The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1890-08-03

eTbu. IL SeINS4 10 Wnllb away AhC MINUTES
before the train started, and was as instruc-
tive an indication Of the state of Ireland
at the present moment as a dozen volumes,
as instructive in its way as was the exhibit
ton of shameless venality by crown
official which, l had just witnessed.
High above all, some SUPERFICIAL indi-
vidual had written:
God save the queen,
To hell with Parnell!
A patriots hand had added underneath;
That does not rhyme so well,
So damn the queen instead of him,
And send Salisbury to hell.
Here still third hand had taken up the
legend and had set the seal of approving
admiration upon the verses in the following
emphatic, if somewhat exagerative, fashion:
This above is written well.
For tits written on the gates of hell
which is, perhaps, the first time that the
third-classs compartments of a south Irish
railway carriage was ever 81 described.
This was the end of "God Save the
Queen" series, so to speak. To the right
another nationalist had introduced a new
subject of pasquinade by writing a grabbed,
but very legible hand:
Balfour and Salisbury,
Both bit sad;
The devils own fools
To set Ireland mad.
The loyal subjects and defendants Of the
queen and crown are in the minority IN the
south of Ireland, but they exist aud are
reasonably lively. One of this lively mi
nority had here written:
The man who wrote this is an ass,
Aud Parnell is another
But it was useless. One of theimajo rity
had taken his innings next and neatly COM
pleted the rhyme by adding:
The Saxon brays, but let it pass,
An ass should know his brother;
But this poor Queen-adoring fool
Has neither sight nor hearing,
The longest ears are still his own
And the loudest bray, I'm fearing
The rhyme is a little hardly treated here,
but such has ever been the fate of poetry
when pressed into the service of politics.
Not all, nor half the inscriptions were in
rhyme, however, though those were, natur-
ally, to a stranger, the most terse and inter
esting. One man had written in a very
Grabbed and awkward fist: IF the gossoon
ever comes to Cork he will suffer by me.n
No name was given, but, from the place of
writing, it was evident that Balfour was
meant. Indeed. it was curious to see how
little reference was made in the
inscriptions to the queen, the nomi-
nal, or Salisbury. -. the actual
head of the government. The bltterest
attacks were all upon Balfour. The SEN
tence quoted above was the only one that
COulu DO COusLIu6u d uloudG6 VI bIliodL
which l remember seeing. The greater
part Of the writings were simple sentences
like Long live Ireland p or ITO - with
Smith arryp or Loyal Ulster be ="
Profanity is not an exclusively American
accomplishment.
What may be called the literature of the
exulJant hope bears large proportion in
the mural decoration of south Irish third
class railroad car. One earnest, if faulty,
rbx hac ba universal hnna
Old Ire!ands poor,
But in spite of Balfour
Well win her deliverance sure.
A timid loyal protest tucked away in q
corner by the door, where no ardent patriot
seems to have seen it, or at least thought it
worthy of reply:
Parnell's hand
Has been a curse to this fair land.
And the retort courteous might be read
several seats away boldly written on the
frame of the opposite door:
Damn Balfour's black heart,
He ought to be dragged at the tail of cart.
More poletical and kindly was the aspira-
ton of another scribbler:
have found a fourlea shamrock,
May it change old Ireland's luck.
Another poet had wreaked upon ex-
preston these stirring lines:
Happy well be,
When old lreland'S free.
Contemporary events were recalled by
the following blood-curdling prophecy:
Let Smith Barry go on evicting his tenants;
In hell he will do fine penance.
The mention of the hated landlord of old
Tipperary seems to have suggested the fol-
lowing horrible doggerel, which was writ
ten underneath:
Hurrah for the Plan of Campaign
| drink its success in beer, AMI l wish 1t was
champagne.
One of the finest stanzas which read
though l have reserved it for quotation last,
was evidently recently written and sug-
gested by the illness from which Michael
Davitt, whose home is at Ballybrack, near
Dublin, is just now recovering. 1t read:
There is little giant and he lives at Bally-
brack,
And the Tory crew is frightened when he gets
upon their track
Their prisons and their tortures could not make
his spirit quail,
For he's an honor to old Ireland and his cour-
age would not fail.
But the Lord was pleased to chasten him and
sent him illness sore,
And the Tories all were hoping for to see their
foe more.
But we'll pray TO heaven night and day to give
his health back,
And please God, he'll beat the Tories yet, will
the man from Bailybrack.
This was the most ambitious specimen of
the writing on the wall, but the only com
ment it has called forth from tue tory
readers were the two words, "Oh, gam
moum
The reading of these inscriptions occupied
all the time while the train was waiting for
its passengers and portion of the short
ride from Queentown TO Cork as we'll
Three compartments were thrown together
after fashion not unusual on Irish rail-
ways. and In them all were perhaps a score
Of people, every one except myself
Irish born and returning for
visit TO the old home Some
came from Denver. some Chicago,
some Boston, some New FORK. They read
the inscriptions aloud, commended the Par
nellite stanzas. and good-naturedly derided
those Of a tory character. When the train
was fairly under way, however, the wall
writing ceased 10 interest and they looked
with one accord down and up the beautiful
river as tho train twisted about its curves.
The last CLEANS of the late June sun
flashed from q bayonet and lit up a red
coat on the rampant by tho landing quay
Farther down the river we're hundreds Of
other redcoats In tho grim fortresses, now
too far away for distinct vision. A hand