Morning journal and courier., 1889-02-02
AFOOT IN IRELAND.

Wadelai. The last direct news received from him was in 1887.
 AF0OT IN IRELAND.
 The Excitement over the Arrival of
 an Irish Long.Car-ssWe Bent Girls,
 sor. We's Byes!''-An Interesting
 Look at a Rsvy of School ChiIdren-
 s'The Palace of the Ivy.o
 LoUGH MACH, Ireland, Jan. 21.
 Tothe Editor of the JOURNAL AND COURIER:
 In tramp through wild and winsome Conemara the arrival of the '1ong-car" at relay stations, especially if it be at evening" time, furnishes an interesting study and scene. Outside of births, marriages, deaths, funerals and evictions, it is the constantly recurring great event of the Irish hamlet. It brings and takes the mails. These are in
 vested with refexive majesty of govern ment, and secure sort of universal respect in any country. In Irish villages their por- tent and mystery command ludicrous though pathetic awe. These sealed bags, and those great locked hampers, are freight ed with untold possibilities. They bring messages of gladness or despair from those in far America to whom the very life of these waiting here are forged and welded; and from what they have brought many 6 bursting heart has been forever frightened CT stilled The keen knowledge of these joys and agonies are common heritage. These pouches and packages of plethoric mystery also contain ''Her Majesty's" this, that and the other, which not infrequently affect the relations of human beings in whole eommu- mites. This bitter fact is also an universal consciousness. And those people the "long- cars" momentsry delay furnishes glimpse of, with what ultimate lands they are going to or came from, are constant source of simple conjecture and wonder. For the very next Irish county is to the poor souls an il- limitably distant country; England is surely half way around the earth; while America to which the 'steerage" passage by sea is measureless, though welcomed, purgatory of penetential preparation-is as the one fair Alden beyond the shining stars.
 From half hour before the arrival of the long car the villagers begin to gather at the post-station, usually the inn. Alongside is the little postofice. It is locked during nearly all hours of the day save this; but now it seethes with excited hurry as the
 master and maid-for there are always both, 1 the one perspiring with importance, the oth- CT flaming with effort-worry over the hand- | full of letters to be dispatched. The old, the | halt, the lame and the blind come first. | These, with rigid, pallid face, that sad and universal impress upon Ireland's poor, pass ! in quiet tones the greetings they have thus | exchanged for the half century past. They | olo khn on6 f. wait in dumb sort of stupor that makes ones heart ache to see. Across the way, under queer old matched gables, is ail the picturesque paraphernalia of the post-sta- tion, stable and yard. In huge iron frames, | two or three century old lamps hang above l the yard, their dim, saffrony light showing a dozen stablemen and cumulative helpers
 grooming the shadowy- outlined relay. Up and down the street, at long and zig gag in- 1 tervals, faint lights with splintered glow | reach into the evening glo om. Here end there mysterious footballs, gradually in crossing in numbers and apparent urgency, are heard approaching from side street, ally, | by-way and court. Those who first came | awaken somewhat from their stul or. The | hsrdier next younger division of the village 1 population crowds around the old inn dc oIs. | Then there are the same g-eetings, even from | those whom wall and door alone separate 1 in their every hours life, f7 if ell had met l here on some momentous occasion. Then all l relapse into dumb silence, oLly broken here | and there by the low minor chords of old I women's voices, where faint shreds of light l from the inn windows disclose soups in which three or four ancient cap frill7 trem-
 ble and dance in gossipy proximity. Sc on stir is created by the fussy little landlord I aehing from the fussy little inn, and, after 1 &ha If
 antique receptacle, disappearing with slam, | as if to say: ''This much for Her Most Ora cious Ma,esty-and not for you cattle out | there!" He has done this thousand times 1 before; but the dumb. patient oDes all turn, I Just as they too have done thousand times I before, with look that plainly answels: ''Faith, an mighty deed it was, sor!'
 1 By this time the whole street between the l inn and stable-y arl is filled with a strange
 and picturesque assemblage. Far up the | winding road a faint rumbling is heard. | "Arrah, thim's her wheels a-singin'l"
 "Faith, Tim's the bye on time. thin" l s:God be praised for it's luck the dayF'-ss
 though the lives of all depended-and count l less other fervent expressions rise in mur- murous symphony. Ths post-horn's lively notes seem 8 quick and glad answer to this l waiting welcome. Blast on blast piercss the night and rouses the sleepy echoes along the l old walled way. Down the hollow, over the l hill, down the hollow again, and then with l thunderous clamor across the great arehed
 bridge, comes the wordrous Irish long-car; | and with it come all the remaining villagers | on frantic run, but shrouded in dust from it's spinning wheels. With a rush, whoop
 and final terrific blast the ungainly thing
 stops with u wrench and groan before the little inn. It's "well" is piled high with hampers and luggage. The very outlines of
 it's bumped, hooded, shivering passengers 1 bespeak pstulant impatience. A few growl kl.. laka
 scors of stablemen, lads and lettering help.
 ers grasp and plunge for the reins, lines and
 traces of the smoking horses, filling the air
 with kindly beseechings that they become
 passive; as though they were the most wild
 and impetulous of coursers instead of the
 spiritless, jaded cattle they are. @ Every soul
 that acts or moves around the long car or
 stables instantly begins that aspirated hoarse. half gurgle and hiss which universal
 lv in England and Ireland is the aocoMpani-
 ment to even any imagined attention to, or
 service about, the horse. With rush the
 reeking car-horses are driven and pushed to
 the stables. With another rush back comes
 fresh relay. The bold driver has disap-
 peared to ssstretch the elbow O his legs,
 and stshame the night air with drop O po-
 teen" Here and there the lights flame back
 the color of few "red coats" mingling with
 the crowd. As if by accident a half dozen | of the tall and shapely constabulary have
 come very close to the passengers. Ere
 ouently one too snugly bundled to permit of
 satisfactory official scrutiny is quietly asked to alight and rearrange his rugs and wrsp-
 pings. The village mail has been borne to
 the car and safely bestowed. Another great
 pouch flattened upon its trifing contents has
 been borne back in pompous state. The
 driver springs upon his box. A wicked
 twinkle of mock savsgery turks within his eyes, His entire merry, conciIiatory de
 meanor has changed. He hurls blasting } taunt and whitening jibe upon the village |, and all its people. Two score of these, pre-
 tsntiously holding the horses which wish te
 stay, glibly return his tsunts and jibes
 Into this increasing clamor every imagined Irish tone and tongue now merge, just ai innumerable times before, rising shriller ant higher as old and young are reused to thu
 daily test of farewell Irish billingsgate Scraggy arms protrude, mammoth fists ar E shaken, orutches flourish menacingly, unti you would imagine that all these erst kindl! , folk were transformed into 6 mob for ven . oeance. But at the height of this bedlamit 1proar, with a merry blast and flourish, tn , Iong-car plunges out into the night, score , of ragged urchins scrambling and screeohin . beside it; and as the bowling cavalcad rushes away into the darkness, the tones