y. \X u . •> li ■.' ' ^ /2i^C/CLC'X ^' 1^ 'l. "•- TOUR IN AMERICA. I DIARY or A OUR IN AMERICA. "imm a?w eixcle every characttr is a fctuHy, and every incident an adventure." T)KR\Bu'a LoiAat'r, d\. ir^ A ^rv. M. B. BUCKLEY, iil" a>KK, IRELAND. ■n iinrtfj Smevita «nB C-iinaBa in 1870 anU IS71. 3Y HIS SISTER KATE BUCKLEY. Miuutcd t ■ ' '>ish People at Home and Abroad. .MERICA AND CANADA. I DUBLIN : HRVERS & WALKE iS86, iAU. RIGHTS RESERVKO.) i ;4**iiJi-«*"- - / DIARY x OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. " In a new circle every character is a study, and every incident an adventure." DtsKAHui'a Loihair, ch. iv. BY Rev. M. B. BUCKLEY, OP CORK, IRELAND. ^ Sptctal i^tssionars in j^ortl^ ffmerica anH (JTsnaUa in 1870 anH 1871. EDITED BY HIS SISTER KATE BUCKLEY. Dedicated to the Irish People at Home and Abroad. PUBLISHED FOR THE EDITRESS IN GREAT BRITAIN, IRELAND, AMERICA AND CANADA. DUBLIN. SEALY, BRYERS & WALKER, 94, 95 & 96 MIDDLE ABBEY STREET. 1886. (ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.) ^uC/ I HE SACIINAV, • > :>■ * 66 VI. THE LAND (»[■ IIIE r.LlE NOSES,- ' • - 87 VII. ST. JOHN. C.DOD-nVE TO CANADA, - - I04 VllL THE "ATHENS OF AMERICA," AND SOME OE lilE ATHENIANS.-- -THE EMPM^K CITY, - I3O-2IO IX. "a PRIESTLV lENIAN,"' - ♦ • - 229 X. NEW YORK IN ; I MMER, - - • * -5- XI. A TRIP IN LEATHERSI'OLKINO'S LAND, - - jOQ XI 1. CONCLUSION, . . • • -^23 APPKiNDIX. FUGITIVE PIECES IN VEKSE AND PROSE, - * j45 F.\CETI/E. • - - - - - 3^5' Plftl^Y ' OF A . Tour in North America. h CHAPTER I. THE VOYAGE FROM IRELAND. May 22nd, 1870. — A clergyman and myself were appointed by our Bishop to make a tour through America for the pur- pose of raising funds for the completion of the Catholic Cathedral of Cork. We arranged to sail by the Cunard Royal Mail steamer " China," which was to leave Queens- town on Sunday, May the 22nd. The day at length arrived, and, accompanied by an immense concourse of friends, we proceeded by the 2 o'clock train to Queenstown direct. On arriving there we found a still larger gathering of our fellow- citizens, who had come to bid us farewell. The " Jackall " (tender) was soon filled, and, when it could hold no more, slipped its moorings and proceeded to the " China," which lay within the harbour's mouth. The hundreds who could not come on bond saluted us with waving hats and hand- kerchiefs from the pier. We reached the " China," and, much to the surprise of the passengers who had come from Liverpool, the " Jackall " discharged its whole living freight on board. There was incessant shaking of hands with us, last words of hope and encouragement, words of love and promised remembrance, parting sighs and tears ; this lasted for more than half-an-hour, the big ship examined in B 2 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. every nook and corner by the curiojs visitors, and the whole spectacle brilliant and gay with decent citizens and comely women, from the lady of rank to the kitchen- maid, for all love the priest alike. Then the whistle sounded a retreat, parting words and hand-shaking were renewed and redoubled^ and the "Jackall" became nlled once more with its gay freightage ; she accompanied us out until we got fairly to sea ; then she was loosed, and our distance became greater and greater every moment. Suddenly our parting friends raised a shout, a cheer, such as can be given only in Ireland ; it was again and again repeated, hats and hand- kerchiefs waving from every hand, every eye turned towards us, while we, standing on the bridge, returned the adieux of our friends with all the vigour and earnejtness which can be expressed in the gyration of a hat. Scon the tender was lost to sight, and we stood out to sea. We then proci.eded to the saloon, where dinner was prepared. Our cabin passengers numbered 86 ; steerage, 350. We had a table to oursel' With us were Mr. John Morgan Smith and his wife, married only the Thursday before. After dinner we proceeded to the deck, where we viewed with pleasure the waning beauties of the Southern coast. I see far off the hills to whose tops I had often climbed, and, nearer, the bays and creeks where I had bathed and boated in the days of old lang syne. Shall I ever return to behold them again ? God only knows. This Atlantic is a very wide expanse of water, and big ships go down into the sea, and are never heard of more. We sing as twilight falls, and Mrs. Smith, a handsome young American lady, who has a splendid voice, attracts a good deal of attention by her part of the perform. i nee. THE VOYAGE FROM IRELAND. 3 Thus, in a half-dreamy state of feeling, with a curious mingling of pleasure and sadness, we spend our first evening on the broad Atlantic. Monday, May 2T,rd. — I am the only one of my party, numbering six, that appears at breakfast ; all are confined to their berths with sea-sickness. I pace the deck from 6 till the breakfast hour ; the birds that last evening followed in our wake have all disappeared, and we are now apparently the sole inhabitants of the vasty deep. No craft appears in sight the whole live-long day ; we are as much alone as if the Western country had never been discovered ; the wind blows freshly and the ship pitches pleasantly, and I enjoy the whole scene. I now begin to look about me, and to view the pas- sengers. We often hear of the fraternal feeling that grows up at sea among those who travel together for any length of time; I wait to see when this feeling is to spring up, but the process is slow ; no more than three people have spoken to me to-day, a Mr. Springer, of Spring- field, 111,, a Mr. Moorehead, of Philadelphia, a Dr. Strong, of Cleveland, Ohio. The first of these gentlemen is a pure American, a lawyer, and of most agreeable manners. Mr. Moorehead is an elderly gentleman, tall and active ; he is accompanied by his wife, her daughter, Miss Badger, his son, a fine young gentleman, and Miss Bradbury, a friend ; they are returning after a tour through Europe, Egypt and the Holy Land. Mr. Moorehead opens a conversation with me. He is of American birth, but of North of Ireland parents ; is a member of the celebrated New York Banking firm, J. Cook and Co. Dr. Strong is an Irishman, over twenty 4 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. years in America, thorojghly Hibernian, with the unmis- takable accent, and a fund of quiet humour \ he has made his fortune ; and is returning with his wife and son, after a year's stay in Ireland. Up to noon to-day we have made from Queenstown 241 miles. Tuesday^ May z\th. — This day is fine, and the wind falls to save steam ; so we hoist sails and the vessel looks more important in her full dress. At breakfast only two of our party besides myself appear, and even they fly precipitately at the bare sight of edibles which only stimulate the appetites of myself and my equally fortunate fellow-voyagers. By a chasm created at the dinner table owing to the absence of two young ladies, I am thrown into imme- diate proximity with a young gentleman, who I find is a Frenchman. He is studying a French-English conversa- tion book, while I am engaged at Ollendorff s French method. A happy thought strikes me — to enter into a compact with him that during the voyage I should teach him English while he taught me French. He is delighted with the proposal. " Je ne demands pas mieux," he says. So we proceed to business at once. We exchange cards, and he learns to pronounce my name though not without an effort. Strange, however, as my name was to him, his was more extraordinary to me. He was named " Jules Osuchowski," — born in Paris of a Polish father. He can translate English very well, but can scarcely speak a word ; while his whole ambition is to speak it as well as I speak French. After every meal — and there are four each THE VOYAGE FROM IRELAND. 5 day — we translate and converse, and make very rapid progress. Up to noon to-day we have made 303 miles, but we feel very lonely, having seen no signs of life anywhere beyond the ship — no birds, no fish, no passing sail all round the horizon. To-day I make new acquaintances, and am compensated for the absence of my sick friends. Wednesday, May 2^th. — The day is very wild and stormy ; the ship rolls and pitches and the wind makes a tremendous noise through the cordage and canvas over our heads ; it is impossible to walk a yard in a straight line, and I am quite sore from constant leaning against tables and railings in the saloon. I am deprived of all control of my power of move- ment, and once rush frantically into the arms of a gentleman who has his back fixed for safety against the wall. I join with a few gentlemen in a game of whist to kill time ; but the cards are tossed about and get mixed, and we must give up. - V . Outside the saloon door, at the head of the staircase, a number of us gather and we sing, sometimes solos and sometimes in concert. This gives great satisfaction to ourselves, but much more, it appears, to people lying in their berths who have nothing to do but to listen. They afterwards declared they were delighted. I go on deck with some difficulty, as the wind sternly opposes my progress. It is a magnificent spectacle — the huge waves rushing by at a furious pace ; great seas rolling into the ship at the bow and filling the air with spray ; the sailors clad in shapeless garments of oil- 6 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. cloths, hoisting or reefing sails ; the boatswain's whistle or his loud voice directing their movements, and the great ship riding on in its toilsome course with all the grace and majesty of a high-mettled charger. I and a few others stand near the funnel which shelters us by its bulk, and warms by its heat. The wind rises higher and higher -, it roars louder and louder, and I begin to fear a hurricane, when the captain (Macaulay) appears amongst us, looking cool and whiffing a cigar with the nonchalance of a paterfamilias in the midst of his penates. " Good morning, gentlemen ! " he says in a gruff basso. "Good morning, captain," we reply. " Fine weather this ! " he cries in the same tone, but apparently with a keen sensation of pleasure. We all burst out laughing at the captain's notion of fine weather, but we felt relieved nevertheless. I had intended to ask the cap- tain whether this was a hurricane, but felt ashamed after his remark ; but at length a squall came that made the ship lurch and halt in her course like a frighted steed j it whistled like a tortured spirit, and roared though the rigging in a hideous discord of agony. " Captain," I asked, with affected coolness, "I suppose this is what you would call " I was still ashamed to say hurricane — "at least half a gale ? " " Half a gale ! " cried the skipper, contemp- tuously. " No ; this is what we sailors call a. stormy wind,^* and he turned on his heel, chuckling at the landsman's notion of a gale. Stormy wind, thought I. Good gracious, what must a hurricane be ! I go into " the saloon, and my French friend and I do a big lesson of French and English. The difficulty of going outside throws us very much together, and we THE VOYAGE FROM IRELAND. have all got thoroughly into the fraternizing spirit. I find one of the passengers has got himself into a warm controversy with an Indiana gentleman who contends that the utmost latitude should be allowed for obtaining divorce between man and wife. He would look upon the slightest inequality of temper as a sufficient ground. The other gentleman has the support of the general moral sense of the passengers, and carries his point. The Indianian is shunned for the rest of the voyage, especially as he subsequently proclaimed himself an Atheist. To-day we made 330 miles up to noon. The clock is put back half-an-hour every day at 12. We discover two ships to-day in the offing, and we are pleased with the additional sight of Mother Carey's chickens. Thursday, May 2()th. — The wind has abated and the sea is calm, the sun shines, and the air is balmy. Almost all the passengers coms on deck, and we now see many faces for the first time — faces of those who had been sick. There is a general feeling of pleasure all around ; the steerage passengers too are all up and seem to enjoy the happy change. Two large ships are in view — one passes us at right angles almost half a mile ahead. We speak her. She is the •' Mary Carson," bound from England to New York. She salutes us by a flag raised above the stern, and we return it in the same way. " A rather stern salutation !" I say to a few bystanders. " One would expect it to have been made at the bow,^' said Mr. Springer, and he receives the applause due to his superior wit. After dinner a large party of us sit on deck — the Moore- head party — including the Misses Badger and Bradbury, 8 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. forming the nucleus- of it. We have a series of songs all round. My friend and I have to do the most of the singing. Miss Badger is very smart, lively, and pretty. She throws out a vast collection of conundrums, but I answer them easily, having heard them all before. Her memory for events is equally good, so we are all very pleasant and happy, and the voyage loses the tedium of monotony. Dr. Strong and I spend the evening with the jiu ser — a very agreeable man. From noon of yesterday up to noon to-day we only made 244 miles owing to the strong wind. My Frenchman speaks English much better, and I am becoming quite aufait. Friday, May 2'jth. — The sea is very calm to-day but the air is bitterly cold — cold as winter. I don't mind it as I have a grand frieze coat which excites the envy of some American gentlemen, one of whom vainly offers twice its value for it. Nearly every one is on deck to-day. The great cold, we are told, indicates that we are not far from icebergs — an unpleasant discovery — but fortunately there is no fog, so that should we encounter those terrors of the deep we would not be wholly unprepared for the event. But no . iceberg appears ; we see, however, two or three ships, but they are far away, and a huge whale is seen near us, spouting up columns of water from the smooth surface ot the sea. The gentlemen of our company, amongst all of whom, with few exceptions, a warm spirit of friendship seems to have started up, amuse themselves by betting on the num- ber of miles we will have run up to noon; this they do every THE VOYAGE FROM IRELAND. 9 day \ we mcke 309, and several pounds are won and lost on the event. After lunch we have a great gathering on deck, the Mooreheads, Mr. Springer and ourselves. Mr. Springer is a general favourite, and laughs so heartily at everything and is so natural and genial. We all have great singing and punning. The whole body of cabin passengers flock to hear the songs and jokes. I tell my Frenchman story and we produce quite a sensational effect. At four o'clock we proceed to dinner, and just as we are in the middle of that important portion of the day's business, the cry rings through the cabin, "An ice- berg, an iceberg." The passion of hunger fiercely rules the human breast, but curiosity appears to hold over man- kind a still more exciting influence. There was a grand rush from the dinner-table to see the iceberg, I gazed through ' the window above me and saw it at a great distance ahead, so I resolved to finish my dinner and view the wonder after- wards, which I did The deck was crowded, even ladies who had not left their berths from the beginning flocked up to see the iceberg — there it was, when we were nearest to it, almost a quarter of a mile distant, a huge mountain of ice standing a hundred feet out of the water and about eight hundred feet in length, solitary, white and formidable, slowly floating away from its arctic home and seeking involuntarily the latitudes where it must melt and perish. It was a novel and magni- ficent spectacle. All the passengers are on the most familiar terms ; we sing and tell stories together on deck, the ladies reclining in easy and rocking chairs, the gentlemen in all kinds of attitudes ; and there is great laughing and merriment. 10 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. Miss Badger, who is very clever and interesting, goes in for amusement in a business-like manner; she organizes concerts for the saloon every evening, in which her friend, Miss Bradbury and I are to be the principal performers ; these concerts are duly advertised to come off at half-past nine, after supper, and we use the phraseology of full-dress and reserved seats, and carriages ordered at eleven, and a good deal more that amuses us by its very innocence ; indeed it struck me forcibly that a sea voyage has a tendency to develop all the good qualities of human nature and to keep the bad in abeyance. ■ ■ ■ * V ■■ Saturday^ May zZth. — Very cold, winterish, biting weather. We are on the banks of Newfoundland ; it is always cold here we are told. Cape Race is the nearest land, but it is a dis- tance of 195 miles. All passengers come on deck. There are fishing boats all around us. We see whales and shoals of por- poises and ships enough now. There is great betting on the distance since yesterday; we make 331 miles. A Jew named Soboloski is nearly always successful ; he is a pearl fisher, and one who has travelled the world. I should not like to bet with him upon anything. We have among the passengers men and women from all parts of the world — a strange gathering"— b"*" almost all speak the English language. Sunday^ May 2^th. — Tremendous fog, the steam-whistle sounding all the time, a very unpleasant sound, for it warns of the danger of collision, and a collision on the high seas is a fearful thing. I find out a young Irishman, Dr. O'Brien, who had been either too modest or too sick to make him- self known until now. He has an awful Irish accent and THE VOYAGE FROM IRELAND. ii manner of speaking. ** Good morrow, Doctor," I begin. " Good morrow, Father B.," he replies; "foggy weather, this — very." "I trust," said I, "there is no danger of a collision." " Well," said he, in a tone and with an accent impossible to put to paper, " if we meet any of them small crafts, we'd be bully enough for 'em ! but if we meet our match — begor, that would be a horse of another colour." Prayers are announced for io| in the saloon. The doctor (of the ship) is to read the Service. With a delicate attention which I appreciated highly, the Captain, of his own impulse, placed his own cabin at my disposal, where I could give prayers for such Catholics as I might find on board. I could only find a Mr. Loving, a Spanish gentleman, and Doctor O'Brien. The ladies were indisposed, and the young French- man would not come, although solicited. I recited the rosary. After the saloon service was over, a deputation waited on me, Avith a request that I would deliver a sermon for the whole congregation ; but I was deterred by the novelty and difficulty of the task, and respectfully declined. There was no singing, nor betting, nor indeed anything profane^ in the mildest sense of the word ; but we consoled ourselves by talking over the concert of the previous evening. A volunteer, a young gentleman from America, amused us very much by his imitation of the mocking bird. Even the Frenchman came out spontaneously with some French ditties. This was a stupid day ; we registered 332 miles since yesterday. After dinner fog came on, and the steam-whistle shed a gloom over us all. Monday^ May T^oth. — The whistle went on all night and 12 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. all morning. Everything dull and uninteresting. We see nothing, and fear everyth-ng. The Frenchman and I spend half the day at the languages, and have both made wonderful progress. All crowd into the saloon, and the day and night are spent in chat, and anecdote, song, and other amusements. Tuesday ^ May 3 \st. — One of the passengers teaches Miss Badger and Miss Bradbury the " Bells of Shandon," to which they have taken an extraordinary fancy. The ship stops for the first time since we left Ireland to take soundings, for the fog still continues. There is great betting on the pilot-boat which will first meet us ; there are 24 entries, and a pool of ;^6 is made at 5s. per head. I invest. The fog clears off, and we anxiously look for the pilot-boat. My number is Nine. At length the boat is seen a long way ahead. The purser, through a glass, discovers the number to be One. The Jew who overheard the observation went to the saloon, and found out the gentleman who had drawn number One. He offers him four pounds for his chance ; the gentleman, a Spaniard, consents, and thus the Jew, by a stratagem scarcely moral, makes two pounds profit. The pilot comes aboard ; he brings some American papers, which are eagerly seized and read. We hear, for the first time, of the frustrated P'enian raid on Canada, of the deaths of Mark Lemon and Sir John Siemen. We soon sight land — Long Island on the right, and by-and-by Long Branch on the left. Nearer and nearer we approach to land ; we pass Sandy Hook, and about seven p.m. are anchored in quarantine outside Staten Island. The sea is soft and calm, and all is still around ; night THE VOYAGE FROM IRELAND. 13 falls balmy, and the lamps from the houses and streets are reflected in the sleepy tide ; steamboats, with red and blue lights, glide like visions above the quiet water. Our voyage is at an end, but we must have one pleasant night yet. Charley Strong, the doctor's son, for the first time produces his violin, and there is dancing on deck which is kept up to a late hour. We then have some songs, and the effect on the Staten Islanders must need have been agree- able. We retire to our berths, and feel sad that the pleasures (modified by steam-whistle) of the last nine days will soon be past for ever. Wednesday, Jutie isL — All up at 5 o'clock — morning lovely — I converse with a man to whom I had not spoken from the beginning of the voyage. I said we had a pleasant passage, to which he assented. Our singing, I said, was agreeable. "Yes," he replied, "but I'll tell you a curious thing. It is astonishing how easily you amateurs amuse people. Now, if I went about making free among the passengers any night during the voyage I should have made them laugh until they could laugh no more — either that they would have been so disgusted that they could not have laughed at all." This was all a puzzle to me ; I could not understand it. He opened his coat and pointed to several medals hung on his vest. I inspected the first that came to hand and found it was a presentation of the citizens of Geneva to Tony Denver, the c/own, for his talent in that character on the stage. The other medals were presenta- tions from the citizens of other places. A clown may be amusing on the stage, but a very uninteresting character on a sea voyage. 14 I>IAj\ Y of a tour IN AMERICA. All on deck at ht^lf-past six, and we scarcely recognise each other in our various costumes, every one being dressed to meet again the outer world. After breakfast we prepare to land. There is a general handshaking, and many interchanges of mutual remembrances are made. The captain seems quite affected at our parting from him. We all hope to meet each other again, though we know that we shall never ALL meet till summoned together by the last trumpet. CHAPTER II. ASHORE. . It is past. Four of us enter a carriage belonging to the Metropolitan Hotel into which our luggage also is stowed. We proceed ; soon we find our carriage gets stopped in a narrow passage ; we appear to be blocked up ; there are carriages before and behind us ; at either side of us is a wooden wall. There is a sound of a steam engine some- where in the neighbourhood. Every moment we expect the way to be cleared so that we may pass, but we remain at a standstill. " Well," I exclaimed, " if this be what they call American progress, it is the slowest I ever saw." *' Oh ! " said my friend, *' it is ridiculous. I will speak to the driver." And, putting his head out of he window, he cried, " Driver ! " but there was no respcnse. At length he jumped out of the carriage, determined to push matters forward. I then put my head out of the vindow, and, look- ing ahead, I saw that the horses, carriages, people, wooden walls, steam engine, floor and all were moving at a rapid pace across the water, and that, in fact, ;ve v f:re simply in a ASHORE. ■' 15 monster ferryboat, steaming from Jersey City to New York • V We reach the MetropoUtan, a vast hotel in Broadway. We enter an immense hall, with marble pavement and Corinthian pillars. A number of negro servants take down our luggage. At a large counter we write down our names in the Visitors' Book, and are billeted oflf to our several rooms, which are on the third floor, whither we are quickly transported by a vertical railway or lift. Our luggage follows, and in a few minutes we are in our room, with all our baggage around us. Charley, a dark servant, is most attentive. He points out all the conveniences of the house, brings us ice water, the news- papers, pen and ink. We have only to ring for Charley, and Charley will be with us in an instant. We write home at once to our friends, and thus acquit ourselves, first of all, of what we consider a sacred duty. • • ; < .u » We dine at 5 — sumptuous dinner, served by negroes There are none but black servants here. The saloon is immense in proportion and rich in decorations, and the darkies lounge and move about in a very free and easy manner. Father Mooney comes and meets me for the second time. I had met him in Ireland two years ago, when he was making a tour through Europe. He is pastor of St Brigid's here. He is kind and good-natured, and very generously invites us to stay at his house while we are in New York, or as long as we please. Next day we pay our bill at the Metropolitan. At 10 the waggon comes to fetch our luggage and the car- riage to convey us to the Chateau Mooney. Soon another carriage and pair are at the door. We 1 6 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. are to go off with him to the races on Long Island. We are curious to see American racing, and readily comply. We reach Brooklyn, pass through Prospect Park — a young park yet, but one of great promise. The " races " are very different from ours at home and rather disappointing. There is to be sure a good course, and a grand stand, and quite a number of carriages, and ladies and gentlemen ; but the people are not here — there is no crowd, no excitement, no bustle or noise ; tents there are none ; the thimble-rigger and trick-o'-loop man are nowhere to be found, and even " Aunt Sally" is a non-est woman once in her life. It is to be a trotting match ; no horseback business, but a lot of men are mounted on what we call gigs at home — gigs of the slightest conceivable structure made of hickory, and these are to do the trotting match. We get on the grand stand ; the race is about to come off, and the horsemen strive to get themselves into position. A false start, the bell rings and calls them back. Again they try it. Another false start, and another bell. This goes on for at least a dozen times, till it becomes quite disgusting, and the horses are worried and tired, and the race is, in fact, spoiled. When it does come off there is no excitement about it ; the course is rounded once, a mile heat, and all is over. This repeated several times, constitutes the whole. We reach Brooklyn rather late, and sup at the house of a Mr. Levi, ''ne of the gentlemen who accompanied us. We then get home at a seasonable hour, chat over the events of the day, and retire. Friday^ June yrd, — We commence business to day, and make 525 dols. We drive through the Central Park, ASHORE. 17 which is indeed magnificent, and which may fairly com- pete with the *' Bois de Boulogne," both in its park- like splendour and in the gay and brilliant style of its equipages, which roll through it in quick succession and in multitudinous array all through the afternoon. A splendid band played for the amusement of the people, who listened with great attention, and displayed a praise- worthy decorum as well in their costume as in their conduct. We dined to day at Brooklyn. We had a very agreeable evening, especially as almost all the guests, numbering about twenty, were from the " beautiful city." Before dinner we drove out to Greenwood Cemetery, which is the most beau- tiful I have ever seen. Why do people speak so much of Pere la Chaise ? Greenwood is a paradise. You enter by a magnificent gate of brown stone, with carvings representing appropriate passages from the Life of Christ. This gateway is of great magnitude as well as of beauty. The grounds, which form a very large area, are undulating, with lovely sloping lawns, hedges, and borders, and paths running along in every direction. Trees abound, especially willows ; and there are some charming lakes, into which those willows droop. The paths and avenues have romantic names — such as Violet Path, Vision Path, Fountain Hill, Amarantii Glade, Rose-dew Bower, &c., &c. The tombs and monuments charm by their splendour and variety ; some are of enormous magnitude. On the whole, it is impossible to conceive a cemetery more beautiful. In the evening we went to hear the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher in his tabernacle. The building was filled, and it was curious to observe the number of means employed to temper the excessive heat. The preacher stood without i8 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. any peculiar costume on a platform^ There were an arm- chair, a table, and flowers all round j there was nothing remaxkabLe in his style or delivery. Coming home to night by Fulton Ferry saw three dis- tinct fires amongst the shipping ; the engines were hard at work. My friend and I having received an invitation to an evening party, we attired ourselves in full dress, and ordered a carriage. We drive to Park Avenue, and the splendid mansion of our host was strikingly manifest to our admiring vision by a vast array of gorgeous equipages disgorging their fashionable occupants at its door. A verandah extempo- rized for the occasion against the chance of rain, led to the main entrance where a grave darkey, in white gloves and stiff shirt collar, received us. He pointed upstairs, whither we went, and finding a cloak-room deposited our hats and overcoats ; we then descended the staircase amidst a throng of ascending and descending ladies and gentlemen, until we reached the grand drawing-room which was illuminated and decorated in very elegant and brilliant style ; it was filled with what the newspapers call the "gay votaries of Terpsi- chore," amongst whom our host himself was conspicuous on the " light fantastic " with the ever radiant smile — in a word, we find ourselves at a grand ball where some two hundred persons were present, and I confess with my grave attire I felt I was out of place, so I resolved to keep as much as possible among the gentlemen. After the set of quadrilles was finished we turned towards our host, who stood on the hearthrug as on a conspicuous place where he might give audience to the guests who had recently arrived. He appeared charmed to meet us and led us away, in- troducing us to every one as he passed. I must say every one ASHORE. 