowd
of restless beings, going abroad for health,
happiness, wealth or fame.
Strange characters frequent the landing,
especially old women with shamrocks to sell,
who use all sorts of arts and fattering
speeches to dispose of their wares. Being in
hurry to get our baggage through the GUS
tom house, we pushed rather thoughtlessly
by Them but the experience of a bachelor
friend who had nobody to look after will
give an idea of the Importantly and quick
wit of these beggars. Said an old woman
with persuasive brogue, carefully putting
shamrock into his buttonhole, God bless
vel Didn't know yez was cummin? Why
/ dreamed this blessed mornin' of We an
totld me ould man that the foinest gintleman
that liver trod the sod of ould Ireland was
cummin' from Ameriky this blessed day.
An here We IL, an l noed We the minnit
seed We. Not pinny will the shamrock cost
ye," continuing to fasten a second in his
buttonhole, mot a pinny." This puzzled
him; but having fixed the shamrock to her
satisfaction she went on: mot pinny for
meself; but if We will reminder the poor
childers at home who hain't broke Bird to-
day, God presarve them, yell git bis
sing" OF course the children were remem-
bered, and my friend walked on few PAGES
when another old dame accosted him. "Now
amt that a foine gintleman? / haint seen
such another since the Prince hissef whit to
Bantry." She bounced upon him and stuck
another shamrock in the next buttonhole,
saying: 'Therel We have the rale shamrock
of ouId Ireland an me blessing too wild it."
THANK you," said my friend, and pushed
roughly by her, as he did not care to be taken
for green grocer. "Ahp' exclaimed the old
woman, ''but We won't git the good of the
blessing if We don't desarve it." Upon this
he handed her sixpence, and asked "But
what do you think Granny about it now?"
She replied, ''0h, We desarve it, and of course
yen git it,"
There are two ways of reaching Cork, one
by steamer up the river Lee, which is very
delightful. and one by the railway along the
river bank. The competition makes the
railway officials very obliging, and they
quickly went through the form of searching
for spirits and dynamite in our trunks and
placed us baggage and all on the train.
We offered the guard who had rendered us
much assistance, a gratuity, which he polite
ly refused. This was very pleasant Incl
dent on our entree to the old world, but sol
itary one of the kind.
CORK.
Cork is very interesting city to begin
with. The queer people one everywhere
meets; the jaunting cars hurrying hither and
and thither; the ancient buildings and mon
uments all attract attention The drives
about the country are charming; at every
turn you pass the pretty matched cottages
where the baby is feeding the donkey, and
bipeds and quadrupeds of all sorts share a
common playground.
Everybody has heard of the "Shandon
Bells"
"With deep affection,
And fond recollection,
/ often think ON
Those Shandon Bells,
Whose sounds so wild would,
In the days of childhood
Fling round my cradle
Their magic SPELL"
Here you meet all the heroes and heroines
of your nursery rhymes, the original old
woman, whose piggy would not go, until in
despair, she has put him into the cart and
patiently taken her place at the pole; next
you see her well-to-do sister, seated in the
middle of the wagon to keep piggy from the
cabbages, both destined to take an honored
place at some grand banquet or table d'hote,
while her old man walks contentedly by the
stubborn donkey; far up the steep hills you
pass Jack and Jill until you are sure you can
determine the locality, if not the authorship,
of Mother Goose Melodies.
Blarney Castle too is never to be forgotten.
Al. !, al,o