The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1893-03-19

Bank OF Havana bill. Iquickly had these
made in a compact wad. got my knee
against his leg. be started and looked me
full ID the face. My hand was on the low
iron division rail between the seats and it
/ touched his God knows a soldiers human
/ sympathy TO soldier In some subtle way
swept from my heart to his IN that touch,
1 His clinched hand relaxed and turned. The
/ palm was next mine. Our hands clasDed,
and there was quick pressure We we're
born thousands Of miles apart, and never
met until that instant, would never again
meet unless IN eternity, but we knew
/ more OF each other IN that one moment
thHn many lifetime acquaintance.
soon the ferrybost had bumped against
/ the Havana whsrves.
! Through the clRtter and clamor and
crowds the sdeserter was showed and saber-
! prodded to the Plaza de la San Carlos, hur-
/ RED into victoria, alongside which ware
| TWO mounted Ruardas, and driven rapidly
| away. could not work that day, and
wandered along the walls of La Pnnta,
restless, heartsiok, and with the white face
/ OF that desperate life ever before me- At
| o'clock just across the narrow harbor en-
trance we're heard some ominous drum
| beats.
On the little plaza just over the sea on the
| nights at Moro there were movements of
small squads of soldiery We could see all
this plainly from La Puuts. / feared what
/ Az h4CaAuf GOull AOG D6hI :, auQ QNrTl6I
away. Just as | reached the old Boquete
walls there was a sound Of musketry at Moro
L looked across the channel and saw the
| smoke from their pieces well nigh eafOldiug
them all But / saw through aud through
| that oud one face sealed IN eternal rest,
when some old fish-wiveS on the Boquete
walls near, crossing themselves as if it we're
an old habit and for like occasions, Laztly
muttered: Ell desertdrl Ell desertar!'
Az every little station in ireland, from
Galway OF Tralee, eastward; from Dublin
or Wexford, westward, and along the lines
converging at or toward Mallow and thence
to Cork, sad-eyed conveying" parties may
be seen waiting for the last embrace, hand
pressure or glimpse OF the departing emil
grant for America, and if you we're IN Ire
land and would ride in the "thi d-class" car
riages as do, and could see each little com
partmenC packed with from twenty to
thirty OF these emigrants on their wav TO
Cork and Queenstown, you would for the
first time in your life realize the Voc of
those who go TO an extent that you would
have more con- passion for those who come
And then, at Halfway, at Blackpool, at
Blarney, on scramble the begZar crew who
eked livelihood from the h ysterical, lender
hearted and simple folk who are found on
every one OF those trains departing Leg
less plpers pipe most patriotic airs; blind
hddlers set all the breasts heaving and eyes
weeping from their tender Irish melodies:
while blind Ministries roar THE Harp and
the Shamrock of Ould Ireland" Pennies
rain into their cups aud hats like drop
ripe" wheat shaken by the wind. Through
this luGubrious misery all are straining their
dlmmad sight for a last look at the warm
wales and nesting homes Of Ireland's tender
south.
Suddenly the din of the heroic minstrel
music is almost drowned In the thunder of
the train rushing through the long tunnel.
Ireland. beloved ireland, is for the FIRST
time blotted out of sight The minor chords
OF the pipes aud fddles are no match for
the resistless wailiUgs now. Sobs. moaua
groars and pitiful EXPLANATIONS Of sndsar-
ment, swell iPto such a touching and grew
some mtSerere as your ears never before
heard.
In a flash you are in the light again, and
here, half way up the noble nights Of the
beautiful city Of Cork, In pandemonium
and hubbub Internal, the half a thousand
tortured souls are saunted out OF their vile
pens, shunted into other vile pens, and
whlrled away to Queenstown, amid merci-
less robbers aud murderous "runpers." to
await packing and proddlng into the great
steamers holds, and embsrzing brntaiities
which are cruel blight upon the civilizs-
ton Of our time.
There are two of the sounds Of the early
English morning which haunt me with per.
sisteat piteousness. So long have / heard
them and brooded over their sad suggestive
ness, that I'm whatever country / happen to
be wandering, and however leaden NAV be
my slumber, / am certain TO awaken at the
hour to hear their grewsome echoes across
the land or sea.
These are the clatter, clatter, clatter of
the hob-nailed shoes Of thousands of factory
hands on their way TO their daily toll and
the hacking, whistling coughing of hun
dreds among them. In ali English towns
aud cities, when biding at any public hos
tlery, you may hear the first of this at 4
o'clock In the morning. A quick, sharp
ringing of the hob-nails on the pavement
by one, or two, or a group Of half a dozen
OF these toilers will form the prelude Then
for a few moments all will be still.
Again increased chatter by larger squads,
and more pronounced coughing. Soon the
beating of their feet will grow into almost a
roar. By o'clock the sound ia deafening
An army in defeat over a stone road could
make no greater din.
IL you VIII listen now, you may distin-
gulsh all the majors and minors. There is
the screeching Of the swinging pals; the
hating and 81 stumbling of the feeble; the
popping sound of myriad pipe puflngs; the
sodden salute and sententious rejoiuders of
acquaintance. the shrill Safeguarding Of
yixens; the liquid tones Of maidens and
children; the shuttlinR wheeling of the old
the almost barking coughing of SO many
telling that the term of the slavlsh life is
set; and in and through al the pitiful hub
bub is the sure revelation OF the propusive
force OF dreal and fear linked with the
tagging of weakness aud want Out there
in the dank dark or the misty gray Of the
early morning, in these sounds a dreadful
story is told. II you love America. you
will brood over these sounds, as / have
done, and fervently pray that our towns
and cities are not to become like these, that
,-ink, 4 Al
slavish and sad. EDGAR L. WAKGMAN.