19 was kind and affable, and unaffected; gentlemen seemed anxious to converse with us, and several young ladies did us the honour of soliciting for an introduction. There was little, if indeed anything, to distinguish the whole scene from a gather- ing in an Irish home. To me, who am unaccustomed to circles of fashion, it certainly did appear that the ladies were very extravagantly dressed, and painted, powdered, and dyed, but I dare say the same custom prevails with us. Jt is to me simply abominable, and I always argue that when a lady resorts to so much artificial beautifying, she has little beauty ofher own togoupon. ... The gentlemen very agreeable, but they appear to me to be all bitten with the mania of self-laudation that characterises Americans j they seem to think "New York is the greatest city in the world — yes, sir." It may be the greatest city in the world, I do not know, but why should they so constantly proclaim it ? And not only is New York the greatest city in the world, but every thing in the city is the greatest of its kind to be found anywhere. A great city no doubt, it is, very great, and will assuredly increase before long to incalculable dimensions in size, importance, and com- mercial activity. It is, so to speak, a young city ; but where are its great buildings ? Where is its Westminster Abbey, its Thames Embankment, its St. Paul's, its Tuilleries, its Madeline's, its St. Peter's, its Underground Railway ? I join the gentlemen in a quiet room where there is some agreeable refreshment. Here I am introduced to Dr. C the greatest surgeon in America, a man whose fame has reached every country, even in Europe. " Of course you have heard of him? " I am quite ashamed to say in his presence that I have not heard of him up to this, which causes 20 DIAR YOFA TO UR IN AMERICA. surprise. We get home, and before retiring I ask Father Mooney's assistant, "who is Dr. C ?" "Never heard of the man in my life," was the reply. " The greatest surgeon in America," I add. " Nonsense," said the gentleman I questioned. The public institutions of New York are mostly built on islands situated in the Bay. Of these islands the largest is called Blackwell's Island, and to-day, in company with some friends, we proceed thither by steamer. The day is fearfully hot on this island, which is two miles long. There are four admirably conducted Institutions — viz., a charity alms house, corresponding with our notion of a workhouse, a penitentiary for criminals, a lunatic asylum, and an hospital of incurables. We pass through them all and are much pleased by their condition. In the penitentiary we meet the chaplain, an Italian priest named Gelasis, who re- ceives us very kindly and conducts us through the whole island. The penitentiary, which is a prison, is a very long building, consisting of an immense corridor with cells at either side, and around all is a gallery with other cells opening off it. He takes us into the Horror Ward for females ; here are two females in delirium tremens ; he tells one that she is getting better, but she does not understand him, for she is a German. I tell her the same in her own language, and she smiles and says " Fa." Here is the lunatic asylum, the women's side — what a Bedlam ! They are all in a large yard with the hot sun raging down on them. They all flock about us, each preferring some complaint against somebody and trying to cry each other down in vociferousness. Such becomes their violence that we begin to get afraid, but the beepers assures us there is no danger. ASHORE. 21 The men somehow were more interesting, and ex- cited more pity. One black man pleaded hard to get only a hat and a pair of boots, he wanted no more, and he would go immediately and stop the passing steamer which would c^me and fetch us all away from this accursed island. Another, a very good looking, intellectual faced man, with a merry twinkle in his eye, put a piece of wood into his mouth saying, ** do not be afraid, I'll not bite you," as if he put the wood there to prevent the possibility of his biting us. He then asked if we would wish to hear him sing. We signified our desire, and he sang a plain- tive ditty, in which there was mention of flowers, and rivers, and sunshine, and happy days gone by. A tear stole to my eye, and I could not restrain it. He sang beautifully and with fresh pathos as if he felt the full charm of the sentiment. When he had finished he said, flourishing his arms and smiling, " Now what do you say to something operatic ? " We said, " Very good," and he said, " Well, then, here I am, Don Caesar de Bazan," and he paced the stage with the air of an hidalgo. He then sang, in a deep baritone, and acted as he sang. The affectation of dramatic vocalization and gesture was admirable and we applauded to the echo, at which he seemed delighted. He then prepared for another performance, when a lunatic stepped forward and whispered in my ear, " Don't mind that poor fellow, he is mad." This was too ludicrous. We left the asylum with a strange feeling of sadness, not easily chased away. In the hospital we found a woman from Kerry, who spoke no language but Irish. I conversed with her ; she was con- tent with her lot, therefore needed no consolation. Almost all the inmates of the island, excepting the lunatics, were Irish. 2 2 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. A friend drove us out in his carriage and pair to the " Catholic Protectory," an institution some miles away, and intended for the purpose of what we call a reformatory. The Americans have adopted a name of milder import. There are two-large houses, one for boys (800) and the other for girls (500); both are undfer the charge of members of religious orders, and in all points, with very few exceptions, are well conducted. The late Dr. Ives, the converted Protestant Bishop, took a wonderful interest in them. They are really admirable in all their arrangements, and seem to be in charge of most efficient protectors. Coming home through the Park this evening I s^ee fire- flies for the first time ; the Park is almost on fire with them; they present the appearance of innumerable small stars twinkling for a second, and suddenly becoming extinguished, just a few feet over the earth. The effect is novel and delight- ful. The moon is up and develops the beauties of the Park. It is indeed a magnificent drive, and justifies the praises of the New Yorkers. I learn that Mr. Eugene Shine has arrived, and is staying at the Nicholas Hotel, Broadway. Mr. Shine is a Cork gentleman who realized a large fortune in America, and purchased an estate near Killarney, where he resides. He left Ireland last January for St. Louis, and has now arrived from the latter place en route for home. He is a great friend of mine, and I am delighted at all times to meet friends, but especially now in a strange land. I visit Mr. Shine at the hotel, and he seems very glad to see me. We go across to Brooklyn to see a mutual friend, with whom we spend the whole of the evening. ASHORE. 23 To-day we pay a round of visits ; they are all out. We find Mrs. Sadlier in, to whom I had a letter of introduction from Mr. John Francis Maguire, M.P. She has obtained fame as a writer of fiction — a nice, good 'ady, kind and gentle. This afternoon, accompanied by my young friend Mr. Attridge, I go to Manhattanville, some ten miles from the centre of the city, to visit Madame Gallwey at the Convent of Sacre Coeur, a splendid convent and grounds-^ more like a baronial castle than a convent. Madame Gallwey is a sister of Mrs. Thomas Waters, of Cork, but the sisters parted and have never met since they were children. The nun appears ; she is a fine old lady — gay and lively in her manners. The convent contains a large number of Sisters, and they chiefly devote themselves to the educa- tion of young ladies, numbering about three hundred. Strange to say, about one-third of these young ladies are not Roman Catholic, but of every variety of religious persuasion, and yet they are bound to go through all the religious exer- cises of the convent, such as morning and evening prayer, Mass, Benediction, Rosary — in a word, all, save Confession and Communion. This is the result of an express under- standing between the nuns and the parents of the children. The Sisters make it a rule never to leave the young ladies alone. No boarder walks alone, and no two boarders or more ever walk without a nun accompanying them. Consequently, it is necessary that all the boarders should go through all the exercises of the convent together simultaneously, because there would not be nuns enough to accompany them if they divide into detachments. Many Protestant young ladies thus become Catholics ; and though, as a matter of course, this must give satisfaction 24 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. to the Sisters, tbey do not seek to effect the change, nor is their system destined for the purposes of con- version. I was led to the chapel by Madame Gallwey during the Benediction, for it was within the -Octave of Corpus Christi. There were all the Sisters and the three hundred young ladies, the latter dressed in white and with white veils. The chapel was a very pretty one, and the whole spectacle charm- ing. After the devotion the Sisters had supper prepared for us. I was introduced to Madame White, a niece of the celebrated Gerald Griffin — an elderly lady and a person of elegant manners and appearance. I remarked that her hatred to England was intense, and she used very forcible expressions, which I now forget, expressive of her antipathy^ We walked out and surveyed the grounds, which were very pretty. 1 went with a young friend to Elizabeth, a village in New Jersey, about fifteen miles from New York, to see a woman whose daughter in Cork wished me to call on her. Elizabeth is an extremely pretty village, and well worthy of a visit. This afternoon, in New York, and at other times, I was amused by people coming up to me in the streets and asking me was. I Father Buckley, of Cork. Sunday^ June igih. — This was a most agreeable day surely ; it was hot, very hot, but it was very pleasant, for my dear friend, Mrs. Attridge, gave me a beautiful drive in a carriage and pair to Long Island. There is Calvary Cemetery, where her brother, John MacAuliffe is buried — a name familiar in New York, and dear to me. This visit was the only melancholy episode in our drive. Poor John MacAuliffe, the good, the great-hearted, the unthinkingly ASHORE. 25 generous and high-spirited — he is buried here ! I had spent a pleasant month in his company seven years ago ; we had been to Killarney together, and elsewhere ; he is now dead and buried, and I stand over his grave in Long Island. This cemetery cannot be compared to Greenwood in any way what- soever. One characteristic it had for me, and that was that almost every tombstone bore an Irish name. We drive to Flatbush. Here I call on Father Paul Ahearn, a Cork priest, who receives us with great kindness. We go on to Coi.ey Island, and see crowds of people of both sexes bath- ing j their costumes are neither elegant or graceful, but I envy them the luxury of being in the cool water this burning weather. Yet the breeze along the sea shore is delicious. We sit in a small nook and have a nice little pic-nic of our own, with a beautiful view of the surrounding sea. On our way home we call at Bath, a little bathing place with a few houses, in one of which our friends are lodging. They are at home before us j we take tea with them. We spent a pleasant few hours, and got home about midnight. Monday, June 20th. — At 6 o'clock this evening we prepare to leave in a carriage for Delmonico's, to dine with Mr. Charles O'Connor. Father Mooney was to accompany us. He was loud in his praise of the first lawyer in all America, and flattered me on the great honour which was being paid me. I endeavoured to look humble. A little before 7 we arrived at the hotel, and were shown upstairs into a very elegant room, where there was quite a number of gentlemen. I had never seen Mr. O'Connor, but, having once seen his photo- graph, I was able to single him out from the rest. He was a tall, thin, straight old gentleman, with grey hair and white 2 6 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. whiskers, and beard cut very short — gentlemanly in appear- ance, with bright eyes and very good teeth. He welcomed me, and introduced me to the other gentlemen, who were all very distinguished citizens of New York, fifteen in number (there were three judges). At 7 dinner was announced. We proceeded to the next apartment, and there took our places. Every gentleman had his place at table indicated by a very ornamental card, with his name inscribed, and each one had, besides, a very pretty bill of fare, got up specially for the occasion. Indeed I may say that the banquet — for the repast wanted nothing to deserve the title- was quite worthy of Delmonico's celebrated name. I, of course, had the post of honour next the host. At my right hand was Judge Daly, a very scholarly man, and at the other side of my host was Father Hecker, perhaps the most distinguished ecclesiastic in New York. Everything waa superb, from the egg to the apple ; it appeared to me to be a paragon of dinners. I found that Mr. O'Connor is great-grandson of a very distinguished namesake of his, Charles O'Connor, of Balangar, who lived in the last century, and was one of a prominent trio, including Mr. Curry and Mr. Wyse, who were mainly instrumental in forming what was known as the *' Catholic Association," which had a great deal to do in pro- curing a remission of the Penal Laws. Judge Daly also is the great-grandson of Denis Daly, a very remarkable name in the old Irish Parliament. I thought it strange that I should be just then sitting between the great-grandson''> of two men of whom I had so often read with pleasure and admiration. I regret that my memory is so bad ; otherwise ASHORE. 27 I should be able to record some good things that were said this evening. Thursday, June 2^rd. — We drive to Wall-street by ap- pointment to meet Mr. Eugene O'SuUivan. He has been many years in America, and has amassed a large fortune. He gave us 250 dols., and invited us to spend the evening at Long Branch, a fashionable watering-place, some thirty miles from the city. We took, with him, the steamer from some wharf not far from Broadway, and proceeded on our way. The steamer is one of the so-called " floating palaces." No hotel was ever so magnificently furnished or decorated. Luxury was studied in everything — not simple comfort, but luxury. The afternoon was lovely, and the sea breeze delightful to us coming from the broiling streets. Crowds of people were on board; but there was no crushing — there was room for all. Mr. O'SuUivan introduced us to the pastor of Long Branch, a Frenchman. He accepted an invitation to come and dine with us. We landed not far from Sandy Hook, and took the train, which brought us in half-an- hour to our destination. Mr. O'Sullivan's house was not far from the station — a large frame-house, with piazzas on every floor, and not a quarter of a mile from the sea shore. The Atlantic stretched away before us, with many ships and steamers and fishing-boats dotting its surface. We were introduced to Mrs. O'SuUivan, a fine handsome lady. The season has not yet commenced in Long Branch, but when it does it is very gay ; it is one of the most fashion- able watering-places in Ame ica. A great number of hotels are here, all frame buildings. We go to see them after ^ |f BIAR Y OF A TO UR IN A ME RICA. dinner. One is yocfc^t long. The apartments are magni- ficent. Space is the grand feature of all. In one immense drawingroom a gentleman sat reading a newspaper. He seemed as lonely as Adam in Paradise before the creation of Eve, but enjoyed the advantage of his progenitor, inas- much as the latter had not the luxury of reading the papers. These hotels hang almost over the sea, and must have a pleasant time when the place is full. We loitered about the shore almost till midnight, enjoying the cool air, and listen- ing to the ocean breaking its swelling waves. Next morning we return to town by the steamer, and bade Mr. O'SuUivan farewell, with many thanks lor his kindness. The heat of the day was insufferable, so we leave New York to-m orrow. CHAPTER HI. NIAGARA. Saturday, June 25M. — It was our intention to go up the Hudson to Albany, by steamer, a distance of 145 miles. The scenery of this river is pleasant beyond measure, and we were naturally curious to see it. We left by carriage for the wharf, whence the steamer was to start ; but what with the bad streets and the great traffic, the horses did little more than crawl, so we lost the steamer by ten minutes. This annoyed us exceedingly, but we had to bear it with patience. We drove to the Railway Terminus — a consider- able distance — and took our tickets for the train which would start at half-past ten, so that we had only an hour and a-half to wait. The time we beguiled as best we could, and that was difficult enough. NIAGARA, 29 At length the bell rings, and we proceed to the train. Now, I wish to mention here that in American railway trains there is no distinction of classes — the country is democratic and all the people travel on the same footing. A ticket-holder can walk from one end of the train to the other and please himself with a seat. The seats are all upholstered sumptuously, fit for the great as well as the humble. We step into one carriage— it is full— so we pass into another. This has plenty of room, and is got up far more luxuriously than the one we left. The walls are decorated beautifully ; there are not seals, but arm- chairs and lounges, all upholstered in scarlet velvet; a magnificent carpet under foot, and tables, on which the travellers may place their books or papers, while at the foot of the carriage is a large and gorgeously ornamented fountain, containing ice-water, of which, in American trains during hot weather, there is a large consumption. This, I thought, is very fine, and the Americans after all are a great people; they study comfort in everything, and they are right. What a grand thing this equality is in a State : any man, no matter what his rank, has only to pay his six dollars and enjoy this splendid room, and travel his 145 miles in four hours and a-half, express. Yes; I regret having thought anything hard of America. I see things improve and my views, no doubt will change. " Tickets ! " shouts the conductor, entering our carriage, as soon as the train had moved off. I show mine. "Another dollar," he says. " What ! " I cried, " another dollar ?— for what ? " "This," said he, '' is adraningroom car !'' Now, what a drawingroom car was I had no notion, but I clearly saw that, let Americans say what they will, there is a distinction of DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. classes in their trains, so they need not brag so much of their Equality. A parlour car would have suited me just as well, but of course I kept my position, paid my dollar, and sought refuge for my vexed spirit in the pages of "Lothair." A great nuisance in those trains is caused by boys passing through nnd flinging a book, or a bottle of perfume, or some other article into your lap, and passing down the length of the train, doing the same to everyone else. You are supposed to look over the book, or perfume, or whatever it is, and make up your mind to buy it or not. The boy returns, and should you buy, he takes your money, and should you not buy, he takes his wares. I never saw anyone buy. This is repeated very often, and, to a stranger, is rather startling, especially if he is rapt in thought, or buried in a book. Albany is a pretty city, with the Hudson running through and one side rather elevated. The streets good, with trees in many places on both sides ; remark- ably quiet after New York ; clean, with good pavements ; neatness and elegance. This is the capital, and here the Senate, for the State of New York, holds its sittings. We found the thermometer at los** in the shade. Stopped at the Delavan House — a branch of the Metropolitan in New York — and conducted the same way. Called on Father Wadhaues, V.G., a kind and gentlemanly man, He asked us to dine to-morrow. We agreed. Called on a io,^ other persons to whom I had letters. Sunday, June 26M. — Dined with Father Wadhaues ; in the evening called on a Captain O'Neill, from Cork, of the Police NIAGARA. 31 He was not in and I left word to have him call at our hotel. He called at 10 o'clock, a fine young man. He said he was to be married next Wednesday, and would have us to go see his future wife. We went and saw the young lady at the house of her father ; there was a small festive gathering and the Captain seemed to speed very well in his wooing. Monday, June 27M. — Leave Albany 7.45 a.m. for Niagara, 316 miles by rail. A lovely day, and splendid country, hill, valley, river, woodland, smiling plains, in many places the primeval forest, in many the stumps only of felled trees, not yet grubbed out, marking where the forest had been. Several cities of modern growth, but of ancient name, on our way — Troy and Rome, Utica, Syracuse, and Palmyra. Three of our fellow-travellers were remarkable — two men anda young woman — dressed as if of middle rank in life. They spok« German ; one man of coarse and rugged features, such as a novelist might take for his villain. When the train stopped at Syracuse the police entered and arrested the trio, who offered no resistance, and were marched off immediately. A telegram from Albany or elsewhere had notified that the criminals were en route for Syracuse. I could not learn what was the charge against them. We did not reach Niagara until 9.45 at night, fourteen hours of railway travelling. We arrived in the midst of fearful thunder, lightning, and rain ; put up at the Monteagle House, some two miles and a-half from the Falls ; heard the roar of the falling water through my open window all night like — like what? — like the snoring of an Icthyosaurus ! ! r«« But ta return. Tn the course of the Sunday after I had preached, I found two cards on my table— '^Messrs. Michael and John Burke." They had called to pay their respects. I returned their visit the follow- ing day. They proved to be the greatest friends we had encountered yet. Both are from Kanturk, in the County Of Cork. They came i8 years ago, and are now indepen- dent. They have each a large grocery store ; were un- married, and had two sisters, each sister living with a brother. They are ardently attached to- each other, and are Irish in every respect. During our stay in Montreal these people did for us, unsolicited, ail that they could have done for their nearest relation, their dearest friends. They took us around amongst their friends, and got us a deal of money. They would have us to dinner and supper. They drove us out in a magnificent carriage and pair to Lachine, on the St. Lawrence ; in a word, they spared no exertion on our be- half, arid were most respectful in their manner, proving, if proof were wanting, to me that the Irish are naturally ladies and gentlemen. No lady or gentleman in all the world, no rhatter of what lineage or rank, could have treated us more courteously. Honour to them and prosperity ! Another great friend was Doctor Kirwin, a gentleman to whom we had a letterof introduction from an Irish officer. Dr. Kirwin is Irish, but is here for the last 25 years. His busi- ness had made him intimate with the officers of the British army here and out in Quebec for many years. He is THE BRITISH FLAG AGAIN. 53 passionately fond of horses, and keeps many. He came one day with a drag and a splendid pair of horses, and drove us round the Mountain. A fine, dashing fellow, full of genuine Irish feeling, reminding me much of my dear deceased friend, Denny O'Leary, of Coolmountain. One day we lunched at his house, and met his wife, a very charming lady. He was obliged to go off to the races at Saratoga, and, as he will be going again on the 1 2th August, we agreed to meet him there. I may conclude the history of our collection at Montreal by stating that, between all we received in the churches, and from private individuals, we realized 1000 dollars ! which we converted into a draft, and sent the bishop ;^20o! This was magnificent. So pleased were we with the people, that we promised to come back in winter for a few days, "just to see what kind of thing a Canadian winter is, " but in reality that I may deliver a lecture in St. Patrick's Hall, where we hope to raise another, uoo dollars. Several gentlemen, besides those already mentioned, came to pay their respects, and to ask us to dinner. Indeed, I must say, once for all, that I never received so much kindness any- where as I did in Montreal, and I doubt very much if people elsewhere are capable of being so obliging and polite. - '• It was no use for us to sound the generosity of the French- Canadians. A great antipathy seems to exist between them and the Irish, clearly not on religious grounds, inasmuch as both are Catholics ; but the feeling illustrates the truth that men's minds are embittered as much, if not more, by political and national prejudices as by difterence of religious faith. In many places efforts have been made by the eccle- siastical authorities to blend the two nationalities, but oil . s J4 .DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. and water are not more dissociable. Not only here but elsewhere I have remarked that there is a decided preju- dice against the Irish Catholic, and that it is only by some fortunate combination of circumstances, or by the force of rare talent^ that such a one can attain in th'^ States or in Canada any prominent position. D'Arcy McGee attained a pitch of popularity, perhaps unequalled for its heartiness in America, and the honours paid to him after his death will never be forgotten in the history of Montreal. All classes combined to honour the victim of the assassin ; and no less than sixty Protestant clergymen assisted' at the Requiem High Mass celebrated over his remains in the Church of St. Patrick. But on analysing this singular tribute of respect to the memory of this Irish Catholic, I find that although a great deal of it was owing to the extraordinary talents of the man, especially to his rare eloquence, yet much more was due to the fact that he was what is known in public life as a " trimmer," one who aspired to please all parties at the sacrifice of his inward sympathies and convictions ; and more again to the circum- stance that he f'.ll a victim to a murderer, employed by the Fenians — the Fenians who would wantonly invade the Dominion and disturb the peace of Canada. Tiiis is the solution of the honours paid to D'Arcy Magee before and after his death, as I have it from tliose who knew him and prized him most. I visited his widow's house, and had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of his daughter, a very interesting young lady. Mr. M. P. Ryan, an Irishman, is nowM.P. for Montreal, a Catholic, and another Mr. Ryan represents Montreal in the Upper House, also a Catholic, so that it is possible to get on, but very difficult under the pressing weight of Irish Catholicism. THE BRITISH FLAG AGAIN. 55 The national game of Canada is called lacrosse. It is an Indian game, and is so called from the name which the Indians give the instrument with which it is played. The game somewhat resembles our pame of "hurling," and is played in this manner. There are twelve at each side, each armed with a weapon somewhat resembling a " racket," only that the net-work is much larger and looser. At each end of the field are two poles, separated by a distance of 8 feet, and a flag flies from each pole. The contending parties defend their own poles, and the game consists of driving the ball through the poles of the enemy. This is extremely difficult, as the poles are so well guarded on both sides, and the excitement of the spec, tators is very great, for the victory appears every moment about to be woa or lost ; and just as it seems inevitable? some happy stroke drives the ball into the centre of the field where some splendid manoeuvring is displayed in the efibrt to push it to either side. Now, I have said that this lacrosse is an Indian game, and for playing it the Indians are well adapted by nature, being endowed with considerable activity and proverbial fleetness. But in emulation of them a club was started in Montreal of young gentlemen, sons of respectable residents, some Protestants, and some Canadian Catholics, called the Montreal Lacrosse Club. Those con- tended frequently with the Indians, but the latter always procured the championship. I may mention that in the neighbourhood of Montreal arc some Indian villages, and there aboriginal families still reside, speak their own language, and conform to all their ancient usages, except as far as Christianity tempers their savage pro- pensities, for they are nearly all Catholics, and have their 56 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. priests and churches like civilized men. They dress like their neighbours, and are peaceful and tractable. The chief village where these descendants of the fierce Iroquois dwell is on the St. Lawrence, some 8 miles up from Montreal, and is as well as I can write it spelt Changanawagh (pronounced Kaw-a na-wau-ga). This is the head-quarters of the " Indian Lacrosse Club." Now, there is, as we have sfeen, a strong Irish element in Montreal, and some active young Hibernians — a few born in the old country, but the majority merely of Irish parentage — associated themselves together with a view of contending for the championship of the game of lacrosse. They called them- selves the " Shamrock Lacrosse Club." Having studied the game they played again and again, and were beaten, but they persevered, and some few months before my arrival in Mon- treal, they beat the Indians, and became the champions much to the delight of all the Irish, and to the extreme mortification of their opponents, and the third association, namely, the " Montreal Lacrosse Club." Though covered with glory, they did not relax their efforts, but practised with as much assiduity as their business would allow, for they were all artisans and had little tinu for so laborious an amusement as lacrosse. They were all parishioners of Father Hogan, and dwelt in a quarter of the city known as Griflinstown, in name sufficiently indicative of Hibernian origin. The Tipperary priest stimulated them in their athletic pur- suits, for he knew the strong prejudice existing against his countrymen, and was glad to discover at least one new moans by which they could crown themselves with honour. It was now a question whether the Shamrocks could preserve the dignity of championship which they had won with so much THE BRITISH FLAG AGAIN. 57 difficulty. There are in Montreal a great number of orphans under the care of the priests of St. Patrick's ; they live in a large asylum not far from the church, and the domestic management of the institution is conducted by the Sisters of the "Grey Nunnery," a Canadian convent formation. Once a year the boys and girls get what is called a pic-nic, but which conveys a different meaning in Canada from that attached to it in these countries. With us a pic-nic is asso- ciated with a long journey, a romantic spot, a green sward, and costly viands of all descriptions. In Montreal it some- times is that, but on the present occasion it meant that the children are marched to a certain field where there is a large gallery erected for them to sit, and eat and view the game of lacrosse played by the ** Shamrocks " and the Indians of Changanawagh. Thousands are to assemble, and having paid fifty cents a head, are to enjoy a similar privilege, and by paying other cents may indulge in the cooling luxury of "ginger beer," or soda water, the proceeds of the whole to go to the orphans ; the spectacle is to be varied by running and football, and during the interval the band of the orphan hoys are to play Irish national airs. The day is fixed — Thursday, the 14th of July — the public expectation is on the qui vive, and the Hibernian's mind is tremulous lest the Shamrocks preserve their honour ; the game is to com- mence at three in the afternoon. Accordingly I go to Father Hogan on Thursday, and we dine at 1 2 o'clock ; he is to drive me to the grounds. There are other clergy- men who wish to see the game as well as I. The weather is beautiful, the sun shining if anything too brightly, and all promises well. Three o'clock is approaching, and we begin to prepare for starting, when suddenly comes another of those 58 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. atmospheric changes so peculiar to hot climates. The sun darkens, a thick black cloud covers the mountain (Mount Royal), at the foot of which the game is to be played ; soon the lightning flashes, the thunder rolls, the rain falls, but strangest of all, a fierce hurricane arises and rushes over the city with the well-known shriek of the tempest. Father Hogan is in despair lest the game may not come off. " It will clear up," he says, " it will clear up." But, no ; it does not clear up, but comes down in savage and more savage fury every moment. At length, about half-past three, there is a partial cessa- tion, and we drive to the ground. The Shamrocks and Indians are there, and a goodly gathering of the sons and daughters of Erin, but it is too evident that the game can- not be played, for the ground is too sloppy, and it is raining still. A postponement until Monday is announced, and there is a general dispersion, and a strong repining against the capriciousness of the clouds. It was well the game was given ever, for we had no sooner arrived at home than the tempest arose in a form to which its previous conduct was but as child's play. Tlie thunder, lightning, rain, and wind were blended togetlier in one mad med- ley, and while the eye was bewildered by watching the drifting ocean of descending water and almost blinded by the frequent flashes, the ear was appalled by the howling voice of the hurricane, tearing huge trees, unroofing houses, destroying chimneys, and cutting up the streets as if it were a ploughshare. One church spire was toppled over, and one boy was killed ; the si 'pping had enough to do, and, in a word, a storm passed over Montreal, the like of which *' the oldest inhabitant " had never witnessed. THE BRITISH FLAG AGAIN. 