Morning journal and courier., 1893-02-04
wAKEMAN,S WANDERINGS.
CONCLUDED FROM FIRST PAGE.


 ould man of the branches" the peasants | call 1t; but one sometimes feels that this | insensate typifed protector of the Irish cabin was the only object in gLise of hu- ! man that ever got thus near the man-neg- leoted, God-forsaken peasantry Of this pit I fully conditioned land.
 To my mind a scene in early morning | on Grand Canal in Venice, is far more in- | teresting than one in the early evening, | when the faded aristocracy of the oity are | moving about with apparent listlessness in | their private black gondolas, decorated l with their owners coats-of- arms, propelled | by private gondoliers in ridiculous liver l les, or at night when the canal in general I is wholly and extensively show object to open mouthed strangers. In the very ear | ly morning, while the gray Is yet upon the | water, and the gurgling of the tides is I like the chuckling of night imps in the | dark retreats of the lowest arches and an- | gles, then 1t is that the oldest and most l fascinating processions psss and repass away down there in the shadows beneath | your window.
 Scores of little, long barges loaded with vegetables from the lat, outlying islands | are on their way to the market at the Rial | to. The sails are red, with blue tips and yellow center pieces, and most grotesque figures of Madonnas are painted some where on their gaudily-colored sterns. These barges are propelled by poles in the hands of men in purple, pink, blue and orange garments, and very often a bare headed peasant woman is piled in with the vegetables Here and there a ssndnlo, 8 lighter and more graosful bark than the gondols, darts by, It is rowed by two men, with tssseled caps, like the Biscayan fishermen. A half dozen goats are tied &,,l 4c and children are milking thess on their way to the next customer.
 Barcas with soldiers speeding to or from guard changing fill the shadowy way with din of ohatteripg profanity. Hers are four nuns with bowed heads being rowed on some errsnd of mercy. Again whole families of the lowlier classes, especially pious through some common bereavement, are setting out to be present at some very cheap and early mass Here come crowd of boats with villagers, vegetables, fowls, hagons of milk bestowed in dswy wisps of grass, rolls of butter in laet years sweet, white corn-husks, and number!ess and nameless stuffs for the mercato. They are from the mainland hamlets. and must have been sstir at midnight. Following theee is curious procession of gondolas piled higher than the gondoliers' heads with household goods; and the people owning them, who are thus "moving," follow in their own gondolas, suggesting funeral of hou .ehold gods cut short in it's oortege
 There are friars with huge baskets in their gondolas setting out to the markets to buy and beg for their brethren and the poor; tired fishermen with boat loads of gleaming fruit of the sea; sailors subdued and sulIen after an all-night's registering on their way back to their dogs life and the ships; messengers with the nights col lection of telegrams; bakers in white linen caps end shirts. with boat loads of blsok, with huge casks and fagons of drinking water; butchers, ioemen, grocerymen, sll iii boats making their first morning rounds; and all of them down there upon the wa ter in the shadows seeming like some weird and silent maskers in dream.
 Scotland has never been more thrilled in expectancy or disappointed in outcome than in the career, so far, of her at one time most promising of poets, Alexander Anderson. There Is penny home paper called the Peopls's Friend, published at Dundee. It encourages contributions from country home folk and the lowly strivefs in towns. About twelve years ago some tender heart-rbymes, rugged and rough, but with masterful psthos in them, among which were "Cuddle Doon" and "Jennia WI Il6 alEu (oTOokSO) Ieotn, were no ticed in this sheet over the name ot Alex ander Anderson, widely copied and com mented on.
 Then came poem which electrified the Land O Cakes, and which will ever remain as much a heart song of the entire Scot- tish people as any verse ever penned by Robert Burns. It was called ''Castles f | the Air." and here ia the first stsnza, as l recall it from memory:
 l The bonnie, bonnie bairn wha sits pokin' a the l Glowerin' the fife wi his wee round face, 1 Laughin' at the pufnn lowe (hame-darts)-What Ha, tho young dreamer's biggin castles f the air! The Rev. George Gilfllan, pastor of the United Presbyterian church at Dundee, one of the many editors of Burns, hunted up the unknown genius and first brought his personality to public notice. He found the poet to bs what we call in America a 'section- hand," that is, one of 8 gang keep ing railway tracks in repair; "surfacemen" they are called in Britain; and this strap ping young fellow who had given Scot land i,s finest frsside poem for half cent ury, wsa earning but three shillings, ajx- pence per day.
 The discovery caused immense excite nent in Scottish literary circles, and Sir Noel Patton. Her Majestys Limner for Scotland, painter of "Oberon and Ti-
 
 the Garden" etc., at onca took the surface man bard under his powerful patronage. It resulted in securing for the post the ap- pointment of assistant librarian in the Edinburgh University library. That see,ned to -nd the cian's genuine pc>ticsl career, 8is thyme, apPeaEing at lorg in tervais, is stilted aId scholastic. This is held in ths deepest resentment by thoe" still fondiy crooning ''Cuddle Doon" and ''Castlcs I the Air" I tell my Scottish literary friends they muat let the man SUD at learnipg's fount for the terrible 'drooth" that was on him; that then he vii, ned and dozs snd hibernate; and that by and by he will sing like prisoned bird across the years in memory of his lowly hours But they will Tot believe me, and insist thst tha next poet who Is given life posi- tion in Scotland will bs "bro's OCT the heckle -pius sairly!"
 The minstrels of Ireland are not all gone from the highways and byways Of Erin. The mournful harp and plaiutive pipe may have given way to the breezy banj jo and crooniug violin, but the songs which these accompany are the sopgs of Ireland still. Down by the rotten Clad dash wharves of old Galway town I re- thralled by ths dulcet notes of Tim Bren- nan, the wandering minsthrel of Tipps- rary"-on of the sweetest singers I ever heard, and one who would have been great were 1t not for his love of "the oinder in l it," as they aptly term the West of Ireland l mountain dew. !
 had seen Tim many, many times be- | fore in Ireland. Our trampipgs had brought us into the ssme relations of ar tiet and responsive auditor 50 many times l that, as he tipped me comforting wink 1 of recognition, and noticed that lis vio- | lin had been replaced by the temporary though ample musical makeshift of a l banjo wrought from the head of an an cient Irish ohurn, in the pause following his ballad, I felt enboldened to toss him | back his wink with the query:
 "And Tim. why didn't you bring the | churn with it's head?'
 "Faith, yer honor," he replied in flash and with 8 winsome smils, holding the churn-head banjo alofs 80 all could see, "faith, never argue wid a lady-an', yer honor, bould Irish woman stud at it's other ind"
 had got taste of his sprightly and never vicious wit, and he as quickly got my shilling for that same; more power to the quick hinges of the nimble tongue of the wandering minstrel of Tipperaryl
 EDGAR L. WAKEMAK.
 -. !
 A Delightful Concert.
 A delightf concert wes given in Loomis'