Morning journal and courier., 1888-12-22


 tie walls, the jagged heights of crumblinG ruins, or within the lofty windows of gloomy towers, as if conscious of comprising all the ''Mark Tapleys" of the air, win for them 8 certain admiration and respect. The spar row is here as it is everywhere, with it's vii cious, pickering ways. And the sable, graceful hosts of ever busy lives, the black birds, seem to make of Ireland the conti- nent's blackbird winter haunt. They feed chiefly upon the berry of the hawthorne and holly, but never upon the black hawthorne sloe. Though full of wonderful excentrici- ties, they are ever songless in winter here. Along with these are the wren and the robin. The former has grown into the heart of man in almost every land. Tiny, hardy, brave, it is friendly yet timid withal, and while seeking nearness to the haunts of men, is, as with some human souls, most piteously alone when closest those whose love is sought. In Ireland the Christmas time ''tragedy of the wren" is one of the most grotesque yet pathetic incidents among the olden customs of the children of the peasan- try. But the robin is most dearly loved of all. It lives in underbrush and hedges, and beneath the ivy of castle walls, feeding about the stacks and paddocks and even about the doors and thatches. The great af- lection shown it by the people can any day be seen along the roads, where, perched upon window lodges, or even coming confidently into interior of cabins, the beggarly, starved peasantry may be seen dividing with this trusting winterIing their scanty food. But the robin repays all. At tho approach of fair weather-and it's welcome prophecies never fail--its mounts limb of topmost homeside tree, lifts it's thankful head, and pours from it's shapely throat food of lute like notes. Then Irish lips will say, "Faith, the robins calling the sun!" and Irish hearts are glad.
 Of the Irish Christmas tide ifself, there is | "a in kho nf ha and powerful, better than the meanest echo of the genuine Christmas cheer which 80 per vades and distinguishes the whole people of old England. Truly there are revelry and mirth and astounding drinking, but they have in them all but a sad mockery of the peace and good will to men which best glori fly the day and time. For while that sort of cheer is in the midst of starvation, eviction acd unutterable wrong, it's dreadful ofen- sivepess made alone possible by great walls and armed men, 1t is indeed pitiable man ner of rejoicing But it is still time with the gentry and nobility for great feasts and magnificent excesses. This manor house sends it's folk and servants to that one; or the gentry from dozen congregate at an ! other With the gentlemen, shooting, cour- | sing, athletic games, whiskey and cards, and with the ladies, tea and spirit guzzling, coun- | tryside gossip and hirtations, rule the sweet \ and sacred time. Great state and pompous-
  \ awakened roads; and not the least interest | ing study is found among the pallid, lip compressed peasantry, appearing in spathetic | resentment along the way. At the castles it \ is the same, save that the retinues are great \ CT, the feasts more tremendous, and more re- ! spect is paid to proprieties and form. It \ should, however, be added for what good II there may be in it, that aside from profuse \ and extraordinary hospitality to kind and degree, an excellent showing ot gift-making | to servants, tenants and tradesmen, as well ! as charity to the poor, is made; charity ' which though seldom refused, bears toC \ many scourging reminders with 1t to strike one spark of gratitude in the consciously \ Wronged irish life and heart. In the cities \ throngs surge and crowd with elation or de- \ spair in their faces, as wish us. But no I where else on this earth does Christmas time bring such shuddering, pallid, piteous poVer- ty to stand, stare and hunger for the gloriee | of home windows open, or the wonders of | shop windows ablaze with what these des- ! perately forsaken humans have never owned or known. Ragged, filthy, sodden, forlorn, bare footed in mid winter, with the slush and snow freezing to their bloodless flesh, they are ten times ten thousand soul holding monuments to the surpassing inhumanity of government by Christian man.
 While there is undoubtedly an almost uni- Yersal reverence for the more sacred side of the Christmas tide, and truly know that at least the Irish peasantry have an innate rev- erence for all that is sacred and good, Christ mas is not generally observed in it's high and holy sense in Ireland. It is time for much that is tender and worthy, but also one for deplorable excess. In decoration the ivy and holly are everywhere seen and procurable; and tiny sprig of the mistletoe conspicuous ly appears in all the homes of the more fa- vored classes. Rich or poor, Catholic or Protestant, every family will possess a -. Ill DoEo ogI, c. vorite, or of "bog deal,' found in the Irish peat-banks and bogs. This is to Ire land as the yule log to England and it burns brightly for the home coming of every heart the home may own. Passing the Christmas at home is sentiment and determination more impressive and unvarying, save with the Irish nobility, than in any other land I know. And on Christmas eve itself there cannot be found among the lowly classes a human soul not lost one, that is not there or sometime there within the glow and warmth. With the humber villagers every where, and always with the peasantry of the South and West, the Christmas mold" or ! huge, long candle, weighing from one to two pounds, if it's price needs be begged or sto- | len, is priceless requisite for Christmas l eve. It will simply frrevocably be had. | The bog deal block is fired; the doors are l flung wide open for friend, mendicant or en- emy to enter with eead mile failte Ca thou | | is lighted to burn out, but never be extln- l guished; and while there is constant going and coming, it is softly done. There is al- | ways circle of eager faces about the fire l place, where strange weird, ever old and ever new, tales, abounding in religious sentiment, are told, while the half lights dance fairy | like among the blackened, century old thatch | rafters above. To midnight mass nearly all l repair; then the ''tea breakfast" is had
 those who have saved enough brew great 1 bowls of punch those who have not gel 1 along quite as we'll upon the stirring poteen l and as the day comes in Irish registering witt
 all it's liberal nilarity begins.
 But Christmas time in Ireland is one of un
 speakable loss to the bird families of tiny | wrens. This tragedy of the wren should
 have 8 luminous place in literature Half {
 million Irish children with kippens and club are beating about the hedges for victims
 Sacredly protected during every other day O
 the year, the wren is now sought with fero
 cious yelling of
 Come huntin' the wren, says Robin to Bobbin;
 Come huntin' the wren, says Richard a,t to Robin; | Come huntin' the wren, says Jack Tilaone;
 Come huntin' the wren says every one!
 The wren is hunted, for, according to tn
 superstition it must be found; it's manglet
 little body is be-ribboned and dangled in l rush cage or hung from holly branch; ant
 with this strange hint to alms-giving swayinl
 aloft, hordes of youngsters shrieking-
 'sWe hunted the through frost and snow; 1 We hunted the wren seven miles or more;
 We knocked him down and he could not see;
 | And we brought him home in holly treeI"-
 crowd the streets in Irish Christmas days
 knock at homes and are given coin; ant
 when the night comes hold such wakes ove the dead wrens as only 8 master-hand eouls
 paint or describe. The origin of this strang | custom cannot be found. It is lost even il
 that rare and fecund birth-spot for so muc that gives Ireland surpassing interest-tha wild, weird, whimsical, loveable phantas l called "Irish tradition"
 EDDAR L. WAKEMAN. FROSTBITES.