59 But it cannot be raining always. Monday came and was fine. We were on the lacrosse grounds ; seven thousand spectators are present, almost all Irish boys and giris, all well and tastefully clad, all smiling and happy. The ground is roped oft for the contending parties, and the spectators are seated on a gallery extending the whole length of the field, presenting a charming aspect, with the wooded mountain for a background. A small stand is erected where the clergy sit under a canopy. Father Hogan being most con, picuous by his large handsome form, and trembling all over with the excitement of fear and suspense for the success of his protegees. The orphans' band plays the melodies of Ireland. The gingerbeer corks are popping out every moment, and the whole scene is as bright and as brisk as it could be. It appears we have had a great miss. Moffit, one of the crack " Shamrocks," has just won a foot- race against an English runner of great note. Father Hogan denounces it as imprudent, considering that Moflit must have puffed himself for the game of lacrosse, for Moffit is a great point d''appui of the " Shamrock '' Club. Every- where the sweet Irish accent salutes my ear, and now and then some Irish pleasantry, until I fancy I am at home amongst my own people. The girls try to push themselves within the ropes, that they may have a better view ; they are gently and smilingly repelled by the policeman on duty, a Cork man, named Falvey, with the genuine brogue of the Southern country. "Come now, girls,keepback,if you plaze,'' but the girls do not keep buck. " Ah ! now," he soothingly remonstrates, " do push back. No ! Oh ! begor, ladies, ye must push back, if ye were twice as handsome." They yield at the behest of that weakness to which woman ever proves 6o DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. responsive, namely, vanity. Another policeman in another quarter tries his persuasive powers with another group of sirens, but he gives up the task in despair, for they vanish at one point but thicken in another. He returns worsted in the amiable conflict, and exclaims to Falvey. " By the law you might as well be wrastling with a ghost ? " I thought how different would have been the conduct of the Royal Irish at home— with what a stern face and a still more stern baton they would have pushed he fair daughters of the Emerald Isle outside the ring, nor prove susceptible to the most bewitching smile that would have sought to deprecate their anger. The posts are fixed at either end, and each bears a flag—the Indian red, the Irish green, of course, and now the melee commences. The athletes appear upon the field, clad in ''tights," save one little Indian who insisted on the style known as sans cidotte. A red belt distin- guishes the Indians, a green belt the Irish. The game begins, and the excitement everywhere is intense. Twelve at each side, all armed with the lacrosse. The ball is out and there is great contention for it, each party striving to fling or drive it towards the poles of tiie adversary, so that it may if possible pass through by main force, or be slipped through by cunning. We admire the marvellous speed of all parties, particularly the Irish. One " Shamrock' catches the ball in his lacrosse and runs with it, like a deer, towards the enemies' poles, but he is chased by an Indian, who strives with his lacrosse to dislodge theball,or prevent its being flung. The "Shamrock" stoops and the Indian is borne head- long by, and before another Indian can come up, the "Shamrock" flings the ball to within a few inches of the poise, THE BRITISH FLAG AGAIN. 6i where a half-dozen Indians are posted to repel it. It is once more in the middle of the field, and the contest for its pos- session is disputed by another half-dozen, the crowd all the while shouting at every clever manoeuvre, whether of Sham- rock or Indian. I will not attempt to go into details, I can only say that there was evoked by the contest all the pleasurable excitement which ever springs from beholding a contest where physical strength, activity and fleetness are pitted together, and where the mind is further stimulated by the hope of national honour, or the apprehension of national disgrace. ; ; The first game was won by the Indians in six minutes. I should have stated the game was three out of five. There was no shouting for the Indians, and when the band played up it was not a lively air. After an interval of ten minutes the second game began; it lasted thirty-five minutes, a fearful contest under the red hot sun, and was won by the Irish. Then, indeed, there was shouting and throwing up of hats, and the band played its most exultant strains. The third game continued twelve minutes and was won by the Irish, and the same sounds and sights of jubila- tion prevailed. The fourth game continued forty-five minutes and was won by the Indians in perfect silence. Now comes the last game, the game of championship, and scarcely a breath disturbs the silence. We were not long kept in suspense. After six minutes fortune decided for the "Shamrock." I cannot attempt to describe the wild ioy of the spectators. All rushed madly into the field and embraced the victors, who stood puffed and perspiring and ■ Descending the river, we had a very good view of Quebec, situated at the junction of the St. Lawrence and the St. Charles, and surmounted by the citadel, which protects the river on every side. We soon caught sight of the Montmorenci Falls, which present from this point a magnificent : -ctacle— falling in copious volume from their great elevauon, and filling the surrounding air with spray. Further down is the large and beautiful island ot Orleans— very picturesque, wooded, and cultivated, and thickly inhabited \ and, still further, Gros Island— an island of melancholy recollections to the Irishman who becomes acquainted with its terrible history. Here, in the fatal year of 1847, the fever ships from Ireland, already alluded to in these pages, were placed in quarantine. Here, as at Point St. Charles in Montreal, were sheds erected for the sufferers. Here they died— first in tens a day, then in hundreds. Here perished with them many good priests and nuns. Here arose, with appalling suddenness, a huge Necropolis— a City of the I' \ Dead, where, in addition to the victims of the grim tyrant, were interred (horrible to think of!) many live human beings -'s I have heard asseverated by more than Q UEBEC AND THE SA G UENA V. S i one witness of the tragic scene. When the fatal work was accomplished it was ascertained that from 8,000 to 10,000 souls had perished, whose bones lie now beneath the sod in this lonely island as I pass. I inquired from several persons whether any sufferers survived this terrible pest, and I was answered " a few did," but that they were scarcely worth counting. Some four hundred children survived, whose parents perished ; and, let the Irish at home ever remember it with gratitude, the present Archbishop of Quebec, Monseigneur Bailleargeon, animated by the spirit of the gieat St. Vincent de Paul, appealed from the pulpit of his cathedral to the public on behalf of those poor little children. With tears in his eyes he begged of the people to adopt them as their ow^n. The appeal was not made in vain. On the contrary, a holy rivalry sprung up amongst the inhabitants of Quebec, Canadian as well as Irish, for the possession of the children. Not one was neglected, and at the present day many of those survivors are pointed out as persons rescued by charity from a terrible fate, and, I am happy to add, as persons who reflect the highest credit upon the parents of their adoption. Some are wealthy, some sit in Parliament, and what is strange to think of— some who were brought up by the Canadians cannot speak one word of English. The French language, as well as French parents, has been adopted as their own. At one side of the river, as we drop down, is a large range of mountains, known as the Laurentia range, from the river's name, and in some places descending right to the water's edge. At the other side the banks are more flat and fertile, and a line of villages appears to run the whole way. Here and there the houses accumulate, and G 82 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. we have a town such as Riviere-du-Loup, and Cacouna — fashionable watering-places. One watering-place only lies up the left side, and this is called Murray Bay. At all these places we touch, and give and receive passengers. On board we have a large number, principally Americans, who are all very agreeable, and show a fraternizing spirit. We are specially taken up by one family — a lady and gentleman, and their daughter, from New York, who are very interesting. "We spend almost the whole time in their company. About seven o'clock in the evening we reach the mouth of the Saguenay, on the left bank, and land at a little village called Tadousac, the very earliest settle- ment, I believe, of the French in Canada. We catch one glimpse of the river, and it seems to realize all we have heard and read about it — precipitous banks, and copious woods at both sides, and a pervading aspect of solitude, with the placid water between the hills. We can stay as long as we please at Tadousac, for the steamer will not go up the Saguenay until midnight; not that we are expected to view the river then, but that we may reach the highest point before morning and view it on our return. Tadousac is situated in a very wild region, reminding me much of Glen- gariffe in the old country. It is evidently frequented by pleasure-seekers and vacationists, for there are many pretty cottages, and there is a fine strand for b- hing, and the water is sufficiently salt, for the air is stro. ^./ impregnated with the odour of sea-weed. Here is a fine hotel, which, for the honour of Ireland I may add, is kept by an " O'Brien." At Tadousac is a little church which is said to be the oldest in Canada. It is built of wood. If it be the oldest, it must Q UEBE C AND THE SA G UENA Y. 83 have been frequently rebuilt, as wood could scarcely survive the wear of three centuries. We adjourn to the steamer, as it grows dark, and the rest of the evening is spent very pleasantly listening to a performance on the piano by a person of very re- markable musical talents. He i§ nothing more or less than one of the waiters who assist at table on board the boat, but his education and bearing are evidently far above his present occupation. His performance on the piano was simply marvellous. When he had played for some time, he got an accordean, mounted like a harmonium, which he played with one hand, accompan)'ing himself at the piano with the other. A thir4 variation was created by a fellow- waiter accompanying himself at this performance with a penny whistle. The effect of the whole was very strikmg. On inquiry I found out that the pianist was the son of a celebrated piano-maker in London, that he came out to America only a few months ago "to seek his fortune," that he could get nothing to do, and was forced, by way of a beginning, to become waiter on board this steamer. He is on the eve of something better he told me afterwards. Another waiter, who happens to be a native of the " beau- tiful citie " of Cork, hears by some means that I am a Corkman, and his delight is unbounded. His name is Howard, he was born in Evergreen, and the greenest spot in his memory is the "Botanic Gardens." Di;ring the voyage he was specially attentive to me, and could never pass without giving me a confidential smile, a^ if he would say, " You and 1 understand each other, we are from the same city of Cork, you know." All he possesses he would give to catch another glimpse of his native city, of the vege- 84 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. tables that grow in the market-garden of Evergreen, and the tombstones that grace the final resting-place of the dead, amidst the trees and shrubs of the Botanic Gardens. In due time we retire to rest, and in the morning, when we dress, we go on deck and find ourselves anchored in a pretty cove, with hills all around, some rocky and barren, others wooded to the water's edge, while two small villages grace the banks — one just at hand and one at a considerable distance ; but both so quiet that not a sound strikes the ear. This is " Ha-ha Bay " — a curious name, and one arising from a strange circumstance. When the French first rowed up the Saguenay in a canoe, they turned in here, thinking it a continuation of the river, but soon their little craft came in contact .with the ground, and looking backward, they saw themselves shut in on every side. They cried " Ha, ha," in surprise, and, turning back, found that the course of the river lay in a northerly direction. Our vessel will remain here until lo o'clock, and then we proceed down the river to view its celebrated scenery. The morning is lovely — bright, calm, and warm. After breakfast we land, and go up on the most elevated of the hills in our neighbourhood to fulfil a twofold object — namely, to take some exercise, for we had been very confined for the last twenty-four hours, and to take views of the country all around. There is a portion of the river much higher up than that to which we ascend, but the boats rarely go so far, for in some parts it is fit only for a canoe, and there are rapids which can be got over only with considerable difficulty. At lo o'clock we start to do ** the Saguenay." We have sixty-five miles to traverse before we get ' back to Tadousac. 'QUEBEC AND THE SAGVENAY. 85 And now for the river. All along there are moun- tains on both sides; in some places they are quite bare, in others thinly wooded, while for the most part foliage of every hue extends from the summit to the very water. Here and there a cataract leaps down from the top, perhaps from a height of fifteen hundred feet, peeping out through the woods, and then hiding itself again — the only thing of life, and that only life in a figurative sense, dis- tinguishable in this awful solitude. Barrenness and desola- tion are around us on every side ; not even a bird passes in the air or makes the wood resound with song ; not even a solitary goat browses on the herbage, for here no herbage grows. Animal life seeks in vain for sustenance in thi^j inexorable soil. Silence, oppressive silence, reigns on every side. The voice of the tumbling cataract is the only sound that salutes the ear. We reach Trinity Rock, an enormous pile of naked granite standing right over the river at an elevation of nine hundred feet. The steamer steers imme- diately under it, and steam is shut off, that we may view the scene. The huge bluff rocks look down from above, and seem to threaten us with destruction. A revolver is fired off to awaken the echoes, which are very fine, but cannot compare with those of the " Eagle's Nest," at Killamey, to which, indeed. Trinity Rock is not unlike. Here we ex- perience a curious optical illusion. While standing under the rock we fancy we are very near it, and the captain, as is usual, had provided at Ha-ha Bay a bucket of stones, that persons relying on their powers of projection might try to strike the rock at the nearest point. Several attempted, but all failed. The distance appeared so little that one would fancy a child might hit the rock, but the stones flung 86 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. by a dozen volunteers invariably fell into the tide : they ap- peared to go straight towards the rock, and then, at the last moment, they made a curve backward, as if the rock re- pelled them. One gentleman went very vigorously to work. He told us that he was always remarkable for throwing a stone well. He went so far as to take off his coat, and yet, after a vigorous effort, failed in the attempt. The point of interest is Eternity Bay, where there is another elevation, somewhat about fifteen hundred feet high, all beauti- fully wooded and very precipitous. The whole river is magni- ficent, and at some points presents the appearance of a lake, entirely shut in by wooded hills, the most abandoned soli- tude it is possible to conceive. The depth of the water at some points has neve r been ascertained ; it is considered unfathomable, and its colour is as near as possible approach- ing to black. It was in this neighbourhood, but higher up, that the fire took place by which so many houses were burnt and the inhabitants were thrown upon the charity of the public. The woods somehow were wrapped in one wild conflagration, which spread over a distance of three hundred miles, destroying all the human habitations in its way. We reached Tadousac at half-past two o'clock, and con- tinued our voyage on to Quebec, admiring on the one hand the mountains, on the other the villages that graced the banks of the majestic St. Lawrence. We reached Quebec at 2 a.m., but did not disembark until morning. The da^ we spent in visiting our friends, in procuring a bill of exchange for the money we had received, and making other preparations for our voyage to Halifax, Nova Scotia. CHAPTER VI. THE LAND OF THE BLUE NOSES. QucB regio in terris nostri non plena labor is! August 5. — At 4 p.m. we went on board the "Georgia,"' a very fine ocean steamer (Captain Connell), bound to Picton, Nova Scotia, the farthest point to which she goes ; the journey from Picton to HaHfax to be acco.-nplished by rail. The evening was fine and warm. Our passengers were not numerous, and amongst them were six nuns, bound to Charlottetown, Prince Edward's Island, and two Christian Brothers, bound to the same place, the former to join a convent, the latter to found schools. The nuns were under the protection of a French Canadian priest from Montreal, from which place they had come by this same ship the pre- vious day. When passing Gros Isle, to which I have already alluded, the captain told me some startling things of the unhappy sufferers, to whose misfortunes he was an eye-witness. At that time he had been a pilot on the St. Lawrence. ' Next morning we reach a place called Father Point, where some of our passengers land. F om this place the bank of the river on the right-hand side becomes very hilly and wooded. Mountains beyond mountains appear, some about three thousand feet high, and so close are they in many places that the captain assured us the snow and ice of winter is never melted in the valleys. The bank on the other side can scarcely be seen. The river at the farthest point is thirty miles wide ; it then spreads and become the Gulf of St. Lawrence. The weather is bright and cool, and we have a moon at night, 88 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. and while we sit in groups, and tell stories on deck, a beautiful Aurora Borealis appears, and charms us with its ever varj-ing form, and the dancing movement of its rays. On the second morning, about seven o'clock, we pass between the mainland and a long, curiously-shaped rock. This rock is several hundred feet long, very high, and cut quite sharp, so that its summit cannot be reached by any creature, save a bird. And accordingly, as if conscious of their security, crowds of birds swarm upon it, con- spicuous amongst which is the penguin. In this rock Nature has carved a large round hole, through and through. The name of this isolated mountain of stone is " Percy," called from this carved hole, the rock being in the French language *' percd " — i.e., pierced. Such is also the name of a small village just here on the main land, at which we touch. Farther out is a considerable island called ** Bonaventure Island," mostly cultivated, and with many houses scattered over its surface. We now fall right out into the deep, and for some time lose sight of land altogether. On the night ol: the second day after leaving Quebec we stay at Shediac, a small seaport in New Brunswick. Here we remain over night. Next morning, while the vessel is being unloaded of a miscellaneous cargo, chiefly flour, we saunter about the shore ; some of our party, principally young folks, go and fish, and are very successful in their attempts, as we found at breakfast and dinner ; others go to bathe ; some walk to Svje the town — a small thing some two miles distant. The weather all through the voyage was lovely. Remote as the place is from the inhabited world. THE LAND OF THE BULE NOSES. 89 I find an Irishman from Dungarvan, who shakes my hand with all the warmth of brotherly affection. About 12 o'clock we weigh anchor, and steer for Prince Edward's Island. By this time the passengers have all be- come more friendly with each other. There is a Mr. Barker, from Picton, an elderly gentleman, and his daughter. Miss Barker, a clever and interesting young lady. There is a Dr. Haight, from the same place, a Mr. McLord, from Montreal, a young man of family, for he tells us of his ancestry, and particularizes one who was an officer under Wolfe, on the plains of Abraham. Here is Mr. Brown, of Montreal, and two young lads, his sons, a quiet, very gentlemanly and social man, who gives me a good deal of information about Canada, and confirms all I have said about the Canadians. There are many others, but one is remarkable above the rest. A handsome young man, with very black hair, dark complexion, black eyes, a moustache, and a very French air, -he wears a Turkish fez and looks picturesque with his suit of tweed, and a meer- schaum. This is M. Turgeon, an advocate of Montreal. He speaks English just enough to increase the interest you feel in him for the beauty of his person. He and I under- stand each other at once ; he has travelled over Europe, and knows life and the world. Thus we get to Prince Edward's Island, which at length discloses itself to view from the bosom of the ocean, a long island, over 130 miles in length, and about 35, at the widest, in breadth. It reminds me much of Ireland ; isolated from continental lands, green as emerald, and fertile as Nature can be, with pleasant harbours, and — but here the comparison ceases — with a happy and contented population, self-governed, and only 90 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. wanting to be let alone by the world, which it is to be feared will not let it alone, but which, despite its inexhaustible treasures of land, is still crying out, "annexation! annexation!"* We do not reach the harbour's mouth that opens to Charlottetown until dark, but we have a full moon and a clear sky. We see, as we approach, the dim outlines of ships and wharves and houses, and church spires, and this is the metropolis, the mother city of Prince Edward's Island. We are moored about 8 o'clock, and Turgeon and I go ashore together, after having bade fare- well to the nuns and the two Christian Brothers. We stroll through the dimly-lighted streets — the main street; gas has not yet found its way in here. We wish to find a decent hotel ; it is called the " City Hotel " (for the Prince Edward Islanders call their town of 7,ooot inhabitants a city). We reach it, and enter. Our chief desire is to hear the news of the great European conflict now waging between the Prussians and French. Up to this time no serious engage- ment has taken place, nor has the dignity of either Power been compromised. We find ourselves in a place that might be called the reading-room of the hotel, and we take up the paper of the day, Prince Edward's Island Examiner. Here we find news from Europe, three days old, exactly the same that we had heard before we left Quebec. This was disheartening ; but it happened just as we were de- ploring the telegraphic shortcomings of P. £. Island, that ♦Prince Edward's Island was incorporated (as a distinct State) in the Dominion of Canada in 1873. t Now over 11,000. THE LAND OF THE BLUE NOSES. 91 a written telegram arrived, giving an account of a terrible battle between the Prussians and French, in which the latter were defeated with wholesale disaster. On our way towards the ship we reach the cathedral, a fair church enough, with a very great tower and a very short spire. Next door was the bishop's palace, outside was a carriage and horse, and the two Christian Bro- thers were urging the nuns to enter, and proceed to the convent. The nuns, no doubt believing that the carriage was too small, were resisting and expressing a determination to walk, as the night was so fine. There was a good deal of argument between the brothers and sisters on the subject ; but at last the horse brought matters to a speedy conclusion. He seemed to have grown weary of listening, and so in brief he simply " took head." Away he dashed at full speed, the nuns aghast and the two brothers stupefied. We followed the runaway, who went right round the next corner, pursued by a few young men, who had been standing by, and found that he had toppled over, having done very little injury to himself, and only broken the box of the carriage. We proceeded towards the ship, which we reached in time, as all things are reached. We slept on board, for the ship stayed here as at Shadiac over night, and next morning in like manner a great part of the cargo was discharged. In the morn- ing again Turgeon and I sally forth together to do Charlotte- town. But there is nothing to do. It is a very plain city, with the streets broad, and cutting each other at right angles- A voice from a window salutes us. It is that of Miss Barker, who has taken up lodgings here. A judge from Montreal is also staying here, for it is a watering- 92 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. place, and rather frequented by people from the continent of America. The Judge breakfasts with us on board. We got some notions of Prince Edward's island. It is a very fertile island, and produces a great quantity of grain. The clay is of the old red sandstone description, and it is said that there is scarcely a stone in the whole island. The population is 80,000 ;* the Catholic religion appears to be predominant. Bishop Mclntyre is the present prelate, the whole island being one see, with 22 priests to 43 churches. The people are independent and proud, regarding them- selves as quite ab'J 10 manage their own affairs, and scorning to belong to the Dorain^'on or the States, not reflecting that but for the protection of some greater power they should become the prey of the first that wished to invade them. There is no poverty on this island, and the people are lazy and indifferent to advantages of labour. Thus the captain offered some loungers one shilling an hour to assist him in unloading, and although they admitted the payment to be just and fair, they declined, much to his annoyance and indignation. During the winter the island is icebound, and for several months the inhabitants devote themselves to the pursuit of literature, with a zeal proportionate to the vast store of knowledge to be acquired. If those people, despite their insular views, die happy, why disturb them? The population are chiefly of Scotch and North of Ireland descent. The land is undulating, and there is scarcely a decent hill anywhere. There is a submarine telegraph to Nova Scotia, which is some connection with the v.'orld. At II o'clock, August the 9th, we proceed to Picton, a distance about 60 miles across the Northumberland Sound. • Now about 110,000. THE LAND OF THE BLUE NOSES. 93 The air is very warm, and the voyage consequently very pleasant. We reach Pictou at 3 o'clock, about an hour too late to catch the train to Halifax. We must be content to stay here all day and night, and leave for Halifax next morning. Pictou is a pretty town, situated on the side of a gently-sloping hill, not very high. The harbour is narrow, and opens into a large basin, which looks like a lake, not quite so picturesque, nor so large as that of Queenstown, yet resembling it somewhat. We go on shore, and seek the chief hotel, where we first of all look for the news. Unfor- tunately for Mr. Turgeon, the intelligence from the seat of war thoroughly confirms all we had heard at Charlotte- town, and adds the account of fresh disasters. His incre- dulity is too sorely tested, and he takes refuge in resignation. We walk through the town and are surprised at its dulness. It is as quiet as any Irish town I ever saw. We return to the ship. Some go- to bathe, including Turgeon, McCord, and the young Browns. They return to tea, after which we all go boating in the lovely water, smooth as glass. The beautiful moonlight forms fiery serpents dancing on the water in our neighbourhood, and illumines it into one silvery sheet farther on. We sing, and are, of course, pleased with the effect of our own voices. We are very happy. Turgeon sings French songs, and we applaud as well as we can. We return to the vessel and spend an hour or more on deck eniv^ying the loveliness of the scene and the balm of the air. I know not how it is, but strangers as we all are to each other, we feel as if we loved each other, and condensed into an hour the pleasantness of a communion which, for most of us, must be soon broken for ever. We retire early, for we must be up early in the morning to start for Halifax. «;4 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. \ — ■ — — . ; -- .... I ... — . .. .. . — We leav e Pictou at 6 a.m. Three rivers flow into this harbour, and are navigable to about 60 miles up the country. Here also are coal mines of great value. We journey onward through a very wooded country all the way (112 miles in eight hours) to Halifax, very little diversified with signs of cultivation. The land is poor, oats being the chief crop. Wheat is not much grown in Nova Scotia, as it becomes the victim of a small insect called the " weevil," which de- stroys it in the first stages of its ripeness. Consequently there is a large importation of flour. The population of Nova Scotia is only about 350,000,* about one-tenth of the population of London. Shipbuilding is carried on to a great extent here, and some of the wealthiest shipowners in the world are said to be Nova Scotians. Certainly there is wood enough on the peninsula to build all the ships of the world, and much more. The Indians are protected here, and we see several of them and their very rude wigwams — horribly ugly creatures, especially the women. Several beautiful lakes lie between the woods, one fifteen miles long. The scenery round those is magnificent, and one cannot help thinking how one of them would adorn a nobleman's demesne, and what pleasant times one could spend sailing over them in a yacht, or fishing, as fancy would suggest. Truro is the name of the most important town, about half- ways on the route. In due time we reach Bedford, a pretty place at the head of Halifax Basin. The first glimpse of this basin which we have here is fifteen miles from the city, • Now about 450,000 . THE LAND OF THE BLUE NOSES. 95 which is here visible — a very lovely view of hill, wood, water, and islands. I begin to think Killarney is in danger of losing its post of pre-eminence in my admiration. It so happens that there is a large pic-nic party at Bedford, and the sight of many ladies strolling through the fields and along the rocky shore makes the scene ver}' picturesque. The conductor points out a pretty pavilion-like building raised by the Duke of Kent, the Queen's father, when he was Governor here. It commands a view of marvellous beauty. At length we reach Halifax, and put up at the " Halifax Hotel," HoUis Street, with which we were very much pleased. Halifax is a pretty city, long and narrow, situated along the shore of the sea with a commodious harbour. The ascent from the shore is very gradual and of small account. The summit behind the city is crowned by a fortification called the " Citadel," which commands a splendid view of the city, the bay, and the country beyond. At the other side of the v,ater also on the shore is a veiy thriving town called Dartmouth. Halifax is built in "blocks," with the streets running parallel, and intersected by others running parallel. There is a good sprinkling of trees through the city ; it is remarkably clean, and quiet almost to dulness. Instead of a quay there are several wharves in the midst of the water. Just in front of the town rises a large island, which is mounted with cannon, and forms a great protection for the harbour. The population is, I believe, about 35,000, about half being Catholics and the rest of different religious persuasions. The Mayor, Mr. Stephen Tobin, though bom here is the son of a Cork mother. Mr. Kenny, Governor pro tern, vice General Doyle, a 96 LIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. man of immense wealth, is an Irishman. Several of the leading merchants are Irish. The Archbishop (Connelly) is a Cork man. Few come here from Ireland of late years, and those who are here are chiefly from Waterford and Kerry. The British money is used here commonly, and it is pleasant to me once more to handle sovereigns and half-crowns. In the evening while airing myself on the steps of the hotel, a gentleman accosts me and tells me he heard me preach in Quebec, but what is more astonishing, he adds that he often heard me preach in Cork. I am amazed, and think of the line :-" Qux regio in Urris nostri non plena lahorisV The clergy receive us kindly. We call on the Mayor, a fine young gentleman, who takes us to his office, contributes to the object of our mission, and invites us to his house. Mr. Kenny, the Deputy Governor, is equally kind. The citizens in general treat us with great courtesy, and we soon feel quite at home. I preach in the Cathedral on S'.aday. and we dine with the Mayor the same evenmg. Monday (August 1 5) is a holiday, and there is a procession through the principal streets of the Temperance Association, men and boys with scarfs, &c. The procession begins at the Cathedral, and ends there. The Glebe House, where the clergy reside, is close by. The men stop and cheer, and then, to my surprise, the band plays " God save the Queen," and \\\ uncover. Irishmen can be loyal in Nova Scotia, but not at home. The loss of the "City of Boston" threw a great gloom over Halifax.* About thirty notable persons were •The City of Boston left Halifax for Liverpool on Jan. 28, 1870; and was never heard of again. THE LAND OF THE BLUE NOSES. 97 drowned in that vessel. Mr. Kenny, the deputy governor, lost a son, a fine young man. Mr. Patrick Power, member for the city, lost a son, his partner and his nephew. One day, travell- ing in a street car, I saw a nurse in charge of two lovely child- ren, of whom one was in arms. I admired the children, and told her so. "Sir, their father was lost in the * City of Boston,' " she said. Indeed, wherever we turn we find some person who has to deplore the loss of a relative or friend in the ill- fated ship. The Mayor is very kind. There was a regatta on Monday, and in the evening there were public amuse- ments in the Gardens. To these gardens the Mayor took us. It was very pretty. The show was what the papers call a "decided success." There was a band of the 78th High- landers, and several gymnastic feats were performed by soldiers. The whole garden was illuminated by Chinese lanterns, Kerosene lamps, &c., and the attendance was very large. That night twelvemoriths I was gazing on the illumi- nations of Paris, in honour of the F^te Napoleon. Had any one told me then, that on the next 15 th of August I should be viewing illuminations in Halifax, how surprised I would have been, and what speculations I would have indulged in, as to how such an event was to be accomplished. The Hon. Mr. Kenny is a man of great wealth, as well as high position. He is a Kerryman and made his own fortune. He invited us to spend an evening at the house of his daughter- in-law, Mrs. Kenny, which we did. The house was magni- ficent, just over an arm of the sea, and the opposite shore all wooded. The company was very large and embraced clergy, laity and ladies. We had a grand supper at 7 o'clock, and then various amusements, cards, singing, billiards ; every- H 98 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. thing was elegant, yet easy and homely. I met some Cork people here and some few who had been in Cork. It was very agreeable to converse with them about the " beautiful citie." Mr. Kenny has invited us to his own house for Friday. In this part of the American continent people generally dine early. The hour for dinner at the hotel is I o'clock, while supper comes off at 6. At Mrs. Kenny's we had not supper, but what is called " high tea," that is to say tea with meats, pastry and fruit — somewhat like our dej'etdner d la fourchetie ^t \iOTCiQ. - * ^ ;, ^7 c,* As we are on the local names of things, I may here mention that the name for a Nova Scotian is " Blue Nose," because in winter the extreme cold impaits a peculiarly cerulean tinge to the olfactories of the natives. It is quite common on asking a man where he was born, to hear him reply, -* I am a Blue Nose," meaning that he was born in Nova Scotia. We find the people here very generous. They contribute largely and with pleasure to the object of our mission. As in most parts of America, the Irish occupy all positions, from the highest to the lowest. If you find a man in Halifax who has raised himself by his talents and industry to a post of wealth and influence, the chances are almost entirely in favour of his being an Irish- man. If, on the other hand, you find one occupying a wretched house, in squalor and wretchedness, he too is a Hibernian; one thing is certain, namely, if an Irishman does not succeed in America it is not the fault of his nation- ality, the failure can be traced to his own personal short- comings in some fatal point. Nothing is so remarkable in Halifax as the extreme quietness of the city. There is no THE LAND OF THE BLU^ NOSES. 99 noise, no thronging of carts or carriages, no crowding of people, no hurry or bustle of any kind ; I never before saw- so much absence of business apparent in a city. There are no manufactories here, although the natural resources of the country are very great. In the neighbourhood of Halifax are mines of gold, tin, lead, silver, iron, and coal ; there is an abundance of water-power and yet no manufactures. The people complain that the wealthy inhabitants are " close " and unenterprising, and almost three out of every four are anxious for annexation to the States. , . .; We dined at Mr. Kenny's own house on Tuesday, the 25th, a beautiful cottage just over the basin already spoken ©f, and buried in foliage, through vistas of which one can catch charm- ing views of the water. The weather is all that can be desired. Indeed the climate of Halifax, or rather of all Nova Scotia, is remarkably mild and quite free from the extremes which render other parts of the American continent so disagreeable. The heat in summer is seldom unbearable, and the cold in winter never excessive. Thunderstorms are very rare and the mosquitoes, those plagues of the South, never torture the epidermis of a "Blue Nose." At Mr. Kenny's we spent a very pleasant evening. Several of the clergy were present, and some ladies. Mr. K. sent us home six miles in his own carriage. Mr. Davy, son of the late R. M. of Bantry, was also very attentive to us. He had us to "hightea," which was got up very sumptuously indeed. In a word, we received all manner of kindness in Halifax, and prepared with great regret to leave it. I sent home from here ^200 (the second to the Bishop) by the " City of Baltimore." The more we went amongst the people of Halifax the more reason we had to admire the depth and J 00 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. sincerity of that two-fold attachment which seems to be the birthright of Irishmen — namely, the love of their religion and the love of their native land. Whenever we entered a house we were received with a smile of welcome, and a shake hands which placed us at once at our ease. We were thea ushered into the drawing-room, and all the members of the family were summoned to meet us ; in many places they kissed our hands, and fell on their knees for our blessing. The subscriptions we received were sometimes apparently so far beyond the position of the donor, that we declined accepting them until we were assured that they could afford them. " Oh ! dear, you cannot afford to give so much." " Indeed I can, sir \ and since God was so good as to give me more than enough, the least I can do is to give Him a little when He asks me for it." We were often touched by remarks of this kind. The Catholics here are excellent in their devotion to the faith and the general practice of re- ligion. The clergy assured me that the highest in rank were the most exemplary in this respect, which is not always the case. We were very hospitably treated by the clergy of Halifax. The Vicar-General, the Rev. Dr. Hannon, in- vited us to dinner. Father Daly, another member of that body, gave us a grand entertainment, at which several of the local gentry were present. Father Allen (a native of Kin- sale) had us to a grand pic-nic at a place called Dutch Village, some three miles from town, a spot exquisitely picturesque. Here also we met a number of lay gentlemen. On the last day we spent in Halifax we were invited by the same Father Allen to a " children's pic-nic." This children's pic-nic is quite an American institution. During the summer THE LAND OF THE BLUE NOSES, loi months, the children of the various schools all proceed on a certain day appointed for the purpose, either by railroad or steamer, to some place where they spend the day in all kinds of sports, under the guardianship of some priest or other teacher, then dine in globo ; and again, like the Israelites of old, after feasting, rise to play. Ex uno disce omnes. From Father Allen's pic-nic you may learn of what kind are all the rest. A carriage was sent for us to our hotel, at 2 o'clock, p.m. The pic-nic was to be held on the grounds of the Archbishop's country-house, some three miles from the town. Thither we proceeded, and reached the place in almos*, half-an-hour. A magnificent mansion indeed, very large, and built in a style of great architectural beauty, although of wood, as are most of the houses in this part of America J wood 's warm and cheap, and durable, and though it may imply that the owner is no! able to rise to the dignity of limestone or granite, for all practical purposes it is as good as either. Why should we sacrifice so much of our happiness to idle sentiment? ' ' ' '-'' ■ The house is at present rented (during the summer months, in the absence of the Archbisho\») by a M. . and Mrs. Dwyer, a young couple only recently married, whom we met at Mr. Davis' " high tea " a it\i evenings before. Mrs. Dwyer was a Miss McTavishfrom St. John's, N.B,, a very charming young lady, and her sister-in-law, Miss Dwyer, whom we also met there, is on a visit with her. We call, and they receive us ve7 kindly. We then go through the grounds, which we find to be splendid. Woods and forests abound in Nova Scotia, and here are fields, surrounded by trees, shut in from all the world. A few hundred children, boys and girls, are I o 2 DIAR Y OF A TO UP IN A M ERICA. disporting themselves in various ways. There are several "swing-swongs," where the litile ones enjoy the pleasure of oscillation. There are two or three spots covered plentifully with boards, where boys and girls move on the light fan- tastic to the music of a violinist liired for the occasion ; the big boys amuse themselves with foot-ball. Some parents and friends of the children are about, and we see enacted the spectacle described by Goldsmith, of " the young con- tending as the oM survey." Father Allen is the presiding genius — a good-natured and very gentlemanly young man. Long tables are arranged for the dinner, and there is a respectable staff of servants, for the thing seems to be got up regardless of expense. The children are almost all Irish, either by descent or birth, and while they have lost some, they retain many characteristics of their race. They are very tastefully dressed ; very self- possessed and intelligent. When spoken to, they reply with confidence, and always address themselves to the point. They prefer Irish airs for their dances to all others; and in their games of contention they display all the viva- city, enthusiasm, and pugnaciousness of the Celt. This latter peculiarity was manifested strikingly in the game of foot-ball. Twenty four boys played twelve aside, and they called themselves the French and Prussians. The battle raged with as much fury as the contest just now being waged between the original nations they represented. The sym- pathy of the bystanders was strongly carried in favour of tlie French, but the Prussians fought nevertheless with unflinch- ing pluck. At length of course the French triumphed, and it was hard for the beaten Prussians not to join in the gener.il shouts of congratulation. We had a splendid dinner, and when the viands were THE LAND OF THE BLUE NOSES, 103 ^M^^IW— ■ ■ ■ II I ■ I I I I II- — — ... y II. ii.M II M consumed, toasts, speeches and songs followed, in all of which amusemrnt we were obliged, not un- willingly to share. We then adjourned to the house where we met Mrs. and Miss Dvvyer, whom we induced to come out on the steps and witness several running matches between the boys on the lawn. These were admirably con- tested, under the admiring gaze of the young girls who ranged themselves in front of the house. Just as the games were contested, a gentleman, accompanied by two ladies, rode on horseback into our midst. These were a Mr. Stubbins, and two cousins of Miss Dwyer — namely, the Misses Tobin. We spent the evening with the Mayor's family, and returned about midnight to our hotel. Before leaving Halifax, I had an opportunity of seeing one of her Majesty's men of war, the " Royal Alfred," through which I was shown by Mr. Oliver, an Irish gentleman, one of the Admiral's staff, whose acquaintance I had made here. He introduced me to a lieutenant on board, a Mr. Gladstone, nephew to the Premier. I also visited the Citadel and ex- pected to meet there a Dr. Clarke, another Irish gentleman whom I had met at Mr. Davy's. He was not chez luiaX the time, but by the courtesy of an officer I was shown over the whole place. The view of Halifax and the neighbourhood from this point is truly grand. In the evening, just before we left, a telegram arrived from Archbishop Connolly, saying that he had left New York and might be expected in Halifax next day. This was unpleasant, seeing that we were so near making his acquaintance and yet so far. We were delighted with everything in Halifax ; with the charming scenery on every side ; with the people, and above all, with the success of our mission. We received here the sum of 875 dollars— namely, jQilS- 104 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. „x .. - V CHAPTER VII. ,. ' ' ST. JOHN. GOOD-BYE TO CANADA, ' Thursday, August $/k. — We leave Halifax by train at 6 a.m. The first ten miles are along the basin whose beauties I have already described ; the next nineteen miles lead to Windsor, an important town at the head of the creek, and those nineteen miles present a scene of barrenness as wild as it is possible to imagine, always, excepting the desert ot Sahara. The ground is one mass of jagged rock, rising and falling in confusion most confounding, with interjacent herbage, scarcely sufficient to satisfy the cravings of a goat. Trees and forests there are no doubt, stretching far, far away, but for every one that looks green, ten seem charred or withered, as if by some blasting pestilence. In some places whole acres of wood have been cut down and the blighted stumps remain, and will remain, for the land is un- susceptible of tillage. At the termination of this vast wilderness starts up Windsor, a brisk, lively, bright little town, with good streets and a business-like air ; and we see in the creek the masts of ships, and new ones building. Away we fly from this little nest of human life, and Nature now, with that caprice for which she is so remarkable, robes herself in the gaudiest fashion of the period. The sun is shining so brightly, and there is a vast, oh ! so vast a plain, stretching away and away, farther than the eye can see, with cattle that appears as small as ants in the distance, while beyond stand the mountains with their boundless forests, like a countless ST. JOHN. 105 army protecting this region of beauty. And do you know what is the name of this charming region ? Acadia. And what is this valley — this one smiling meadow called? It is no other than Grand Pr^, immortalized as the scene of Long- fellow's " Evangeline." The village of Grand Pr6 is near ; the train pulls up there, and I long to get out and visit the spot from which the perfidious soldiers of Albion banished the guiltless children of this peaceful and happy land. But we must on. The scenery from Windsor to Annapolic —129 miles — is famous for its beauty all over the world ; mountain and vale and endless woods ; the forest primeval \ a broad river, teeming fields, and lazy cattle, some browsing on the herbage, some bathing in the water that seems loath to tear itself away from so much loveliness.^ We reach, Anna- polis, at half-past one, a very small village like Windsor. At the head of a creek we embark. We steam away. The cap- tain is an Irishman of course, one O'Leary from Dunmanway. Co. Cork. At the end of an hour we reach Digby, a very small watering place within the harbour. Having given and taken passengers, we proceed. We pass through, the har~ hour's mouth, which is very like a mouth indeed, and find ourselves in the Bay of Fundy, a portion of the Atlantic Ocean. At Digby we took in a gentleman who was evidently a votary of Bacchus, and who had been very recently pouring libations at the shrine of that merry god. The unfortunate man soon becomes the laughing-stock of every- body. He will talk to every one, and in a very loud way. His perpendicular is constantly seeking the acute angle, and as we sit on deck he topples into our laps one after an- other. We have all to look out for our corns, at least such as io6 DJARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. have them. He makes a dead set on me. He devotes him- self to me, and imparts all kind of knowledge about the coast, for he has been in the Bay of Fundy, forty, aye, a hundred times. He is continually mistaking the cardinal points, and frequently takes the bow of the boa,t for the stern, and his information is conveyed in such a jumble of speech, that no one can discern one word from another. He asks every one down to the bar, and as he can get no one to obey he goes himself, and returns after every visit with increased lubricity of tongue, and fresh unsteadiness of understanding; poor man, he becomes an object of universal commiseration, and preached by his conduct an admirable sermon on the vice of intemperance. It is the hour of twilight as we steam up before St. John's. The city is built right on the sea, and looks very pretty, with its lamps, and dim church spires. It is built on an elevation, too low to be called a hill, and too large to be called a mound. The St. John river runs up from this point. On the right hand is the city, on the left the town called Carleton. We land and proceed to the Waverly House, the first hotel in the city, kept by Mr. Guthrie, an Irish Catholic. The Mayor of Halifax, who had been here last week, told us that we would find it hard to get rooms, and so he telegraphed to-day to say we were coming, and begging of Mr. Guthrie to make us comfortable. When our carriage arrived at the hotel, Mr. Guthrie looked through the window, and said in simple language, but with an expressive air, " All right." August 26M. — At 6 o'clock in the morning I was waked out of my sleep by a noise ; it was only a knocking at my door. '^ Come in," I cried. It was a young man like a ST. JOHN. 107 waiter, with a very long nose. All Paul Prys have long noses. "Well, sir," said he, "Are you Father Buckley from Cork ?" " Yes." " Why, then, sir, if you please," said he, and he spoke, oh ! with such a sweet Cork brogue, " Are you the Father Buckley that was in Drinagh long ago ? " " I am," I said. " Oh, sir, I thought so. The minute I saw your name in the book last night I said it was you. I knew you well, sir, and was often speaking to you there. My name is Donoghue. My father kept a forge in Drimmindy." ** Ah, yes," I said, " I remember well." " Oh, Lord, sir," said he, " I am wild with joy at seeing you, and how in the world are you, your reverence ? " Lest Mr. Donoghue might manifest his wild joy, in any peculiarly «avage, however affectionate manner, I informed him that I Avould send for him in the course of the day, and have a long chat with him about the old country. He was satisfied, and I resumed my sleep. We waited on the Bishop (Sweeny), who lives in a mag- nificent palace close to the Cathedral. This palace is built of stone, and its interior is quite in keeping with the exterior, tasteful, and elegant, and rich. The Bishop himself is a man of middle stature, gentlemanly, and good-humoured. He pemiitted us to collect, and invited us to dine with him on Sunday. We called on Mrs. Anglin, sister of Mrs. Dwyer, of Halifax, already alluded to, and wife to Mr. Anglin, editor of the St. John's Freeman. She said Mr. Anglin would call on us. So he did. He is a native of Clonakilty, Co. Cork, a thorough Catholic, and Irish patriot. He promised to notice our mission in the Freeman of to-morrow (and did so). We visit Mr. MacSweeny, one of the wealthiest Catholic io8 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. Irishmen in St. John, N. B., a Corkman. We find him and his wife our best and staunchest friends during our stay in St John. They came out from Cork in the year 1826, and by hard industry and good luck prospered, and-now scarcely know how rich they are. They have no children, but they adopted various orphan children of relatives, whom they esteemed, and brought them up in the best manner that the resources of the province would allow. Mr. MacSweeny is a blunt man, very warm-hearted and munificent, extremely unde- monstrative, silent ;. but when he does speak, talkative to some purpose, full of common sense, and large experience, an unflinching Catholic, and steadfast friend to all who need his assistance. Mrs. MacSweeny is an excellent woman, generous and hospitable, and straightforward. Both are highly, and from what I can see, justly esteemed by the inhabitants of St. John. We called, as I have said, on Mr. and Mrs. MacSweeny. They entered warmly into our projects, and promised to assist us by every means in their power. Mr. MacS., who appears to be a man of large influence in St. John, immediately issued a summons for some of his neighbours to attend, and the summons was promptly obeyed. Arrangements were made for conducting us through the city. From all I saw I augured that our mission here was likely to be attended with success. We call on Dr. Travers, the Bishop's brother-in-law, a member of the Travers family in the County of Cork, and a convert to the Catholic faith. We had a letter of introduction to him, ?.nd he receives us with the barest courtesy compatible with the conduct of a gentleman, for ivhich, of course, we are very ^;rateful. After dinner I am ST. JOHN. 109 visited by Mr. T. Coghlan, a young gentleman, very well- mannered, intelligent and agreeable. He places himself entirely at my service, and I accept the offer. Thus the ground is becoming gradually broken all around, and I begin to feel quite at home. The hotel is excellent ; the host genial. Indeed, the house resembles, not only to me, but to everyone, a home more than a hotel. I am not twenty-four hours in Gt. John, and I feel as if I had lived in it a year. From inquiries and observation I am able to make some reliable remarks concerning St. John, N.B. It is a pretty city, with very good broad streets, and some excellent shops, or, as they are called in America, "stores." Two streets are particularly fine, Prince William Street and King Street, in the latter of which is our hotel. There is considerable bustle and animation in the streets. In this respect the city is very different from Halifax, of whose indolent air I have already written. In the evening there is a good deal of promenading, and the inhabitants are very lively and chatty. From some points there are good views of the sea, and the sights of ships in the river, and the throng- ing of the wharves is pleasant to a stranger. Ferry-boats, such as first excited my surprise at New York, ply here constantly between the city and Carleton, already alluded to. There is also a fine suspension-bridge leading across, under which are very respectable " falls," at low water. High water fills the chasm, and the falls disappear. Fogs are very frequent in St. John, but, as they come from the sea, however unpleasant, they are not unhealthy. The climate is mild all the year round as a rule, but exceptions are frequent. la the suburbs there are some excellent mansions, 1 1 o DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN A M ERIC A. but not many, for St. John contains only a population of 35,000*, and is of a comparatively recent growth. There are no manufactories worth talking of, and scarcely any public buildings. One or two small " squares " with their grass and trees relieve the eye ; cars are confined to one point as the streets are hilly, but good carriages may be had for mode- rate fares. This seems to be all that can be said of the city. The people are very agreeable in their manners, social, easy, good-humoured and polite. It is very much to be regretted that religious bigotry prevails here to some extent, a far greater extent indeed than the people seem willing lo admit. The population is about equally divided between Catholics and all other denominations. The former have only one church — the cathedral— an ostentatious building erected at an expense far beyond the result in proportion. There are several churches of other religious bodies, whose towers and spires lend a picturesqueness to the scenery, and no doubt fulfil loftier and worthier ends. The hatred of Catholicity was very great in St. John long ago, that is to say in the last generation ; but the growth of that Church has dis- armed contempt and opposition. An old man one day said to me, " Sir, when I came out here from Ireland, some forty years ago, it was a dangerous thing in St. John to you if you were a Catholic ; but now we have it all our own way." l*evv Catholics, however, hold wealth or prominence in St. John ; perhaps four or five is the highest number. Hence they find it hard to bear up against the spirit of ascendancy which belongs to the other party. The Press does not strive to allay the pernicious feeling, and during my stay the * This includes Portland. The population at present is about 42,00c. ST. JOHN. lie Protestant Telegraph and the Catholic Freeman had a smart passage of arms on the religious aspect of the Franco- Prussian War. Trade is not active in St. John. Some time ago ship- building was a large source of wealth and prosperity, but it has fallen away. In America, the sunlight of commerce seems disposed to shine only on the States ; the Dominion languishes in the. "cold shade of opposition." Here again, amongst a large section, the cry is "annexation," which some few, however, persist in regarding as the certain fore- runners of failure and disaster. That spirit of disunion which has become the proverbial source of Ireland's misery, is here apparent among her children. The Catholics do not agree amongst themselves ; they have cliques and parties, and petty hatred. I am told that there are three classes of Catholics in St. John, dis- tinguished by a conventional estimate of their relative respectability. I must say, however, for myself, tliat 1 found the people of all classes to be generous and courteous, in the highest degree. The Catholics are justly praised for, their attachment to the faith ; and in no place did I find this quality so strongly developed. With it, as usual every- where amongS'' Irishmen, grew and flourished an ardent love of their native, land. And here also, as in other parts of the British Provinces, did I find that the love of Ireland is as strong, if not stronger, in those of Irish descent, as in the Hibernian born. I suppose this is owing, in a great measure, to the vivid imagination of our people, who from their infancy upwards picture to themselves in colours even more heightened than reality, the loveliness of Erin and the virtue of her children. 1 1 2 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. In going about from house to house, from garret to garret, I was able to see very clearly the condition of the Irish emigrants, and I regret to say that in few instances was theii condition improved. Many had as well have remained at home, for they live here as in their former dwellings, in poverty, and in no wise different because they have changed their position on the globe. In St. John I met an immense number of people from Cork City and Cork County, the great majority of whom had come out here some eighteen or twenty years ago, few later, but they, save in few instances, had risen to no higher position than that of an humble tradesmen or shopkeeper, while they alone are the hewers of wood and drawers of water. One thing is very clear, as I have already remarked, and it is that the gene- ration who emigrate do not as a rule rise in the social scale, but their children born here, imbibing that love of freedom which, as it were, floats in the atmosphere of America, and meeting their fellow men on the same platform, grow inde- pendent and self-asserting, and become an honour to the land of their ancestors. Every day the impression grows deeper and deeper on my mind that the Irish, with all their faults, are the noblest race in all the world ; they have qualities of head and heart superior to the rest of mankind, and but for the centuries of iniquitous persecution to which they were victimised, would long since have displayed those qualities, so as to extort the admiration of their fellow-men. Weeds grow in every garden. The Irish mind and heart have been left untilled, uncultivated for ages ; the atmosphere around them was poisoned by hatred, contempt, persecution, and neglect ; but another day has come, they have been trans- ST. JOHN. 113 planted to a more genial climate, and to a more produc- tive soil, the sunshine of freedom prevents their decay, the waters of peace develop their vitality, they grow and flourish from year to year, from generation to generation, destined by their triumphs of industry and skill to confute the prejudices of the old world, by founding and perpetuat- ing the greatness of the new. We proceed on our collection, Mr. MacSweeny opening the list with a cheque for 100 dollars. On the subject of our collection I may say that we realized in St. John altogether the sum of i,ioo dollars and were enabled to send home to the Bishop the third ;^2oo. Nor did we experience any difficulty in making up this large sum of moiiey ; the people gave with great generosity. Not one person f.aid an unkind word, and we met very little mean- ness. The donations in general were small, but everyone gave something. I met a great number of Irish people as I passed from house to house, and the vast majority of those I met were from the County or City of Cork, Some knew me, having come within the last few years ; but immigration to St. John has ceased ; people prefer going to the States. Several spoke the Irish language and were delighted to hear me converse in it. I need not repeat all the complimen- tary things they said about my appearance, &c., nor all the loving expressions they used to show their predilection for a priest fresh from the old country. One woman said, "Wisha, hasn't he the rale look of the ould sod." Another, "Oh, then, father, I would like to be following you all day." When we got into a street the news of our coming went abroad. All had their subscriptions ready for us, I 1 1 4 DJAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. and if by chance we passed by any house a messenger was sent after us to remind us of our mistake. Our pro- gress was slow, as we had for the most part to sit down, and tell the people some news of the dear country they had left behind. No one was poor, that is to say, absolutely poor ; even in the humblest houses the good women had their twenty-five or forty cents ready for us, and gave them with a good heart. In many cases they gave and then inquired the object. It was sufficient for them that they gave to an Irish priest. Indeed no words could exaggerate the intense love of religion and fatherland that animates the breasts of the Irish abroad as well as at home. We attended a large pic-nic given for the St. Vincent de Paul Society, at a very beautiful place seven miles from town, on the banks of the river " Kennebekasis," a tribu- tary of St. John river. The house and grounds belong to the Bishop, whose mother occupies them at present. A pic-nic such as they have in America is altogether different from ours. It is a means of raising money for some speci- fied object, chiefly charitable. It is advertised that a pic- nic is to come off on such or such a day, at such or such a place, and that the people can go to it either by rail or steamer. The committee hire the rail or steamer for that day for a certain sum, and receive by the sale of tickets a sum that leaves a 1 rge surplus to their account. Then there are various sports on the grounds, such as foot-racing, leaping, archery, dancing, quoits, and several other amuse- ments. Tickets are got for admission to the grounds. Refreshments also are to be had» and the total receipts go for the object specified. Great crowds gather on these occasions, and the number varies with the popularity of ST. JOHN. 1,5 the object. All are well dressed, and apparently happy. No excess or disorder of any kind takes place ; no intoxicating liquor is sold on the grounds, and although on such occasions the majority of those who assemble are Irish, yet you miss the broad, loud-voiced hilarit\ of such gatherings at home, and however you may be a lover of peace,, you are inclined to sigh for one flourish of a shillelagh, and one cheer for the successful wielder of the national weapon. We drove out in a carriage and pair with. Mr. Guthrie, his daughter, and Miss McDonough. Some hundreds were assembled. The day was all that could be desired, the Bishop also was present ; we walked through all the grounds, several persons asked for an introduction, and Ave were nothing loath to satisfy them. A party of us was arranged to go up the St. John river to Fredericton, on Saturday, September loth, and we all looked forward to it with great pleasure. On the principle of the ** more the merrier," we endeavoured to recruit as many as possible for the day's enjoyment. Who is not acquainted with the American's love of adver- tisement? Of this their newspapers give striking evidence, for three quarters of every journal are crowded with advertise- ments of every description, while only one quarter is devoted to local, foreign, or general news, and lest the ordinary mode of advertising may prove ineffective, considerable ingenuity is shown in attracting the reader's attention to special notices. Thus in the editorial columns, where you expect to read something peculiarly novel and startling in the way of intel- ligence, you find yourself decoyed by a startling heading mto a description of some potent quack medicine or other "Yankee notion." But I need not give examples of what 1 1 6 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. every one knows. For my part I was excessively annoyed one day when reading, amongst other things, a very start- Hng story in a newspaper, to find that towards the conclu- sion, where I anxiously expected the denouement, I was treated to a description of the wondrous qualities of " Helm- bold's Bucha " or " Parson's Pills." One ol the most artful dodges in the way of advertising that I have yet encountered was one I witnessed in St. John. A splendid open carriage is driven through the streets by four spanking horses. The equipage and harness are superb. At some public square or market-place, where people most do congregate, the horses pull up, and the gaudy vehicle is transformed into a kind of platform, on which four or five musicians, sumptu- ously attired, take their places. A concert, vocal and instru- mental, is improvised, and the programme is really excellent. In the intervals of the playing and singing, Coryphceus expounds the merits of a new and powerful medicine, just invented, possessing in itself all the qualities of all the medicines ever known before. No disease can stand before the redoutable nostrum, and the cure is wrought not slowly, and only in part, but suddenly, effectually, and for ever. This wonder of the world, this miracle of Pharmacopoeia, is entitled " Flagg's Insunt Relief," and is sold for the ridi- culously small sum of one dollar per bottle. Will it be believed that thousands are gulled by the blarney of these itinerant musical medicine vendors, and the great unseen Flagg realizes a gigantic fortune by the credulity of an innocent public? No less than twelve equipages of this kind do the work of advertising and selling his " Instant Relief;" and it is said fifty dollars a day is about the amount received by each troupe, an enormous receipt in return for a trifling outlay. ST. JOHN. 117 Saturday comes and at twelve noon wt leave by steamer for Fredericton, by the St. John river, a distance of eighty-five miles. This river is considered one of the beauties of America, and we are naturally anxious to see it. Bui, unfor- tunately for our hopes, it is foggy and wet all day. The river charmed us much more than we were prepared to expect. Perhaps because its beauties were veiled, our ima- gination clothed it in loveliness it had not, or perhaps because we were all on a friendly footing, we were disposed to admiration. Howbeit, we were excessively pleased and happy, and consoled ourselves with the hope of seeing the river to greater advantage next Monday on our return. We arrived at Fredericton at half-past six o'clock, and stopped at the " Queen's Hotel," a very fine new one, on the principal street. Messrs. Guthrie and Coghlan are known to every one, and we feel quite at ease, though in a strange place. We visit the Parish Priest, Father McDevittj he lives in a fine house, and is very popular. Fredericton ranks next after St. John in respectability in New Brunswick. We return to our hotel, and spend a very pleasant evening, chatting, singing, story-telling, and in what pleases the Ameri- cans beyond anything, in conundrums, good, bad, and indifferent. The morning up to dinner we spent at church. Out of a population of 6,000 scarcely 2,000 are Catholics, and almost all those are Irish. The congregation was very respectable ; there was not a single badly-dressed person in the church. The church itself is decent, quite finishea, with a spire, and evidently in the hands of a good and holy priest. We dine at one o'clock, and immediately after prepare to drive out. The weather since yesterday has taken a violent and 1 1 8 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN A M ERICA. sudden change from hot to cold. It is quite dry and bracing, but the thermometer can scarcely get beyond 50* in the shade. In Fredericton it frequently goes up to 100°, and higher, during some days in summer. The place is remarkably hot during that season. Frederic- ton is prettily situated on the St. John river; its streets run at right angles, as in most American towns and cities ; and the principal street is that which runs nearest to and parallel with the river. It is a one-sided street, that is to say, the houses are all at one side, if we except the part occupied by the barracks, and a wall running outside. There are about four churches of any note in town, and their tall spires are very ornamental. The Cathedral, at one end of the town, is very beautiful, within and without. From the summit of one church spire rises a hand, with the forefinger pointing heavenwards. I did not like it, for it seemed too practical a representation of that to which the spire itself has been poetically compared, viz., a finger pointing to heaven. We admired the Exhibition builuing, the " Hermitage," a beautiful wooded place, purchased by the Bishop for a Catholic burying-ground, but, above all, the College, mag- nificently situated on a rising ground, and commanding a splendid view of the river and the surrounding scenery. We passed by the Governor's house, and would have cdled but that he is somewhat of a Puritan, an:l would not understand visiting on a Sunday. The British troops have been quite withdrawn from Fred- ericton. While they were here the place was lively and gay, and a great deal of money was spent — something about ;^6o,ooo per year. What a falling oflf in the pros- ST. JOHN. 119 perity of the c ity the loss must create — I say " city," for Fredericton is the capital of New Brunswick, and the Parlia- ment of the Province sit here, in a house of wretched style and dimensions. By the way, it is singular that in many parts of America the local Parliaments should sit in places of less than fifth-rate importance. Witness Ottawa in Canada, Albany ia New York, and Frederic- ton in New Brunswick. i About thirty miles from this place is a colony of Cork people, known as the Cork ** Settlement." However they came here I know not, but they are almost all Cork folks— once there was no exception — about 60 families, all very comfortable and happy. Speaking of Fredericton, I find that Lord Edward Fitzgerald, according to his " Life " by Tom Moore, was some time stationed here, and that he travelled from Quebec on snow-shoes, a distance of some three hundred miles. The allusion to Lord Edward reminds me of the fact that during our drive to-day we passed by the house of a certain Colonel Minchin, who was actually on guard at the execution of Robert Emmet. The man is still alive, and must be an enormous age. At that time he was lance-corporal in the Irish Volunteers. We return to the hotel, after which we cross in a ferry- boat to the other side of the river to inspect an Indian village situated just on the bank. When we arrive, a short walk brings us to the outskirts of the village, where we find about a half-dozen Indian girls walking. Civilization has done so much ibr them that, instead of the blankets which we associate with the idea of a squaw, they were dressed in very pretty garments, and showed no symptoms of savage breeding, except the taste for gaudy colours, for 120 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. indeed their gowns were of every conceivable colour of the rainbow, and had a very pretty effect lo the eye of a spectator. They seemed very bashful, for the moment we addressed them they scattered and fled. I think, however, that their bashfulness arose rather from their ignorance of our language, for they speak only their own tongue, with the exception of a few who have to transact business with their white brethren. A slight shower of rain afforded us a good pre- text for taking refuge in one of their houses, and here again we observed the traces of civilization, for the hut was no longer a wigwam (with which, however, the country abounds) but a decent wooden house— small, to be sure, but well built and sufficiently clean. There was a stove, or. the top of which was what we call a " bastuble oven," and in the oven, no doubt, a cake was being baked. I observed on the walls two pictures, very highly coloured, one representing the Madonna and Child, the other St. Michael killing the Dragon. Here were the indications of Catholic training and on inquiry I found that everywhere amongst the Indians who have been at all affected by civilization, the Catholic is the prevailing religion. A young man stood leaning against the pipe of the stove. He wore a jerry hat, a black velvet coat, much the worse for the wear, of which doubtless he had been made a present of by some one. He spoke English fairly, and without reluctance. Two young women were present, each with a child \ one child her keeper had just taken from an old shawl lying on the ground. A little hammock swung close by the child's cradle ; a small puppy, a duck, and a kitten formed a happy family repo;jing on the only thing like a bed that lay in the corner. The children ST. JOHN. 121 were very different from each other, one rather white, the other extremely sallow, but both with the inevitable black eyes and black hair. We conversed with the man. He was a Catholic, so were all the tribe — the " Maniseet." He could read, and had a small book in his own language, the "Gospel of St. John," which he presented to me, and which I now have \ he said he had another. It was trans- lated, he said, by a missionary (Protestant) who came out from England, and learned the language by living amongst the people of this tribe. He never essayed to convert them to the religious views of his sect, content to learn their tongue and strive to help civilization by letting them know the truths of inspiration. This young man told us that the Indians subsist during winter by hunting. The moose and the caribou are the favourite objects of their sports. They feed on the flesh and make clothing of the skins or sell it. Of the moose's hair they make exquisite ornaments, for it is dry and hard, and bears the dye well. I have seen some cigar cases made by the Indian women with flowers on the sides of moose hair, and nothing could surpass them for beauty; other ornaments the women also make and baskets, and the men fish in their canoes. They need little, and that little they can easily make out. Begging comes quite natural to them ; it appears to be a profession almost universally exercised. We go to the next house, and here a more curious spectacle meets our eyes. The house consists of only one room, in the middle of which is a stove. Around this stove on the ground are squatted about a dozen women, young and old. A few men are sitting on chairouse, and we must have a good drive, and dine with him. Accordingly at 10 o'clock we arrived at his house. There are three open car- 128 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. riages, with a pair of horses each, ready for us, and some friends whom he had invited to meet us. T. Coghlan, of course, is of the party. The day is lovely, and so we all drive away. Our route lay eastward from the city, and the chief features of the landscape were cultivated fields, undu- lating land, very much forest, half reclaimed woodland, with the stumps of trees still adhering to the ground, the soil in some places barren, in others fresh and green, an occasional homestead, snug and comfortable, and now and then a splendid mansion, the country seat of some wealthy merchant Mr. McSweeny's house is situated at a distance of about seven miles from the city, and he has about 150 acres of land, a fine house, sheltered from the north by a gentle hill, and with a river flowing in the valley below. Land is had very cheap in New Brunswick. It can be pur- chased for a half-dollar an acre ; but before the purchaser becomes proprietor it must be cleansed. He is then owner in fee. What a grand opportunity for young men who have any means at home to come out here, work hard for a few years, and then become lords of the soil, independent for ever. We drove farther westward for about nine miles, the scenery presenting the same features the whole way, and the road as good as one would wish to travel over. Population is very sparse in these parts. The same may be said of the whole province, whose population does not exceed a quarter of a million. Tlie great object of interest to which Mr. McSweeny wishes to invite my attention is Loch Lomond, a lake more than twenty miles long, by an average breadth of four miles. But, before we reach Loch Lomond, it is resolved that we diverge from the main road, and visit the scene of the Munroe raurder. ST. JOHN. 129 The circumstances of this murder are so singular that I cannot forbear describing them. In the month of October, 1868, a young gentleman named Munroe, about thirty-two years, exercised the profession of architect in the city of St. John. He was of respectable birth and connexion, but his moral character was far from irreproachable. Though a husband and a father, it was generally believed that his wife did not monopolise his affection. Nor was public suspicion incorrect, although the precise object of his attachment was unknown ; and he conceived the desire and formed the determination to rid himself by violent means of the unhappy partner of his guilt; The absence of his wife in Boston presented him with a good opportunity of effecting his purpose. One day he hired a caffiage and drove the young lady with her child along this very road which we have just traversed. They arrived at a tavern situated just by the borders of Loch Lomond, and called Bunkei's, from the name of the proprietor. Here they dismounted, and Munroe informed the coachman that he and the lady were about to pay a visit to a friend — a Mr. Collins, who lived some short distance off the high road — and that they would soon return, except (what was highly probable) that the Collinses would insist on the young lady staying with them for some days. They took their way through a narrow road with thick woods on either sides, and were soon lost to view. After half-an-hour's absence they returned, took some refreshment at Bunkei's, and returned to the city. It is greatly surmised that the unfortunate man intended to commit the murder on that day, but postponed it for some reason ; while some are of opinion that he only came to inspect the ground. He told the coachman that K I30 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. the Collinses were not at home, but that they would be in a few days. On the following Saturday the same coachman was hired, and the party proceeded as before to Bunkei's. The murderer and his two victims diverged again into the wooded road, and after twenty minutes he returned alone. He took a glass of brandy at the tavern, chatted loudly on the topics of the day, lit a cigar and drove home. Nine months elapsed, and no breath was uttered of the missing young lady, much less of the horrible crime by which her life was sacrificed. . • After the lapse of some long period, however, some niggers who lived in a settlement not far from the scene of the murder, while cutting timber in tlie wood, sud- denly discovered buried beneath branches of brushwood the bodies of a woman and child very far advanced in de- composition. They gave the alarm, and great excitement was created by the intelligence in St. John. An inquest was held, but the police could suspect no one for the crime. At length a man named Kane, a person of bad reputation, who could give no account of his missing wife, was arrested; and the evidence went very hard against him. Munroe still exercised his profession in St. John, and was at this time actually engaged in repairing the gaol wherein poor Kane was confined. A gentleman told me he heard Munroe say that the ruffian who perpetrated so gross a crime deserved to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. Yet he was the coolest man in town during all this fearful investigation. He trusted to his respectability and the influence of his friends, and nothing seemed likely to compromise him. At length the coachman, who had dnven Munroe and his victims ST. JOHN. 131 felt himself bound to reveal all he thought of the trans- action ; and this gave a new and startling aspect to the whole affair. Once that the authorities got the proper scent they hunted up the matter so well that a case of circum- stantial evidence, perhaps the strongest on record, was mawo out against Munroe. He was tried, found guilty, con- fesssd his crime, and was executed February 5, 18.70. He shot the young woman through the brain ; I have not heard how he despatched the child. A pamphlet of the whole affair is published, and a friend has promised to send me a copy by post to Boston. We turned our horses up the road from Bunkei's comer, and after going about a hundred yards a pole stuck in the ground at the left hand side, with a white cloth tied round the top, indicated the point at which the murderer and his victims entered the wood. We dismounted and followed a swamp path made by. the frequent visitors who come to view the spot, until we found ourselves in an open place surrounded by wood. In the centre was a large white stone, on which it is supposed they sat some minutes previous to the murder. The ground all round was damp. Another pole with a piece of cloth on the top was stuck in the earth close to the stone. Here the crime was committed, and here the bodies were laid. A tree in the neighbourhood was pointed out^ and we observed several cuttings from which the murderer had with his pen knife procured branches to cover the bodies. No lovelier spot could be conceived, nor one so hidden from human gaze ; but the eye of the All Seeing watched the murderer and exacted blood for blood* We came away with feelings of sadness and reach Bunkei's,^ 132 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. where we do not stay. We push on to Loch Lomond, and it must in truth be said that it is a magnificent lake. The hills all round are wooded ; the highest is called Ben Lomond. Having never seen the originals of these places of Scotch nomenclature, I cannot draw comparisons ; but I only hope the Scottish scenery is equal to that of its namesake of New Brunswick. I need not describe the dinner at Mr. M'Sweeny's country house on our return. Suffice to say it was Irish — Irish in its style, Irish in its profusion, Irish in the warmth of feeling that existed in the breasts of hosts and guests. Mrs. M'Sweeny was present, and all her young protegees were with her ; some other ladies also lent a charm to the feast. Champagne flowed profusely, and other wines graced the board. Our lost was in high glee, and broke from his taciturnity by re- peated exclamations of delight. I proposed his health, which was drunk with enthusiasm. He tried to respond, but his feelings overpowered him and he burst into tears. When he had sat down and recovered he called it the happiest day of his life, and indulged in various commendations of his reverend guests, which my modesty forbids me to record. After tea we drove back to town, and took a last farewell of Mr. and Mrs. M'Sweeny, the best husband and wife I ever met, and amongst the very best of human kind. I should have mentioned that amongst the parties to which we were invited one of the most elegant was that of the Coghlans. Here I had an opportunity of making the acquaintance of Mr. Coghlan and his daughter, a very agreeable young lady. Mr. Anglin, editor of the Freeman^ gave us a splendid party, quite a sumptuous affair, and the leading citizens were present. One guest is Major ST. JOH N. 133 M'Shane, an Irishman, who stays at the " VVaverley." He is a lawyer in town, and an officer in the Volunteers. He is unmarried, is a Catholic, and is a scholar, a virtuous and patriotic gentleman. He takes to us, and becomes a warm, attached, and devoted friend. The last hours of our stay in St. John were spent at the hotel where all our friends met in globo. Several gentlemen had called and left P.P.C. {pour prendre' congi) cards during the day, and some had left their subscriptions. One poor woman, who had not seen us hitherto, called to ask our blessing before parting; she was from Cork. In (iict the last few hours were essentially sensational, and as hilarity waxed fast and furious the hours grew on and it was one o'clock before v.'e v/ere permitted to retire. We had to rise next morning at the early hour of 6 to do our packing — by no means an easy task — and when that was near finished my friend Coghlan was at his post, namely, at my bedroom door, soliciting permission to aid in the final function of "speeding the parting guest." We breakfasted and pro- ceeded in a carriage to the wharf. There our friends were assembled. Some three hundred passengers crowded the steamboat ; there was the usual bustle, the hurrying to and fro. At every step to the boat we encountered some new friend come to bid farewell, and when the bell sounded for strangers to go ashore, there was the last shake hands, and the blessing, and the hope to meet again, however diffidently entertained. We cannot bear this idea of never meeting again. A something in our very nature advises us of another world where we meet to part no more. " I shall see you again," I say. *' Oh, yes," is the reply ; " I shall go to Ireland some time before I die, and I know where to find 134 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. you. Good-bye. God bless you ! " " Good-bye " I say, *' good-bye." The moorings are loosed, the steam ceases to make that horrid noise that precedes the parting of the vessel; our distances from the shore increases. Now no token of friendship remains possible but the parting glance, the flutter of the handkerchief, and the silent prayer. A fog, so fre- quent in St. John, shortens the period of mutual recognition. A moment and the very church spires of St. John are buried in mist. The morning is soft, breathless and balmy, and the sea is gentle as a slumbering babe. " .' • > r^^ We steam slowly away, and the very silence of our pas- sage through the water calls tip by contrast the excitement of the past three weeks. I feel a disposition to gloom, but strive to shake it off. We go once more to a land of strangers, and we know not what our success may be. We look around amongst the passengers, and we who were so feted and feasted during the previous weeks, nay months, see no familiar face. All are strange ; none known us, and we know none. Our spirits would droop if we let them, but we argue that we have heretofore had those feelings of despondency, and that we fared better than we anticipated. Who knows what good luck may be in store for us yet. Here is " Partridge Island," just in the harbour. It was to St. John what Grose Isle was to Quebec — the quarantine of the Irish during the year of plague, and their burial place. Some thousands of our countrymen lie buried in this small island. The scenery from St. John to Portland — for Portland (Maine) is the place of our next visit — is not of remark- able interest The vessel coasts the whole way as far as Eastport, by the New Brunswick shore, keeping very close ST. JOHN. 135 The weather is so fine that she can keep close. There is nothing to note about the coast. It is low, woody, and the soil is bad. We reach Lubeck, a pretty village, where we do not touch, and steer out through a narrow harbour, passing between some islands and the mainland. About noon ive reach Eastport, the first town on the American continent belonging to the States in this direc- tion. The State is that of Maine. Immediately opposite, at a considerable distance at our left, is the island of Campo Bello, which the Fenians once " occupied." All the islands here belong to the British. How lovely is the weather, and how pretty the boats look — some large and some merely of pleasure — vith their white sails on the smooth, sparkling, placid water ; and how charming is the town of Eastport, sitting just on the water's edge, and ascending therefrom gradually with its few church spires, lending that peculiarly pretty effect to a town, especially a town on the water to which I am so sensitive. I do not know if others are. Here we stay about an hour, discharging part of our cargo, and receiving more. Then we start again, and I can see nothing further to note as we lose sight of land at both sides for some time, or approach it only at a great distanc*>. The steamer is a magnificent one, the saloon runs the whole length, and is exquisitely fur- nished ; but the crowd is too great. There is hardly room to move about. I am depressed and lonely after leaving my St. John friends. We retire at 9 o'clock, so I snatch a few hours of slumber. 1 36 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. 1 CHAPTER VIIL THE "ATHENS OF AMERICA," AND SOME OF THE ATHENIANS. Sept. i^f/i. — At four o'clock we are awakened by the noise of a gong and the cry of " Portland." We dress as hastily and get on shore. The city lies along the shore a great length. We see it only dimly in the twilight, but it looks very important with its numerous wharves, tokens of commerce. There is some delay, for the luggage has to be examined, as we come from the British provinces. Our luggage was not examined. They took our word for it. We hire a " hack," and proceed to our hotel, the " St. Julian," a distance of about a quarter of a mile, for which the cab- man charges us two dollars, the first striking indication that we had got into the States. We dress and strive to look bright after our voyage and the shortcomings of Morpheus' visitations,, and come down to breakfast The weather is very warm, and flies are abundant. We are amused by the circumstance of a wait- ress standing at our table during the meal, with a large fan brushing off the flies, and cooling us at the same time. I could not help remarking it was " rather cool." What are we to do in Portland ? To collect ? I am opposed to it j but I press my opposition gently. We have a letter of introduction to a Father O'Callaghan, one of the priests of the place. The Irish population of Portland is not much, and larger fields are open before us elsewhere. There is Boston only five hours journey from us and full of Irish. My wish is to go there. THE "ATHENS OF AMERICA:' 137 But I let things work themselves out. We stand at the hotel door, and resolve to visit the Bishop. Father O'Cal- laghan lives at the palace and so we will inquire for him first of all. He may make our access to the Bishop easy. We reach the episcopal palace, and well worthy of the name is that magnificent building. We were told it contained forty bedrooms. The Cathedral is just at hand. They are both built of red brick, but the interior of each is simply superb. " Is Father O'Callaghan at home ? " " No," replies the servant, " nor will he be at home for days." " Is the Bishop at home ? " ** Yes, but he cannot be seen just now ; if you call at two I guess you can see him then right off." Despondent and gloomy we retire to our hotel. We can scarcely admire the splendour of the streets, for they are splendid. The first cloud has crossed our horizon and we are impatient with it. We call at two and see the Bishop. He is a very gentle- manly middle aged man, with regular round features, a very good expression, bald head and white hair on his poll. His dress is that of a layman, shirt and collar, white socks, and shoes with silk strings, and nothing indicates his profession save the large ring on the fourth finger of the right hand. This is Doctor Bacon, first Bishop of Portland. We announce our mission. He smiles and shakes his head. " I cannot allow it — in fact, I forbid it," he says with decided firmness. He then went into a long statement of the wants of the American Church and the burden which lay upon the people everywhere. The Bishops of America, he said, had resolved peremptorily to refuse all patronage to beggars. The market was drugged with them. What claim had we on the people ? "They are Irish, you say; 138 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. then why not keep them at home ; we have the burden of them ; they are poor, and we want all their resources to provide for their spiritual wants." V'^e remained respectfully silent, and then bowed ourselves OL . But we thought it hard that Bishop Bacon should have undertaken to answer for all the bishops of America. ■" ' ' ' * We resolved to leave for Boston immediately. We see nothing to encourage our staying here. We could scarcely see an Irish name over any shop. The Catholic population is only 6,000 and they are poor. We spent the evening strolling through the streets. The greater part of this city was burnt three years ago, but it has been rebuilt on a sumptuous and magnificent scale. The Post Office, which is nearly completed, is a structure of immense beauty ; a square edifice, Grecian in style and built of white polished marble. Throughout Portland there is the unmis- takable Yankee bustle; the genius of the dollar animates the place, and the Briareus of Commerce moves his hundred hands. September idth. — At 3 o'clock this afternoon we leave for Boston by " the Cars ;" the lower road ; distance in miles; time five hours. Tiie country is not good-looking, although here and there we see some vast meadows and wooded up- lands. The soil, for the most part, is sandy and scarcely an inch deep. Amongst the underwood in some places we are struck by the blood-red tint of the leaves of some trees ; the effect is striking and pretty. On the route are some pretty towns, such as Biddeford, Kittry and Ipswich. It grew dark about 6 so we could see no more. We reach the " Parker House," a magnificent hotel, of which I may say more as we go on. There is great bustle in the spacious THE '' ATHENS OF AMERICAN 139 hall, occasioned by the constant thronging in and out of guests. Having made our toilette we entered the drawing- room, a superb affair, and sit down. The waiters stare at us and smile, and soon a round half-dozen fresh ones come in and parade before our table. On enquiring we found out that I am known to some of them and they come to make assurance doubly sure. After tea the head porter, a man named Barrett, addressed me by name. He is from the parish of Blackrock and was at home two years ago, when he often heard me preach. He inquires tenderly for Father James, whom he enthuastically describes as "a great man.'' Another man, a waiter named White, knew me well in Ban- don, where he was a waiter at Frendi's Hotel, and often served me a dinner there. A third was from the South Main Street and left Cork only a few years ago. They were all delighted to meet us. This was a bit of sunshine amongst the clouds, but it was only a passing ray. We stroll out and are astonished at the irregularity of the streets, and their narrowness, two qualities so uncharacteristic of American cities. We make arrangements for the morrow and retire early. Sepfejuberi^th, 1870. — How will Bishop Williams receive us? nous verrons. After breakfast a fine carriage and pair is waiting at the hotel door to convey us to the palace. We find this was " arranged " by Barrett, the head porter, who understood our want and provided for it at his own expense We drive to the Bishop's; we reach the house — a very modest unpretentious house ; we enter; within it is the same This argues well. At least we shall not meet a Bishop such as he of Portland. We send up our cards and the Bishop comes down, in his soutane. He receives us civilly and I40 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. asks us up stairs. I briefly state the object of our mission; he listens and then says, " Gentlemen, I can give you no encouragement ; were I to do so, I should injure our own charities, which are abundant and pressing enough ; we are, as you see, building a great Cathedral, it exhausts all our resources. In a few weeks I shall be making the annual appeal for it ; I could not therefore, in decency, make or allow to be made an appeal for you, but I do not forbid you to collect as much as you can ; we ovye all to the Irish people, and especially to the people of Cork. I owe them a debt of gratitude — do your best. Publish in the Pilot that you have my permission. What the people give to you will not stand in their way when we make our usual appeals to their charity. I shall give you a letter certifying that you have my authority to exercise priestly functions while in Boston." The cloud begins to disappear. We next proceed to the office of Mr. Patrick Donahoe, of the Boston Pilot. I explained our mission, and reported the Bishop's conversation with us. Mr. Donahoe imme- diately wrote a paragraph for the paper, which was just being printed, and promised a larger notice in the next number. He told us it would be well to have a paragraph also in the Herald. So we went off and followed his advice. We were determined to lose no time. Wonderful is the progress of Catholicity in this country. In the year 1810 there was not a single Catholic, much less a Catholic priest or church, in all New England — a country embracing six States— viz., Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire, Massa- chussets, Connecticut, and Rhode Island. Now there are five dioceses in these States. In Boston alone there are 100,000 Catholics and twelve churches, and the professors THE '* ATHENS OF AMERICA'* 141 of Catholicity are by a sweeping majority either Irish or the descendants of Irish, the Catholics of other nationalities being infinitely few. Ireland has achieved miracles for the faith in America. We travel again in the street cars. The Americans talk much of their respect for women, and in hotels and steam- boats there is an ostentatious display of regard for the sex. There are ladies' drawing-rooms and ladies' staircases, and ladies are always accommodated with the first floor. In large cities special policemen are told off to conduct ladies across crowded streets, lest they come in contact with horses or waggons. All very well ; but the Yankees prefer their own comfort to the display of politeness. This setting aside of special chambers and special policemen for the conveni- ence of the sex is very pretty, and does not hurt anyone. But take the street car, for example. A number of gentle- men fill the car j a lady enters, and in very few instances will a Yankee rise to offer her a seat. An Irishman will show this politeness, but the lady does not thank him, and the Yankee rather despises him. An anecdote I read on this point is rather amusing. A Yankee is represented as saying, " The fair sex are entitled to all the attentions man can bestow upon them. Thus, when a lady enters a street car, I am shocked to observe the coolness with which men retain their seats, and permit her to stand all the time. For my part, when a lady comes into a crowded street car in my presence, I look around me to see will anyone rise ; I see, alas ! that no one has the decency to do so. Shame overcomes me. I bury my face in my newspaper, and blush for my sex." ■ : - 4^; In Boston I met many Irishmen well to do, and when I 142 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN A M ERIC A. asked, to what do yoii attribute your success in life, such as it is ? their answer is, I worked hard, and I was a teetotaler. Tiie drunkard is idle ; he does not respect himself. No one employs a drunkard, because no employer can depend on him. One man, a shoemaker, said to me, in his own way, " I made the first pair of shoes ever I wore. I then began to make them for others, and from that day to this, thank God, I never saw the bottom of my purse." This head- porter, Barrett, said : — " I am nineteen years out here ; I would live in Ireland if I could, but there 's nothing for me to do there. I never possessed a cent in America that I did not work for. Here is work for all, if they only wish to do it. I never taste intoxicating drinks. I send money to my father and friends, and have more than enough for myself." Another obstacle to the Irishman's success is, the Yankees liate him. They regard him as one made to work. Of course they see around them every day Irishmen who have risen, but that does not remove their ingrained prejudice against the race. Where headwork is necessary they will not employ an Irishman, if they can help it ; but where they want labour they will engage Paddy as they would a dray- horse. If an Irishman achieve any daring deed, they will not admire his valour or pluck. They call him that wild Irishman, that madman, or fool ; whereas if an Englishman or one of tliemselves accomplished the same, they would make the world ring with his praises. Thus, within the last few days a Mr. John Charles Buck- ley has arrived in Boston, after having performed one of the most astounding feats recorded in the history of navigation. He left Queenstown in a small craft not much bigger than a whaleboat, called the '^ City of Ragusa," accompanied by a THE '' ATHENS OF AMERICA."* 143 man and a dog, and steered for America. The voyage extended to ninety days, at the end of which time he reached this city, safe and sound, with his human friend, but deprived by death of his canine companion. He is exhibiting his boat here, and realizes a good deal by it. And yet the papers make no flourish about this wonderful achievement, and the man is not regarded as anything more than a madcap — he is only " a wild Irishman ; " whereas if he had been a John Bull, or a Jonathan, what a cry would be raised to extol his indomitable perseverance and his unflinching, courage. Some go so far as to deny that he ever performed the voyage. They say he was picked up with his boat and brought along somewhat in the style of. Darby Doyle in his famous voyage to Quebec. But, never mind. As I have said elsewhere, our countrymen are capable of distinguishing themselves in every department,, whether for good or evil. Few will approve of Captain Buckley's foolhardiness ; but where will you find so fool- hardy a Jonathan or a Bull ? As soon as the gallant Captain landed he was interviewed by the Press. A long account of his voyage was inserted in the Boston Herald. It is very hard to form a correct notion as to the advice which ought to be tendered to the Irish people wishing tQ immigrate here. I make it a point to ask everyone I meet what is his opinion on the subject, and their invariable answer is — " Let no Irishman come to this country who can make a livelihood at home." There is more happiness in the old countr)', more sociality, more friendship, more chance of saving one's soul. Come to America, and you must work hard, and work without ceasing. In summer the heat is so killing that you would wisli it would kill you out- T44 DTAK Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. right, and not mock you with only the phantom of death. In winter the cold is so bitter that you long for the summer, with all its calorific terrors. I called to see a young woman, the sister of my servant, Ellen Colbert. This young woman left Ireland about three years ago. I remember her then. She was a fine young, healthy, rosy-faced peasant girl, with a face like a very ripe peach, such as we see in America. ** Ah," said I to her, " I fear you will lose that fine com- plexion of yours when you shall hav€ crossed the Atlantic." My words were verified ; I saw her this day. She was pale, and the perspiration sparkled like dew-drops all over her face. "Ah, sir," said she, "many a time since have I thought of your words, that my complexion would fade in America." "Would you advise your sister Ellen to come to this country ? " " No, sir — a thousand times no. If she can live at home on half a loaf, it is better than to live here upon two loaves. At home there is some pleasure — here, it is nothing but work, work, work.'* I thought of the words of Tennyson : ** Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay ! " And yet, in conversation with a very respectable and wealthy man, who left Cork in the year 1843, when he was nineteen years old, and made a fortune here, I was taught to reconsider my notions on this subject of emigration— " Sir," said he, " If it were possible for me to put all the Irish people into one vessel, I would bring them all over, and plant them in America. This is the country to live in — a free country, where labour is prized and rewarded, and where every man is the equal of his fellow." It is hard to form a conclusion ; but I write my impressions just as THE " A THENS OF AMERICAN 1 45 they are made, fairly and dispassionately, nothing extenu- ating, nought setting down in malice. They will probably become more worthy of estimation as I go on. ' • Sept. 18. — We officiate in St. James' Church, Albany- street. I go first to Charlestown, and stand under the monument on Bunker's Hill. A large pyramid of granite 221 feet high and thirty feet square at the base, marks the scene of the great battle, in which so much of the interests of America have been involved. I then go to Cambridge, to see the parish priest, Father Scully, a Corkman, whom I met at home last February. I find him in his church, a very beautiful one, and presiding at catechism, where there are about 1,000 children present of both sexes. He takes us into his house, is extremely kind and hospitable, invites us to stay with him while we remain here. We decline this invitation, because Cam- bridge is "out of town." He opens our subscription list with a handsome donation, and promises every assistance in his power. The prospect begins to brighten. Sept. 19, Monday. — We begin operations to-day by hiring a carriage, and telling the driver to take us to the principal Catholic citizens. To be brief, we receive 180 dollars the first day. On my return to the hotel, I find a card for me, "John Charles Buckley, Knight of the Order of St. Sylvester, Captain of the City of Ragusa." Accordingly at ten, accom- panied by a friend, the truly gallant captain appears. He expresses great pleasure at making my acquaintance, and I very heartily reciprocate the compliment. When he is seated I sketch him in my mind's eye. He is a man of ordinary stature, with brown hair, and a very long bright brown beard, apparently very muscular and healthy, and L 146 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. notwithstanding his recent exploit, with nothing to indicate the seaman. His features are not remarkable, but they express good nature and good temper. There is nothing in them from which you could imagine that you saw a man who had voluntarily undertaken and accomplished one of the most heroic deeds ever performed since Noah launched his big ship. Captain Buckley conversed freely on his wonderful voyage, but with an amount of modesty hard to conceive. He stayed two hours, and left the most favour- able impressions on my mind. I have seldom met, in my sphere of life, and least of all in a sailor, so Christian a bearing, so thorough an attachment to the old faith, so much confidence in Providence (of its kind, for the Captain, no doubt, tempted Providence most culpably), so much genuine patriotism. He undertook the voyage because he was " doing nothing," and could not bear idleness. It reminded me of the story of the shoemaker who was found to take charge of the Eddystone Lighthouse : when asked his reason for so doing, he replied that he did'nt like " confinement," alluding to his workshop at home. The captain made up his mind ** to do something," and he resolved that should be something novel, startling, and likely to reflect credit upon Irishmen. He would do some- thin c^ that no man ever did before. The Atlantic had been crossed in 1866 by a boat called the " Red, White and Blue." She was 26 feet long — he would cross in a craft of only 20 feet.. Fool-hardy the adventure no doubt was, and all his friends advised him not to try it, but he would do it, and he felt he would succeed— it might be tempting Providence, but he felt assured he would get across under the protection of the very Providence hei tempted. The reasoning was not THE " ATHENS OF America:' 147 very solid but the Captain did not much care for logic. He had a father, mother and sister ; he told them nothing about it. He loved peril — he had been volunteer for the Pope, and fought at Ancona, because he liked the excitement of the thing. " Was he not afraid ?" " No, he never feared any- thing but God." He left Cork harbour on the i6th of June and arrived in Boston, Sept. 9th. He recounted the whole story, all he suffered, all his mate, an Austrian sailor, suffered, and the death of his dog, the worst calamity that befel him on the voyage. ■ ' But nothing, I repeat, struck me more than the quiet unassuming manner of the man and his utter want of vanity. He gave no credit to himself. He only thanked God for his success. He knew how wrong a thing it was to venture ; but he never lost hope, never despaired. Even when on the coast of Newfoundland a gale raged that caused many wrecks, he still cherished the strong hope that he would come safe. He never would attempt the same again : he would learn wisdom from the past and strive to be good as well as heroic henceforth. He called the boat the " City of Ragusa," for two reasons— first in compliment to his mate, a Dalmatian from that city, and secondly because "Ragusa" is the smallest walled city in the world, and his boat was a structure of the smallest wooden walls that ever encountered a bom- bardment by the waves. Captain Buckley strove to prove his relationship to me, but even his voyage was an easier task than this. Sept. 20th. — We could find no pilot to conduct us from house to house, so we had to go by ourselves. We heard Federal Street was full of Cork people. We went there and 1 48 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. out of the whole street found scarcely ten people that were not from some part of Cork City or County; several I recognised. They were anxiously expecting a visit, for they had heard I was in America. Anything like the generosity of these people I never experienced. It was simply romantic. No anecdote of their kindness can be told, for they were all equally kind. One house we passed by because we saw the name " Archamleau," and did not care to call upon any but Irish. When, however, we had passed the door a woman ran out and followed us. She called us in and in a very Irish accent rebuked us for passing. This was Madame Archam- leau, a County Cork woman married to a Frenchman. We fared well here, for the wife subscribed and insisted on Monsieur subscribing for himself. The '.nosquitoes have fearfully disfigured my hands and face. I had no notion that they paid their visits so late in the year. They have made me a special victim. The first morning I woke in Portland I observed my hands were full of sores like " hives," and that my forehead had got a great increase of bumps. I thought it was " summer heat," but t,oon found that it was the work of mosquitoes during the night. The sensation of itchiness is perfectly intolerable. Those creatures cannot be seen at night, bat when I wake I hear them buzzing about my head, and every morning reveals new mischief at their hands on mine. I must have patience with them as with other crosses. ■ ■ September z^th. At the invitation of Father Scully of Cambridge, to whom I have already alluded, I preach in Si. Mary's at High Mass. A large and attentive congrega- tion — all Irish. I announce that I am to "go around" during the week. I do go around, and raise a very rc-jpect- THE " ATHENS OF AMERICAN 149 able sum. The hot weather appears to me to be one of the most unpleasant things to be encountered in this country. Now at the end of September, it is simply intolerable. I sit with Father Scully in his gardtn : the air is dense, and there is not a breath of wind. I can do nothing but sit and perspire and look at ray hands all sore with mosquito bites. At length the sky becomes dark as night, and a fearful thunder-storm takes place, like those I liave already de- scribed in Montreal and Quebec. It rains, in oceans, but after an hour all is dry and warm as before. The following day in goiiig about from house to house I go into several rooms where there are stoves. How any human beings can bear the heat of those stoves in such weather is to me inconceivable. I cannot go beyond the door— the rooms are hot as a Turkish bath— and how do thoL-e poor infants live in cradles within a foot of such furnaces, all wrapped up in warm clothing ? This Cambridge is a pretty place ; the houses, to be sure, are all of wood, but they are elegant in style and warm and durable almost as stone. The damp has little effect on them for the seasons are nearly always dry. There are little gardens in front, and the streets are regular, and lined on both sides with trees— I mean the suburban streets. Indeed, Cambridge is almost buried in foliage. Yet in some of those houses live very poor people, all Irish. There is none of that squalor and filth we see in the old country, but there is poverty hiding itself in clean rags. On the other hand there are Irishmen very rich and well-to-do, and a great number very " comfortable." I enter one house, that of an Irish- man from Clare, named Griffin. A very pretty garden fronts his house, and all around the house itself are wall-trees, such 150 DJARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. as ivy and other creepers, conspicuous amongst which is the vine all thick with ripe grapes. Mr. and Mrs. Griffin give me a hearty welcome, and their drawing-room is as pretty as anyone could desire. They fetch a large basket containing fruit, the most delicious pears of their own growth and a huge cluster of grapes ; they also produce a bottle of their own wine, made by themselves, and I am glad to taste it so that I may be able to say that I drank the gemime juice of the grape once in my life. This couple were very happy, and blessed Providence in a truly Christian spirit for the comforts with which they had been enriched. Need I say that I wished them a continuance of such happiness? Father Scully is beloved by the people, and jusdy. He is an excellent priest, and has provided amply for the religious and educational wants of his flock. His house is very pretty — white with green blinds outside the windows, and with a very charming colonnade, Grecian style, forming a piazza all around, and separated by a lovely garden in which fruit trees abound. Yet he is happy only on principle. His heart is in Ireland. The American priests have no society, they are thrown completely on themselves, and no consideration reconciles them to their ostracism but the high obligation of their sacred duties. The poet, Longfellow, lives at Cambridge. I am most anxious to see and converse with him, if only for a short time. I was in the house of Mr. Luby. Said I, " Would you kindly tell me where does the poet- Longfellow live? ** Longfellow, Father ? Oh, bless you, he is dead this many a day ! " .. "God help us," thought I, " no man is a prophet in his THE "ATHENS OF AMERICA:' ■%$%■ own country." I endeavoured to persuade Mr. Luby that he was mistaken, but he could scarcely be convinced. He appealed to his daughter, who told him that he must be thinking of Mrs. Longfellow having been burnt to death long ago ; he began to shake in his opinion . ** Or perhaps," said the daughter, " you are thinking how his son was married last year." "Ah! that's just it!" cried the clear-minded Luby, " that's just it. I knew there was something in it." My constant intercourse with the Irish gives me abundant opportunities of studying their character, and the change wrought in their manners by settlement in this country. One thing I remark, and that is that they are extremely polite and courteous. When I knock at a door, it is opened by the ** Lady " of the house, for in all ranks of life men and women are gentlemen and ladies in America, from the coal- heaver up to the President. She says, with a very smiling countenance, " Good morning, sir ; won't you walk in ? " and she immediately opens the drawing-room door, if there be a drawing-room ; if not, the door of any other apartment, places a chair, opens the blinds, and apologizes for any shortcomings that may appear about the place. She then opens the conversation on some topic, and discourses with perfect ease, in many cases with the dignity of a duchess. When she ascertains the object of my visit, she is not the least embarrassed, but addresses herself to it with a very businesslike air, and evidently speaks the truth in every- thing. - — " *" ^ There are very few Irish people who do not pick up the American accent, and the American form of speech. The expressions most frequently used are, " I guess," and "right 152 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. off," or " right away." Some Irish folks who come hither in their maturer years, never alter their accent or language in the least, always excepting the use of " I guess," and ** right away." But young girls in a very short time become perfect Yankees in speech and accent. I met one whom I had known at home in a country district, the daughter of a farm-labourer, eight years ago ; she was now married, was smartly dressed, and thoroughly Yankeefied — in fact, she spoke so grandly, that I grew quite ashamed of my Cork accent in comparison with hers. What she had done with her own Cork accent I could never imagine. It is very much to be deplored that in America the Irish are extremely " clannish." The Northerns look down on the Southerns, and both dislike the Connaught-folk. The " far-downs," /. e., the Northerns, are despised by the " Corkeys," while the latter are odious to the former in a similar degree* All, when spoken to on the subject, admit how baneful these distinctions are, but all act alike in accordance with them. What curse is on our people, that dissension must be the brand of their race at home and abroad ? Sundav, October 2. — This evening I deliver my lecture on the Bible to a dense audience. The Church was literally crammed. Mr. Boyle O'Reilly was present, a young gentle- man of rather chequered career. He had been at one period of his life a soldier. During the P'enian agitation he was arrested on suspicion of corrupting the allegiance of his fellow-soldiers. He was tried by court-martial in Dublin and sentenced to transportation for life. He was imprisoned in Millbank, escaped, zxA was apprehended. He was then removed to a prison in Chatham, whence he also effected THE ''ATHENS OF AMERICA.' 153 his escape. To lessen his chance of eluding his gaolers he was removed to Australia, but there he was more successful than ever, for he escaped to some purpose, having by a variety of adventures found his way to the protection of the *' Star-spangled Banner."* He will give my lecture a favour- able notice in the Pilot. The president of the United States visited Boston a few days ago, for the purpose of placing his son at Cambridge University. He put up at St. James's Hotel. As he came in a private capacity, his arrival created no sensation. There was no demonstration of any kind, except a few flags hung out in some places. There were no salvoes of artillery, and no addresses from mayors or corporations. The President was allowed to smoke his Havanna in peace, and he was not worried by bores, or interviewed by "gentlemen of the Press." That was a blessing. "Well for him he was not a monarch, such as we have in Europe, or even a monarch's shadow, he would be grudged the very slumbers demanded by inexorable nature. That evening the President went to the "Globe" Theatre, and a large crowd of roughs filled the streets to catch a sight of " Ulysses," but few enjoyed the pleasure. On reaching his box a faint clap proclaimed a welcome, but beyond this gentle demonstration, Democracy was too proud to venture. ' This was a lovely day ; the great heat of the weather has entirely disappeared, but the sun is still warm and the air * Sir W. Vernon Harcourt lately, in the House of Commons, alluded to this gentleman as "the man O'Reilly," Tliere may be, perhaps, some readers who need to be told that the ex-convict is now one of the most successful men of letters in the States ; and, what is better, the author of poems distinguisbed by a peculiar delicacj' and nobility of thought. He is at present editor of the BoUon Pilot. 15 t DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. balmy. I had arranged to visit Harvard University in com- pany with Mr. Aloysius J. Kane, of the law school, a Roman Catholic young gentleman, whose acquaintance I had made at St. John, N.B. He was to meet me at Father Scully's. True to his appointment he came, and we both walked a short distance to the University. Cambridge is a large place, and embraces various divisions, such as Old Cam- bridge, East Cambridge and Cambridge-port. I have stated elsewhere that the whole place is buried in foliage. Thi University is peculiarly so. It consists of a large number of long red-brick buildings, perhaps five storeys high, all detached, and about three edifices built of granite, one polished, viz., the University Hall — the other two rough ; of the latter one is called Gore Hall, from the name of him whom I suppose tohave given it an endowment — Christopher Gore, whose marble bust stands within. It is built in the style of a Gothic church, and is nothing more or less than the library, containing 120,000 vols. Between these build- ings are large grass plots intersected by walks running in various directions. The students have no peculiar costume. The American idea is opposed to all kinds of insignia, because they distinguish one man from another, and that would not be democratic The president's house is within the grounds. We called, and sent in our cards. After a short time Mr. President Elliott appeared, quite a young man. I had seen him a few hours before in one of the streets, and had passed him without knowing who or what he was. I told him so, and he said he had seen me too, and was equally at a loss to know who I was. He was very polite, and volunteered all kinds of assistance in having me shown through the place, but I did not wish to put him to * THE "ATHENS OF AMERICA:' 155 any trouble. I said I called merely that I might do myself the honour of making the acquaintance of the president of so great a university. After some desultory and unimportant conversation, I retired with Mr. Kane. We visited the various schools. The number of students attending the university last year was 1,200. We next proceeded to visit the great American poet, Henry W, Longfellow, who lives in the immediate neigh- bourhood of the university. This was an honour I was long ambitious to enjoy ; for in common, I believe, with all readers, I admire his poems excessively, and I have con- ceived from their perusal a love and esteem of the soul from which such pure outpourings of thought have flowed, and assumed forms of rarest dignity aud beauty, at the magic touch of language. We walked along under the trees, and saw in an open square a large monument just erected to commemorate the death on the late battlefieldr of America of the soldiers of Cambridge. On the summit of the monument stands an ideal soldier, leaning on his gun, and on the slabs beneath are the names of the fallen. Of these more than one-half are Irish. We walk still further, and reach another open space, where is an immense tree enclosed by railings, outside of which stands a large stone, with words inscribed as follows : — " Beneath this tree Washington first took command of the American army, 1772." We find ourselves in Bratle-street, which is not a street according to our notion — that is, a succession of houses fronting the public way. It is rather a road, off which are detached suburban villas. In one of those villas Washington lived. We see it from the roadside. It is a large, old- 156 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. fashioned house, evidently much the senior of its wooden neighbours, with grass-plots and flower-beds in front, and a conservatory at one side. This is the house now occupied by Longfellow. We knock at the hall-door, and a servant appears. We send in our cards, and are instantly permitted to enter. There are two gentlemen in the large room, of whom one stands writing at a desk, and the other approaches us. In the features of the latter I recognise those of the poet, with which the infallible photograph has made me familiar. He is tall, but not remarkably so, and his head is the great object of the spectator's regard. A large, well- shaped head, with very regular features, an expressive forehead, eyes, I think, blue, a very bushy white beard and moustache, and long white locks, flowing loosely behind. His expression is mild and calm, and his demeanour singu- larly modest. ' "Sir," I said, " being a stranger in Boston I could not think of leaving without doing myself the honour and pleasure of paying my respects to you, the great American poet, £ nd of thanking you for all the pleasure I have derived from the perusal of your works." , - . ** Sir," he answered, " you are very kind. I have been forewarned of your visit by a gentleman from Cork, who came to see me a few days ago." . ; ; ■ . In conversing with Mr. Longfellow, he asked me had I seen the University, and I said I had. I told how I had seen the President in the morning without knowing who he was." : ; ^ -, V , " Yes," said he, " Nature seldom helps us to discover a man's rank or genius." I replied that it was so, and that in his own poem Tht THE '' ATHENS OF AMERICA:' 157 Belfry of Bruges, there were some thoughts expressive of t'le same idea. I had forgotten the words, but the idea was that the common wanderer through the streets at night hears the chimes, and can discover nothing in the sound, while the poet on hearing them revels in a thousand strange and delightful fancies. " Have you been to Bruges ? " he asked. " Yes, sir," I replied, " I was there last year and I well remembex in my bed at night keeping myself awake that, like you, I might hear the chimes at the midnight hour, and conjure up the thoughts with which they inspired you." I am by nature very averse to flattery. I hate to give or to receive it : but I could not resist the temptation to convey my feelings of affection and admiration for him who sat before me, the great mind that had moulded such thoughts, and clothed them in such exquisite language. He dv/elt on the chimes of Bruges with great pleasure and described the plan on which they are played. He asked me had I heard the bells of Antwerp, and I replied in the affirmative, adding that the chimes which pleased me most were those of St. Gertrude's Church at Louvain. These he said he had not heard. I told him how I had lately passed through the now immortal valley of Grand Pre, the scene of the early part of Evangeline^ which thereupon, I said, I read again for the fifth time. He told me that though he had written of Grand Pre he had never seen it. He asked my opinion of it, and I described it in terms similar to those already contained in this book. I asked his opinion of the lakes of Killarney, which, as I saw by the papers, he had visited last year, and to my astonishment, he told me he had never seen them ! He had seen an account of his travels in Ireland in the 158 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. newspapers which amused him excessively — but although he was once in Queenstown harbour, he had never put his foot on Irish ground. After he had addressed a few words to Mr. Kane, I said, " I have one sister in Ireland, a passionate admirer of your poems. How delighted she will be to learn that T have had the honour of an interview with you, and how she will envy me that honour ! This very morning I received from her a letter in reply to mine which I sent some weeks ago, describing my passage through Grand Pre, and she says that once more she took Evangeline that she might picture herself on the spot where I had so recently been." " Your sister," said the poet, "must be very much attached to her brother. When you write, tell her from me how grateful I am for her appreciation of my writings." Mr. Longfellow then asked me where I was staying. I said the Parker House, and after a few more words, not wishing to trespass further on his time, I rose to depart. He accompanied us to the door and shook our hands at parting. We were very much pleased with the simplicity and urbanity of his manners, and I fully realized by an analogical process the joyous sensations of Boswell after his introduction to Johnson in Mr. Davis's back-room. Oct. I ith. — The American people with all their shrewdness seem to be very gullible. There seems to be developed amongst them a strong taste for candy, bull's eyes, and other sweet things, but these tastes are only symbolical of their love for the sugarsticks of praise. I had an opportunity this evening of witnessing their passion for flattery. Mr. Thomas Hughes, M.P., the author of Tom Brown's School Days, was invited to lecture at the Music Hall, and being an English- man and a politician, and above all an author, he was greeted THE '' ATHENS OF AMERICA:' 159 with an immense, an overflowing audience. The subject of his lecture was "John to Jonathan," or in other words, " What England had to say to America." He had been in the country for two months and had received most profuse and cordial hospitality everywhere, but when he mentioned the name of his country a shadow came over the kind faces. Now he should set them right in their estimation of the attitude of England. She had been accused of siding and sympathising with the Southerns during the late revolutionary wars. Of course she was, Mr. Hughes, and it is strange if you doubt the allegation — it would be strange if America could forget it. But, poor, easily hoaxed, Yankees ! Mr. Hughes undertakes to prove to you that during the whole struggle England and the English people were your friends and sympathisers, and you shout and cry hurrah ! He tells you, with regard to that Alabama question, England is ready to settle it, she only desires to have the matter referred to arbitration and she will abide by the result In fact that Jonathan has only to present his little bill and it will instantly be paid.* And then Mr. Hughes becomes lachrymose. He contemplated the possibility of England veering to bank- ruptcy and seeking among the Nations for a rescuer. " And," said he, " if the strong old islanders, who after all ■ntyour own fathers t ! l'^ (Where is the paternity of Ger- many, and of Ireland ?) "should happen some day to want " (Here Mr. Hughes' voice faltered with emotion and the audience burst forth in sympathetic applause) " a name on the back of one of those bills, I for one should not wonder if • Plainly Mr. Hughes' reading of the situation was the right one here. And it may be said, too, that while the English governing classes and their organs were Southern, tli ECnglish Democracy, even including the Lancashire cotton-spinners, sympathised strongly with the North. i6o DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. the name of Jonathan is found scrawled across there in very decided characters." *' Hurrah ! hurrah ! " shouts Yankee- dom, " hurrah ! hurrah ! " Mr. Hughes was successful, he offered Jonathan a sugar-plum and Jonathan swallowed it with the gusto of a child. The most distinguished citizens were present and some remarkable strangers. The poet Longfellow was conspicuous in his chosen obscurity by his copious white hair, and loud cries for Sumner after the lecture indicated the presence of that popular statesman. Such, also, was the character of the American's mind in relation to Charles Dickens in his American Notes. He said some hard things of Jonathan, and Jonathan was very angry— but years rolled by and the great novelist came and made the amende. He was sorry for what he had said, he was mistaken and all that; and the Yankee J forgave him. They went further, they took to worshipping him, and when he died the event caused a far greater sensation in Americ than in England. The pulpits rang with his praises— the morality of his life and writings was held up to admiration, and in America, the ridiculed of Boz— the repentent lecturer found at last his apotheosis. Pulpits ! alas for the pulpits. Read one of Monday morning's New York papers, where all the sermons of all the churches preached the previous day are summarized, and what a medley ! I take up by chance last Monday's, the " leader " on the sermons sufficiently explains their variety of characters, and I shall merely quote it word for word :— " There was a marked increase in the number of attendance at church yesterday. Every place of worship was crowded. Resplendent fashion, having temporarily retired from Paris, shone in all her original grandeur, until it became a difficult THE " A THENS OF AMERICAN 1 6 1 matter to say whether the dresses or the sermons were the best, both, in some of the churches, being the last sensation. The Rev. Mr. Hepworth, at the church of the Messiah, dehvered his third lecture on ' The Moral Aspect of Europe/ in which he gave Napoleon some very hard raps ; on the other hand, Father Ronay, a French missionary, in a most eloquent sermon at the church of St. Louis, in Wil- liamsburg, praised the emperor highly, and predicted his early restoration to the throne. His picture of the sufferings of France was quite touching, and affected his congregation to tears. "Dr. Dix, at Trinity, declared that the crowning sin of Rome was in proclaiming an enthroned God, and said many hard ';hings of the Catholic Church. There are, how- ever, two sides to every question ; and, consequently, those who do not agree with the anti-popery doctrines of Dr. Dix can read our reports of sermons of the Catholic churches — where the recent misfortunes of the Holy Father were made the subject of much eloquent argument, and where infalli- bility, and all other dogmas of Catholicism, were explained and extolled. We would, however, suggest that there might be good policy in reading but one side of the question, lest a perusal of both may end in the believing of neither. " Sermons of a more general nature, and in some respects more instructive, were delivered at the other churches. Brother Beecher was particularly pathetic on the subject of the woman with seven husbands, and the future life. And well he might ! We should think that the contemplation of such a domestic arrangement, even in the future life, would incline one to pathos and even anxiety. At Lyric Hall Mr. Frothingham took piety for his theme, and administered M i62 BIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. a severe rebuke to cant. He seemed to have a tolerably clear idea of what piety is, and he thought that it was not displayed by mankind exactly as he believed to be right and proper. " At the New England Congregational Church Rev. Mr. Richardson discoursed on the renovating power of Chris- tianity ; while at the Elm-place Congregational Church, in Brooklyn, the kingdom of heaven was the theme. In the same city, at the Grand-street Methodist Church Rev. Mr. Hendricks gave the young ladies some sound advice on subjects matrimonial, and a few hints on the same to hus- bands expectant. ' Though he may have a boundless fortune,' he said to the fair maidens, ' Will you marry a man who will bring upon you not only poverty but dis- grace ? ' How a man with a boundless fortune can bring poverty upon his wife we cannot imagine." Oct. 12 — This is the anniversary of the discovery of America by Christopher Columbus, and the ItaHan residents of Boston have celebrated the event with due eclat At 9 o'clock, a.m., a procession of Italians, numbering a hun- dred, witli a band and a banner— the latter representing the landing of Columbus at San Salvador— proceeded through the principal streets, and stopped at the City Hall, where they paid their respects to the mayor, and made him a suitable address. His honor replied appropriately. Will I be accused of hypercriticism if I comment unfavourably upon one passage of his honor's speech, or rather upon a quotation from an American poet, which he adopted. " If I could have ray say," said his honor, " I would give your illustrious countryman his true deserts, and call our beloved country by its real name— Columbia. I think we THE ''ATHENS OF AMERICAN 163 could all exclaim in harmonious feelings, in the language of Barlow, the Yankee poet : — " Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise. The queen of the world and the child of the skies." I only ask, what is the meaning of saying that Columbia is the " child of the skies ? " Were she called " child of the ocean," there would be sufficient vraisemblance in the idea to divest the hearers from too rigid an examination of the words ; but " child of the skies " is too absurd, too incon- ceivable, or, if conceivable, too prosaic to awaken a poetic sensation. The idea of America, a large continent, falling from the boundless skies, and settUng in an ocean small in comparison to the firmament, is an anticlimax annihilative of all poetry. There was a good deal of cannonading in Boston Com- mon commemorative of the great event, and festivities and convivialities crowned the joyous celebration. Oct. x^th. — We had a letter of introduction to the cele- brated comedian, Mr. Barney Williams. This gentleman lives in New York, and while we were there we made inquiries and found that he was staying at Bath- -a fashionable water- ing-place, on Long Island — consequently we did not call, resolving to do so at some future time when it would be more convenient. This week Mr. B. Williams and his lady are performing at the Boston Theatre and staying at the St. James Hotel. We called and Mr. Williams returned the visit. He appointed this day to call on us, and drive us in his carriage around the suburbs. He kept his word. At I I o'clock he called in a magnificent landau (he is famous for his carriages) and a pair of splendid horses — the day was beautiful and we had a very charming ride. He is aa 1 64 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN A Sf ERICA . interesting man, small in stature, with a handsome face, a bright intelligent eye and a rather fashionable style of dress. He is Irish Catholic and a native of Cork, where he was born, June 4th, 1826. His father, he told us was a man named Barney Flaherty, a full colour sergeant in the British Army. His name of WilHams is assumed. His wife is a convert, an American ladj', and a very staunch papist. He and she have made thirteen converts since they were married. He is a great lover of Ireland — they have grown very wealthy by their talents and much good may it do them. Mr. Williams discoursed a good deal about the Irish in America, and his points, put very briefly, were these : — The Irish are matchless for brain-work, and handiwork. He instanced the making of the Erie Canal, one of the grandest pieces of engineering ever seen in the world as a proof of his statement on the subject of Irish talent. It was designedly an Irishman, and made by Irishmen. It is 500 miles long, and is cut through mountains and rocks, in many places at great length and difficulty. The Irish are kept in big cities by cuninng politicians who wish to have their votes in elec- tion times. The unfortunate creatures receive no encourage- ment to go West where land may be had for nothing ; but are crammed like " Sardines in a box," in tenement houses, in New York and elsewhere. They are honest in every sphere of life, except when they become politicians. The Yankees prefer an Irish servant to all others— Irish servant girls are saucy and hard to put up — but it is better to bear sauciness than to be robbed. And Yankees insist on them going to confession at certain times. They justly regard confession as a great check of crime, and the safe -guard of conscience. Mr. Williams has been in almost every hotel in America, THE ''ATHENS OF AMEEICA." 165 and he could not remember a single instance where the night watchman was not an Irishman and a Catholic. To no other would they entrust the awful responsibility of life and pro- perty, which could be so sadly jeopardised at the dead hour of night by collusion between the watchman and a burglar. He fully concurred in all that had been said of the Irishman's attachment to the old faith, and witnessed all that have been done in America for its sake of late years ; and he justly observed that the preservation of that faith, under so many trials, was one grand proof of its being divine. On Sunday, Oct. 17 th, a great celebration took place here, the laying of the corner-stone of a New Home for Destitute children. It was altogether a Catholic affair. The funds for the erection of the building are the voluntary offerings of the Catholic people, and the thirty thousand persons who were present belonged to the old faith. It was a great event in this city, once the strong-hold of Puritanism. The day was beautiful, and so warm that many butterflies were abroad- All the Catholic societies and confraternities, ar.d school- children of both sexes, marched in procession arrayed in the various costumes indicative of their orders, through the chief streets of the city, with banners but without bands. On the ground two platforms were erected, on one of which the societies, &c., took their places. A band performed here, and some concerted pieces of sacred music were well sung by the children. On the other platform, the Bishop and clergy took their places, and the ceremonial usual on such occasions was proceeded with. A sermon was preached by Bishop O'Reilly, the newly consecrated bishop of the new See of Springfield, Mass. The great point of the whole ceremony was the means it afforded the Catholics, that is the Irish, of i66 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. showing their power, and they showed it to some purpose. Great order prevailed and the whole spectacle contrasted in every respect to my mind very favourably with similar dis- plays in the " old country." Mr. Patrick Donahoe of the Boston Pilot, is the chief promoter and largest subscriber to the New Home, and he took, as far as a layman could, a very prominent part in the ceremony. When it was over a large number of carriages were ready to convey the clergy and some laymen to Mr. Donahoe's house, where supper was prepared ; we were amongst the invited guests, and a carriage was placed at our disposal. The Bishop (Williams) was as usual extremely courteous and introduced us to the other Bishop (O'Reilly). Before supper we all assembled in the drawingroom, supper came off and was something novel to me; two black servants helped us. No one sat down, not even the Bishops. All stood and were helped from the table. There was nothing like a general blending jf sentiment or conversation, the meal was consumed in a business-like fashion and did not occupy a very long time, not half an hour ; after which all adjourned to another room where cigars were provided, of which almost all partook. Bishop Williams is an excellent man ; his dress on this occasion was simply that of an ordinary gentleman, there was about him no vestige of the priest, much less the bishop, and as he is a very handsome man, and personal beauty is a rare thing in gentlemen of our profession, the thought of his being a clergyman could enter no one's mind. Oct. 2^rd, Sunday. — I deliver my lecture on the History of Irish Mu.,'c this evening in the Boston Theatre. Mr. Barney Williams says this is one of the finest theatres in the THE " ATHENS OF AMERICAN 167 world. My lecture was a great success, an audience of about 2,500 were present, and considering I was a "new hand" it was very patronizing. I was introduced to the Honourable P. A. Collins, a young gentleman of very great prcnise in Boston ; he is among the chiefs of what is called the "Young Democracy," a very clever person only 26 years of age, yet already a senator, a native of Fermoy, County of Cork, but living here since his infancy ; he is only a law student, and yet there are few men more respected in the city. Immediately after the lecture Judge Russell, a gentleman of great respectability in Boston, now collector of customs, waited on me in the green room, and in very choice language congratulated me on my success. He said he was anxious to testify \xv some manner his admiration, and the only thing he rould Jo was to ask me to proceed with him the following afternoon on board the revenue cutter, when he would show me the harbour, and take me on board the " School Ship." This latter is, as it were, a floating reformatory for boys who have violated the law ; they are placed on board this ship, educated in the Naval art, and learn to become sailors in the marine of the United States. I accepted the Judge's invitation, and the following day (Oct. 2/tth), as was duly recorded in the papers the day after, I proceeded on board the revenue cutter with the Judge, his wife and family. The afternoon was lovely, the scenery pretty, and all oassed off very pleasantly. "Vi^e went on board the school-ship and the boys were put through their various exercises for my entertainment. They "boxed the compass," sang Naval Songs, performed Gymnastic's, showed their skill in Geography ; and, in a word, went through 1 68 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. a synopsis of a sailor's theoretical duty. The Judge suggested to me that I might deliver a short address. I complied. I assured them how grateful I was to Judge Russell for the honour he had done me, in bringing me amongst them, that I was delighted with the exhibition which I just Itnessed of their proficiency in the Naval Art, and that I had no doubt they would hereafter make brave sailors under the banner of the United States, the greatest country in the whole world. I reminded them of their duty to their country, but reminded them also of the still higher duty which they owed to God. They were mostly all Irish, and I trusted they never would disgrace the country of their ancestors, but would t e to the end, brave sailors and devoted Christians. The Judge and suite, including me, then went on board the cutter for the purpose of leaving. Meanwhile the boatswain's whistle sounded, the boys formed on deck, and in an instant manned the yards — the effect was very pretty. " I suppose," I remarked to Judge Russell, " that is a part of their daily drill." "Not at all," replied the Judge, "this is intended for you — they wish to give you a parting cheer." And, accordingly, as we moved off the boys set up a hearty cheer, which, as the papers say, was again and again repeated, I was very much pleased with the compliment thus paid me. Curious coincidence. The evening I was at M. Tarbell's that gentlemen showed me the family album containing photographs of the celebrities of the day, especially American celebrities. Amongst the latter the generals of the late war were conspicuous. ♦* You miss the photograph of THE " A THENS OF AMERICAr 1 69 General Lee," said Mr. Tarbell; "I am sorry I have not got it. He is a man I admire very much, and his personal appearance is as magnificent as his manners are gentle and amiable. You will, doubtless, see him as you go down South. Call upon him, and you may be sure of a cordial reception." The papers next morning all over America contained telegrams of the "death of General Lee" on the previous day. The event occurred almost at the moment iMr. Tarbell was addressing me. Another remarkable coincidence of the same kind occurred the day before my lecture. After tracing the history of the Irish Bards from the earliest ages down to the present, it was my intention to pay a tribute of admiration to the dis- tinguished Irish composer Balfe in some such words as the following :— " At the present day Balfe sustains the honour of Ireland in the field of music, &c." But on taking up the paper that morning I read the death of Michael William Balfe, the Irish composer, at his residence in England the day before. In my lecture I had to substitute the past for the present tense. Here are two remarkable instances of the uncertainty of human life. As a rule, I find amongst those whom I meet very little education of a high order. Perhaps I do not meet the educated classes • but there is an impression on my mind that even the clever men of America are not very well read, and that amongst them English literature is at a large dis- count, and a knowledge of languages as rare as a knowledge of hieroglyphics. In America the great ambition is to be rich, and for the acquisition of riches much book education IS not necessary. Boys are "put to business" when very young, and it is no rare thing to see them employed at 170 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. occupations which seem to demand not only brains but large experience. They grow fast here. Our boys at home spend years at Latin and Greek, and other years in forget- ting those languages, while the lads of America are hard at work piling up dollars. In England and Ireland, and indeed most countries of the Old World, the great ambition of young men is to shine in the intellectual arena. Hence, they seek in crowds the Bar, the Pulpit, the Senate, or, failing those high aims, they are content with some profession where intellect is required, such as Medicine. They study the languages and music, and are most eager to acquire a reputation for literary culture. Not so here. He is the most esteemed in this country who makes the most money, and the only intellectual power admired here is that by which some new scheme is invented for the easier acquisi- tion of wealth. But every day I spend in this connfv the more do I admire the democratic character of the peopie, the apparent equality of intercourse that exists between them, and the more absurd appears to me the aristocratic spirit at home, the lines of demarcation between the different ranks of society, and the cringing respect with which those of the lower rungs of the social ladder regard those above them. Somehow here in personal appearance there does not seem to be much difference between man and man. You have a colonel who gained distinction in the wars now keeping a beer-shop, and serving the customers from behind the counter in his shirt-sleeves ; majors and captains occupy positions of the same social respectability. And by the way, that word respectability seems to be unknown here. It implies gradation, and there is no grada- THE " A THENS OF AMERICA." 1 7 t tion amongst a free and equal people. Their Military men have no martial air to distinguish them, where as in England and Ireland, the air Militaire is unmistakable. At some public gathering one evening in the Music Hall here, a friend of mine was pointing out the remarkable men to me. While he was doing so, I saw a man (I could not say a " gentleman") enter with some ladies. His whole bearing, and dress, and features, especially an intense stupidity of expression, all forced me to the conclusion that he was a peasant and no more. No, sir, that is Colonel of the Montgomery Guards — one of the most brilliant officers of the late war. " God bless us!" I cried, "to what a depth has colonelcy descended ! " ' Another day, while I was at dinner in the Parker House, the waiter whispered in my ear ; "A General has just come in, and is sitting at a table below ! " I turned round in the direction indicated, and saw only a waiter standing. I said facetiously, " Is it that man with the white apron ? " " No," replied my waiter, " he does not wear a white apron, although he often appears in the White House 1 " I was pleased with the waiter's humour, and then viewed the General at my leisure, a mighty plain, ungeneral-like man. "And," said I to the waiter, " has the general ever distin- guished himself by any feat worthy of historical record 1 " " Oh yes," he replied, " the general made very good use of his feet on one occasion ! " , 'fHow." ^ ..-..--- " Why he skedaddled at Bull Run." You seldom see a man in America of what we call distingue 1 7 2 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. appearance, then you very seldom meet with a man poorly dressed, or if you do, he is a labourer and labour is respected. Nothing is so common as to see men of great wealth shak- ing hands and familiarly conversing with what we call menials, such as servants in hotels. The waiters while they stand at your table converse freely with you, and never con- descend to say "Sir." But there is nothing offensive in all this; they have helped you, and thty are paid for it — you help yourself and you pay for it; the balance, you see, lies against you. A man may make "tall piles" and yet retain his humble position. There are waiters in this hotel who own real estate, and yet they go on making fresh "piles." The master of the house must take care to handle them gently, they would take none of his dictation, they would not stand being " bossed." A servant, especially a female servant, will not allow herself to be called by that degrading name. If you ask her what business she is at, her answer is that she " hves out," and if you ask her does she mean that she is a servant, she replies, " No," she is a " help." One day I was going in a horse-car when a very pretty and elegant young lady entered and sat not far from me. The journey continued a good while, and people got in and out as we went along. At length when very few remained the conductor, a young man, like one who would drive a hack at home, entered, shook hands with the young lady and sat down by her. She was delighted to see him, and they soon became very chatty and confidential. For aught 1 knew this conductor might have been a young man of great wealth, and even social position. There was nothing degrading in being conductor to a horse-car, and he may have retained the office from choice, or to prevent himself getting rusty. THE '' ATHENS OF America:' 173 All I knew was that in Ireland, or England, the immense barrier between an omnibus conductor and a fashionable young lady would not have been so coolly and unblushingly broken down. Every one in America is a "gentleman," or "lady." The man who cleans your boots, and the "cabby" who drives you are " gentlemen," your very chamber-maid is designated " the lady." You may shake hands with them all, they expect it, and it is no social degradation. They live by honest labour, so do you it is hoped. You may have more money ; but there are people too who have more money than you ; poverty is uo crime, though it is extremely inconvenient. • •««**«*• Soon after my lecture I became so ill with rheumatism and other maladies that I was confined to my room for a week. At the end of that time the Pilot did me the honor of noticing the fact. A gooc ieal of inconvenience was caused to myself, and some 3 other parties, by the an- nouncement. When I was quite well, people who had only just seen the Pilot flocked to know how I was. With my friend, Captain Buckley, of the " City of Ragusa," the story took the course once pursued by the three black crows— when the rumour reached him it told him / was dead ! He telegraphed; I received the missive in bed one morning at i^ o'clock, but was so vexed for being roused out of sleep, with the silly query whether I was dead or alive, that I deferred my answer till morning; but when morning came, I found that the captain had not sent any more definite address than *' Providence." I thought this too vague, and did not r'ply at all. That night the captain turned up, "all dressed .Vom top to toe " — got up especially 174 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA, by some Providential modiste, that he might present a decent appearance at my funeral. My silence was con- strued by him into an admission that I was done for. On his arrival he learned that I was spending the evening with Mr. Patrick Donahoe. I dare say he was disappointed ; but on my return from Mr. Donahoe's I met him, and although there was a considerable manifestation of spirits on the occasion, he saw very little of the grave about me. He accompanied me the following day to Lowell, a large manufacturing town, about twenty miles from Boston. Here I got a very poor reception from one of the pastors of the place ; he was almost offensive ; he would afford me no assistance towards prosecuting my mission in Lowell — none whatever. I then asked him for information. I said I was anxious to deli'^ a lecture in Lowell, and enquired if there was a Hall in the town where I might deliver it. He answered that there was. " Is it a large one ? " I asked. " You will find it large enough for you," was the reply. I never before encountered so ungracious a person as this old specimen. He is unique, but I forgive him. The other pastor, a Rev. Mr. Crudder, was not at home. I sought the Hall; it was engaged every evening up to the iilhof December. I came home to Boston, disappointed and chagrined. The great singer, Christina Nillson, has arrived in Boston, and has been serenaded outside her hotel, the *' Revere ,^''>use," by the Bostonian "Scandinavians." Her pay is pretty handsome — i,ooo dollars per night. I do not know shall I p-o to hear her ; I am indifferent. Dunug my convalescence I sometimes strolled through THE '' ATHENS OF AMERICA:' 175 the Boston Common, a ven' excellent park in the centre of the city, but small. Here is a very fine old tree, railed in. An inscription on the railing informs us that it was in full bloom in 1722, began to show signs of decay in 1792, and was subsequently shattered by a storm. It is swathed in canvas, to keep out the rain from its incisions. It looks like an old man with a diseased leg. Boston is a very fine city, very large, with a number of suburban towns, which are so connected with it as to form a great whole. It is quite a flat, with the exception of one considerable elevation, on which is the "State House," a very fine building, overlooking the common aforesaid. The State House, from its great height and lofty situation, com- mands a magnificent view of the whole city ; and its cupola is seldom seen without some half-dozen persons, generally tourists, admiring the view from so favourable a point. The city is remarkably clean, and there is an air of elegance and substantial comfort about it. The streets are very irregular, and in some places inconveniently narrow. They were - evidently built at a time when no seer could prophesy the subsequent magnitude of the city. One may very easily lose his way in Boston, so sinuous are the streets. Public buildings are few, and not of remarkable beauty, if we except the State House, the City Hall, and a few others. The hotels, especially the Parker House, are fine buildings. The churches, with one or two exceptions, are nothing to speak of. There are in some streets magnificent " blocks " of commercial houses, tokens of great industry and wealth. I doubt if any city can present so fine a pile of public building of its kind as the " State-street Block " of Boston, an immense range of solid granite buildings, of uniform 1 76 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN A M ERIC A . dimensions, welded together, and foiming one massive square. ■ The suburbs of Boston are very much admired, and justly, although the people, I think, exaggerate their beauty. Some streets have been widened by pushing back one whole side. This appears strange to us, but it is quite common here. A plan of machinery is arranged, by which a house, no matter of what dimensions, is moved from its place to any distance the operator pleases. The Boylston Market, weighing 30,000 tons, was moved back twenty feet a short time before I came to Boston, and the business of the market was never for a moment disturbed. Boston is called the " Hub of the Universe," or, briefly and familiarly, " The Hub." It would appear that "hub" is the name of that portion of a wheel from which the spokes radiate \ and the Boston ians are of opinion that from their city, the " hub," as they call it, the spokes of intellect and general moral influence radiate to the whole world. No very modest assumption, to be sure ; but who does not forgive that vanity by which men love the place of their birth ? At home we, Corkonians, call our city " the Athens of Ireland." I find that the people of Boston call theirs the "Athens of America ;" and when I was about to deliver my late lecture, the Hon, P. A. Collins, the gentle- man who introduced me, made a point of this circumstance. He begged to introduce to the "j^'hens of America," a gentleman who hailed from the " 1 - .ns of Ireland." The people of America are wonderfully lecture loving. There is scarcely a night of the year (except in summer weather) when some lecture is not delivered in Boston. 1 saw by one of the papers that a Miss Anna Dickinson " is THE '' ATHENS OF AMERICA:' 177 engaged to lecture every night for an indefinite period." How I envy the lady her ocean of knowledge, with such multitudinous outlets ! They enjoy a lecture here as people elsewhere enjoy the theatre. It is an elegant taste, and, I am sure, productive of good. The people of Boston are quiet and respectable. There' is no rowdyism here. You never see anything sensational in the streets ; and such crimes as burglary and other out- rages are extremely rare. The ladies dress very quietly, and are generally good-looking ; and altogether there is about Boston an air of propriety, and decency, and quiet, hard to be conceived when one considers the general depra- vity of human nature in big cities. Fechler, the celebrated actor, is playing here for some months back. I went to see him in " Hamlet. ' I have not much experience of the stage, but I was greatly im- pressed by his acting. I think, however, the secret of my pleasure was not the power of his acting, but the master- genius of the great mind that composed the immortal drama. The " Ghost " was admirable. During his long narrative of the manner in which his murder was accom- plished I was positively transfixed, Fechter was " Hamlet," and did it beautifully. A it^ days after the performance, I was standing in the hall of the Parker House, w^hen I remarked a group of three persons speaking together. " That is General Banks," I asked of a gentleman standing by./. ■, . ' ■ . " Yes," he replied, " and that gentleman opposite him is Fechter, the actor." I should never have recognised him. Have you ever suffered from boredom— I mean on a large scale ? I don't ask you whether you have endured N 178 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. the torture for an hour or two, or once in a week, or so— but has an3'one ever laid himself out to be your special and irrepressible bore ? Not that he meant to bore you — on the contrary, he might have been the best-natured man in the world. But has he ever, with the best intention, watched, pursued, caught, and sat upon you, day after day, night after night, as if you M^ere his property, and he would not part with you ? No ; well, 1 have been the victim of this horrible torture ever since I came to Boston. I have alluded, though not by name, to a certain young man> whom I will call Tonikyns. He is my bore. I was not two days in Boston when he introduced himself into my room as one who knew me well in Cork — knew me very well, and for a long time, and was surprised that I did not recollect him. He is a young man, about thirty years of age, with moustache and whiskers, a broad forehead, a very flat accent, and an endless jabber of unmeaning talk. He stands very erect, is bold and confident, although uncon- scious that he is obtrusive, with a great deal of good nature and affection , but the affection of a spar^'el. Of course I was very civil to him the first night, and invited him again. He came again, and again. He took a g'-r at interest in all my doings ; always wished to know my programme of action ; brought a good deal of chit-chat of matters in town ; an occasional cockpapet, a cheap novel — anything to amuse. The evening was his time for coming — he was then free from business. A smart knock announced his arrival. Ke entered, tall, bold, smiling, and laid down his hat, ?r. one who was privileged to stay, without ceremony. He usually smoked a cigar on his arrival,, and kept smoking it to tbf^ end. THE '' ATHENS OF America:' 179 This went on night after night, and my friend's confidence in himself, and his easy conduct towards me, went on increasing. I began to see that he came because he thought it gave me pleasure. I was lonely, he thought, and I wanted company. He had stories of his uiterviews with Longfellow and with other celebrities. He was influential with the Boston Press, and got a few notices of me in the papers. His conception of humour was peculiar, because he told anecdotes without point, and laughed most where the point was conspicuous by its absence. Every evening he was particular to ascertain what I was to do next day, next Sunday, next week. He was always bringing some person to introduce to me, and sometimes he would leave a note stating that he would come at such an hour, to introduce Mr. Such-a-one. He and his friends frequently stayed until midnight, when I was oblif ;d to present striking symptoms of weariness. Tales came back to me of Mr. Tomkyns* discourses concerning nie. He told his friends how "thick" he and I were, and how I could do nothing without him — how I had him in my room every evening, "private and confidential," and soforth. It sometimes happened that a friend would look in on me in the evening, and, of course, find Tomkyns. I found that I had let him go too far. He came more and more frequently, and earlier than usual. Thus my evenings were being frittered away, and I received nothing in return. I could not read or write, or be alone, or enjoy another's company. He had taken possession of me; I was not my own master— not master of my room, my time or my actions. I saw myself reduced to the con- dition of a slave, an automaton — all because I had not the moral courage to shake off the incubus. If I came in of an .If' 180 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. evening he was waiting for me ; if I happened to be in the dining-room, dining or taking tea, he was at my side ; and, after the meal, I would adjourn to my room, led irresistibly by my bore, to be bored for the fortieth time, as before. It. so happi;ned that I spent some consecutive evenings out with friends, and the feeling that I was freed, even for a short time, from my evil genius, gave new zest to my enjoy- ment But every evening on my arrival home I heard that Mr. Tomkyns had called, and said he " would call again to-morrow evening." But when several to-morrow evenings came and he was disappointed, I fancied I was free. Alas ! for my ignorance of what a bore can do. One morning, at eight o'clock, there was a knock at my door. I was in bed, got out and opened it. There was Tomkyns ! Why, what had become of me — where had I been all the evenings- was I to be out again this evening, and where ? He had a great deal to say, after the silence of several days, and he said it while I listened, wishing that some unseen power would take him from my sight to some region where I should never see him more. These morning visits were repeated, until at length he came morning and evening the same day, and I felt like one possessed by the demon, and gone beyond the power of exorcism. I would stand it no longer. It had now lasted for two months. I should stay in Bosto/ one month more, and I would not allow myself to be victimised any longer. November i^th. — I determined to take my stand, once for all, against my implacable tyrant. My spirit was sore, and I should burst if this slavery continued. I vient out to Watertown, a village some ten miles from Boston, preached, and made a collectior. of 284 dollars. I dined with the THE " A THENS OE AMERICA:' 1 8 1 pastor, and returned to town. I expected to reach the hotel about six, and asked myself what should I do in the possible contingency of meeting my bore. I could not answer the question; but one thing I resolved, and that was, that he should not spend that evening in my room. I entered the hotel, and the first man I met was Tomkyns, radiant in beard and whiskers, and white waistcoat. He looked as if he meant to say " what kept you so long, here am I waiting for you for the last half hour ? " I heard the first clank of the chain ; but I did not succumb. I determined to initiate no conversation, I would let him begin — let him propose questions, and I would answer. " But," I said, " I was going to have tea." ** All right,*' he said, ** I will sit with you while you take it," and he sat by me picking his teeth with a wooden tooth-pick, and proposing questions out of his wooden head. Tea at length was over, and he accompanied me to the hall, where groups of lounp:ers stood chatting. He evidently expected to be asked upstairs, but his surprise and disap- pointment were great when I asked him to help me on with my outside coat. " Not going upstairs ? " he said. «No," I replied. " Then let us have a walk on the common ?" "No," I said. "What do you mean to do then ? " he asked. "I mean to stand here," was my answer. He could not understand ; but he obeyed. I stood and was silent. He could not divine what had happened Things went thus for full three quarters of an hour^ when I concluded that he would stop there all night, if he were allowed ; and the cure i82 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. would be even worse than the disease. At the end of that time I took his hand abruptly. " Good night old fellow," I cried, " good night, I have some writing to do, good night !" and I rushed from him upstairs, I locked my door, I was free from my bore, at least for this night, and piously hoped it might be for ever. Monday came and went and I did not see my bore, but I left town at 4^ p.m. to dine and sleep at the house of a friend at Jamaica Plain; Tuesday I returned. That evening I went to see Hamlet. On Wednesday morning there was a knock at my bed-room door ; I was dressing. " Come in," I cried, and Tomkyns came in, fresh and smiling as a daisy. He had been in the two previous evenings and could get no tidings of me. I find I am dealing with a piece of human granite. He brought me books to amuse me, and made the usual queries about my past and future engagements. Now 1 don't know what to do. Thursday I went to Providence and returned late. It is now Friday evening, 6 o'clock, and I tremble every moment lest I should hear his foot-fall at my door. On the 8th of November the elections take place all over the United States, the elections to all municipal and senatorial offices. In Boston -J passed off - 2ry quietly, so quietly indeed that the very day could not be distinguished from any that went before it. On the evening preceding the election I had an opportunity of hearing Mr. Wendell Phillips speak in public. He is considered one of the best if not the very best public speaker in the States. He is very popular also, and was running for the office of Governor of Massachusetts. His war-cry is "Labor and Reform" and "Prohibition," viz., of intoxicating drinks. A large meeting took place in THE '' ATHENS OF America:' 183 the Tiemont Temple. There was no charge for admission, and one would naturally think that on the eve of a political election some excitement would be natural. There was none. The people sat quietly and orderly. When Mr. Phillips appeared there were three good cheers, but then all was quiet. He is a graceful, quiet, eleguiit speaker, by no means passionate, but rather seeking to convince by argument than by rhetoric. His diction is admirable, he is one of those speakers of whom it is said they " speak like a book." In the election, however, the following day he was defeated. Strange about this Liquor Law, no man is allowed to have a license for the sale of liquors in this State, and yet the law is allowed to be violated by hundreds every day. Sometimes the police pounce on some obnoxious liquor-seller, and seize his goods and have him fined ; but they allow hundreds who are doing the same to pass unmolested. Thus in this country every day you meet contradictions — fact and theory coming constantly into collision ; and notwithstanding the perpetual proclamation of Americans that they are a free people, you are forced to conclude that there are people just as free in countries where less noise is made about it. In an early part of this Journal I commented rather severely on an American hotel, Broadway, New York, and I have no reason to think that I wrote unjustly of that house. But if I was understood to convey that my censure on that occasion embraced all American hotels, I would be sadly misinterpreted. The only hotels I have yet had experience of in the United States are the "St. Julian's," of Portland, Me., and the " Parker House," Boston. In the former I stayed only twenty-four hours and have nothing to say against it ; 1 84 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. in the latter I am now ** located " for more than two months, and wish to say z. great deal in its praise. In America hotels are quite an institution of their kind, they take the first rank as institutions in all the world. It is a natural result of the Democratic spirit that in this country, private hospitalities should be less extensive than in countries Monarchial or Aristocratic when all are equal, thera is less willingness to receive favours or to be under obligations. The people have a universal taste for independence. Hence the majority of the respectable classes live in hotels, which have thus become institutions and are constructed and managed with all that style and order for which in America, institutions are distinguished. " The Parker House " in Boston is the best hotel I was ever in. It is a magnificent building, erected by a Mr. Parker, a self-made man, who still presides over it, in part- nership with a Mr. Mills. It is situated in School-street, and faces directly the City Hall, perhaps the handsomest structure in all Boston. It is itself an extremely handsome building, being Grecian in style, and faced with polished marble. The number of persons employed is i8o, the guests rooms are 250 and are always occupied, but the great business is done by casual visitors who breakfast, dine, and sup. It is the most popular hotel in town, and is always thronged j over 2,000 people visit it daily, and partake of its hospitality. The bill of fare is stupendous and be- wildering ; but the machinery of the house, complicated as one might suppose it to be, works with the most marvellous regularity. > . Let us consider what is an American hotel — ab uno disce omnes. You enter, and write your name in the book on the THE ' ' A TIJENS OF AMERICAN 185 counter; you are told the number of your room, and get your key, while your luggage is taken upstairs by a porter. Having made your toilet, you come down stairs, perhaps you wish for a bath — there are two on every corridor ; you wish to be shaved or to have your hair dressed^ — there is a hair-dress- ing and shaving establishment below ; your boots are soiled — here are several shoe-blacks ready for an order. You ascend smiling and comfortable, and you just remember that you have a telegram : j send to New York, to London, to Bombay, it matters not whither — here is the telegraph clerk seated at his desk, and the eternal "click, click," announcing his occupation. The news ? why here are papers from all parts of "creation." Your supply of visiting cards is out — a young man is here to do them on the spot. You \;ant to write a letter — here are desk, paper, ink, and stamps, all at hand. Have any letters arrived for you ? — one of the clerks will tell you. You want a novel, or some other light book to amuse your dull hours — see the book-stall in a corner, and the young man up to his eyes in business. Do you smoke ? — here is another little corner, where you can have Havanas, or cheroots at pleasure. Do you wish to go to the theatre? — this young man at the counter will supply you with a ticket, and pcint out in a diagram what seat in the theatre is yours for that evening. Take off your outside coat and leave it in the cloak-room — the man will give you a check for it. Enter the dining-room, with at least one hundred tables, made double and treble by the reflection of mirrors ; here is the bill of fare ; find if you cannot satisfy your appetite out of it, you must be an epicure indeed. Over 200 items, including soups, fish, flesh, fowl, and game, pastry, fruit, and wines, ought to satisfy you I think. Do you i86 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. wish to dine with the ladies ? — if so, go to the ladies' dining- room, it makes no difference. In fine, do you wish for a railway ticket to any place, from Boston all round the world and back again ?— you can get it at the magic counter of this wonder-working Parker House. I have gone through the whole house, and observed its machinery. Twenty feet under ground are the furnace and steam-engine, which by the annual consumption of 800 tons of coal, supply the motive power for the complicated oper- ations going on above. I passed into the store-room, packed full "ff nice things — spices, preserves, olives, oils, nuts, and smelling with a delicious compound of richest odours. Here is the larder ! how neatly everything is arranged ! how crowded every nook with the raw materials for health, strength and pleasure ! See those matchless rows of mutton-chops, and red and white beefsteaks, all ready to broil ! they are beautiful enough in their repose to tempt the art of a photographer. What provoking quantities of game, brought from every part of the country, to set the mouths of epicures watering ! Here are salmon from the pine-clad banks of streams in Maine, from the icy floods oi Canada, and the gold- haven rivers of California. Every air of heaven, every clime on earth, every isle of the ocean has been laid under tribute to cater to the appetites of those who patronize the Parker House, and what quantity of materials, think you, is daily consumed in this establishment ? Four- teen barrels of vegetables, one ton of meat and poultry, five-hundred weight of fish, four barrels of oysters, three hundred and twenty quarts of milk, three barrels of flour, one hundred and fifty pounds of butter, one hundred dozen of eggs, and other things in proportion. One can fancy what THE " ATHENS OF AMERICAN 187 work goes on in the kicchen after this enumeration. The ranges of tables and dishes, the gigantic soup kettles, big enough to boil down whole oxen in, the glowing rows of fires, with spits and gridirons, and every convenience for frying and roasting and broiling — the long array of white- aproned cooks at their respective posts, twenty in number, all make up a show that fill the spectator with admiration and surprise. And then the laundry in an adjacent room is another wonder. As we look on the busy scene, and trace the running machinery for cleaning soiled garments, and see the exact order in which every parcel has its own mark and book-entry, and notice the purity and freshness of the place, and follow the busy motions of the girls who wash or iron, or fold, the whole room becomes a beautiful picture of a human beehive. The wine-cellar with its multitudinous bottles of various wines all packed and stored away in an atmosphere ot delicious coolness, makes one feel thirsty, and anti- temperate; and this feeling is heightened by contemplating a huge ice- chest filled with bottles ready for immediate consumption. These are only a few glimpses of the working part of the hotel. There are private dining rooms, where parties are held almost every day, and sometimes when I am retiring to rest, I hear the clapping of some thirty or forty hilarious boon- companions over the speech of some posh-prandial orator. I deplore the envious fate that dooms me to a solitary room, and the unromantic folds of a blanket. But I bear my lot with patience, and feel proud of being a guest where things are done in so grand a style, as in the " Parker House " ol Boston. i88 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. Boston is called from a place of the same name in Lincoln- shire in England, where there is a famous cathedral existing since the old cathedral times — dedicated to God under the invocation of St. Butolph, a Saxon saint. The original name of the original Boston was Butolph's Town, which being too cumbersome for common conversation, was shortened down into Bostown or Boston. The historians here, descendants of the old hard grained Puritans, allowed a great many years to elapse before they discovered this fact — the terrible fact that their new city in New England, the city of all the ** (sch)isms " (ca-tholi-cism alone excepted), was called after a Catholic saint ; in their ignorance they went so far as to allow one of the streets to be called " Butolph Street," but rather late^ no doubt, owing to the researches of some officious antiquarian, they discovered the unwelcome truth, that Butolph was a canonized papal saint, and they changed the name of the street into " Irving Street," which it is to the present day. I knew a gentleman who lived for years in Butolph Street. It was newly called, I dare say, after Washington Irving, who has not been canonized, and is not likely to be. It is only surprising that they did not call the whole city Irvingstown, in their wonderful preference of a pleasing writer, to a head of the Christian religion. November 24th, 1870. — This is "Thanksgiving Day," and is celebrated all over the United States. It is somewhat like our Christmas Day — at least, as far as festive enjoyment goes. Friends come from distant places to see their friends, and there is great feasting everywhere. Labour is suspended, people go to church ; and the theatres are largely patronized. The day was fine, and I walked through the city ; it was like Sunday, but I could see that labour was not altogether THE '' ATHENS OF America:' 189 suspended. I saw people building houses, &c. The day is set aside to thank God for all the blessings conferred during the year, especially for an abundant harvest. I had some invitations to dinner — one especially frons a German Jm ; but I declined them all.- I don't care to dine with people I don't know weii. November 2^th. — This morning I went by rail to Worces- ter, a city (I believe there is no such thing as a ** town" in all America), of about 45,000 inhabitants, of whom about 18,000 are Catholics. Worcester is, I think, forty-five miles from Boston. The morning was very fine ; it had frozen over night, but it was by no means cold, although at this time last year, as I am informed, there was several feet of snow upon the ground. The American railway carriages are very comfortable. Such a thing as a rug would be a superfluity, and an over- coat may be dispensed with. The carriages are all heated, and as a large number of people are always travelling, the atmosphere is never cool. I reached Worcester at 10^ a.m., and found it very like all American small " cities " I have yet seen. The charac- teristics of American cities appear to me to be these : A number of streets, almost always straight and regular, the houses composed either of red brick or wood. Several streets are insignificant, and the roadways bad ; but there are always a few main streets which are very fine, composed of large solid houses, fine shops, with plenty of carriages in waiting outside, and a good many foot passengers, and a fair amount of bustle. In these main streets there is a track, and horse-cars run. The names over the doors are frequently composed of gilt letters, and sometimes a shopkeeper who 1 90 BIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. believes in advertising has a handsome flag suspended at a great height, by a rope reaching quite across the street, with his name and number inscribed on it. This looks pic- turesque. The bustle of these cities is greatly increased by the constant, I might say the incessant, noise of railway trains running by — running often through the centre of an important street, with a bell ringing at a tremendons rate. A large wooden archway over the track v/arns you against danger by the words painted on it — '' Look out for the engine while the bell rings." How a it'f} dozen people are not killed every day in each of those cities is a marvel to me, for the bell is a'vvays ringing, and the engine, or as they pronounce it, the " injine," is always coming. Churches there are plenty, and now and then a green place with a monument to Uaniel Webster, to Washington, or Araham Lincoln, or perhaps some nobody. You some- times pass a splendid-looking building with a magnificent Grecian portico, rnd steps leading up ; but with your walking cane you find the steps are made of wood, and your suspicion being once awakened, you tap the columns, and a hollow sound announces that they too are only a spurious imitation. Such are, I fancy, the leading features of those " cities." See one, and you see all. Worcester is contemptuously called a "one-horse city." Why ? Because it is not large or wealthy enough to support street cars with two horses, like most other cities, but must be content with one-horse cars. Indeed I have been told that the one-horse cars here scarcely pay, and that they had been actually discontinued for some time. I came to Woixester to make arrangements for a lecture THE " A THENS OE AM ERIC Ar 1 9 1 which I am to deliver here on December 6th. I visited the college, situated about two miles from the town on a great eminence— a fine house on a fine site. It was a long walk. I went to see a young man I knew there, and who was a good guide to me in Worcester. I called on the Bishop (O'Reilly) and the clergy, and several of the laity. I had great success, and anticipate an overflowing house., I visited, among others, a Father John Power. He was at dinner, and invited me to partake of his hospitality. I was nothing loth. His curate and my young friend, Walsh, made up a partie carrh. The chief dish, it being Friday, was fish "chowder," a kind of hotch-potch— viz., fish, biscuits, pota- toes, vegetables, sauce, &g. We spoke of the variety of dishes prevailing in various countries. I said I found it hard to like some American dainties,, which the natives seemed to prize very much I could scarcely put up with tomato, I hated sv/eet *' potatoes," but " squash" was to me an abomination ! I described my having tasted " squash " once (it is a huge yellow pumpkin), and thought it tasted like soap, but that the saponaceous article seemed to me to have rather the advantage of it in flavour. It is usually served up mashed, like turnips. Father Power was amused by my strong denunciation of a precious vegetable, but foretold that I would yet eat it with pleasure. I sturdily answered, " never." The " chowder " was removed, and a pie took its place. I was helped, and found it very nice pie, so much so that I finished my share. " You seem to like that pie," said Father Power. "Yes, sir," said I, *' it is exquisite ! " "Well," said he, " my prophesy is fulfilled much sooner 192 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA, than I anticipated. You have just eaten the one-fourth part of a squash pie. The laugh was against me, and I admitted the justice of it. I lectured in Worcester with considerable success. The Bishop (O'Reilly) of Springfield, lately consecrated, was very favourable to me, and the clergy lent a cordial assistance, I had an audience of about i,ooo in the Mechanics' Hall, and realized 163 dollars. All the while I had been suffering from an attack of rheu- matism in my shoulder; but soon after my return from Providence, there appeared symptoms of a more serious visitation of the disease. I felt it in my right knee on Wednesday, December the 4th. On that day I sent home to the Bishop a bill of exchange for the second ;i£"r, 000, and that night I retired to rest with unmistakable symptoms ot rheumatism in my right knee. Suffice to say, I was con- fined to bed for a whole fortnight, and endured a great deal of pain. My whole system was out of order, and medical * care was of the greatest impovtance. But what physician could I call in a strange city, especially in a city where, as all through America, quacks are so abundant. Nothing could surpass the care and kindness of the servants of the hotel, of whom about a dozen evinced for me the greatest sympathy. They were all Irish, and many from Cork County. They neglected no means for aiding in my restoration to health. The men-servants could show nothing but sympathy, and they showed it as far as language could go. Dr. Salter called every day while I was sick, and showed great skill as well as industry in banishing my pains and restoring me to health. Mrs. Salter wrote me a note of • THE ''ATHENS CF AMERICA:' 193 sympathy, and sent me books and pictures to amuse, and wine to stregthen me. She then came herself every day, and spent an hour with me. She impressed me as one of the most learned, elegant and accomplished ladies I had ever met. Although the daughter of a Protestant clergyman, she is a convert to Catholicity, and so became every member of her family, including the Doctor. I never met a more intense Catholic than Mrs. Salter. She seems to have not only retained, but to have kept constantly intensifying in her soul the first fervour of neophytism. I bore my illness and solitude with remarkable patience for some days ; but soon, when it got noised abroad, my resignation was less severely tested, for several friends dropped in, and all brought some present which they thought would be of service to me. One brought wine, another fruit, a third, Mrs. Murphy, acted like a Sister of Charity. She came every day, and brought some soup or other delicacy, such as a jelly, which she administered with her own hands, until I found myself as well cared for as if I were ill in my own house at home. Withal, I sighed for the gentle care of my sister and dear friend, Miss Cox, and for the balmy air of my native land. In Boston it blew, one day a hurricane, another day the wind was cold and biting — then it froze for several days together, and last of all it snowed. As I grew better, I fancied that my condition was not so very disagreeable, and that repose and seclusion from a cold atmosphere were not entirely unpleasant ; yet I had to spend the Christmas in my room, while all the world were enjoying the festivities of that merry season. No matter, I had many reflections tp console me, and I could not resist the tempta- o 194 " DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. tion of weaving those reflections into verse, I subjoin a copy of the lines \ wrote on this occasion : — , CONSOLATIONS OF AN EXILED INVALID ON CHRISTMAS DAY. Hov, many a way man is doomed upon earth To spend " Merry Chrisimas," as men love to call it ! For some 'tis a season of frolic and mirth, For others, there's plenty of sorrow to gall it. Here family circles unbroken unite, There vacant chairs vamly await the departed ; Here children's loud laughter enlivens the night. There pines the lone father, death-doomed, broken-hearted; For me, I have tried, when this Christmas comes round, To smile in saloons or to revel in attics — The last was the joUiest yet, though it found Me sick in a Boston hotel with rheumatics. There, stretched at full length, as I lay on my back, I gazed on the ceiling all white that shone o'er me, A canvas so fair did my fancy but lack To paint all its visions of Christmas before me. One pleasure, at least, was the absence of sound — Shut out was the world, with its cares and its troubles, Calm, holy and sweet was the silence around, Unheard were the breakers of life, and its bubbles. The frosty wind sighed by my cold window-pane. But I was wrapped snug from those biting pneumatics, I tell you, my friends, I'd spend Christmas again Thus sick in a Boston hotel with rheumatics. No doubt, it is lonely thus lying in bed ; • With patience, however, to bear it I'm able : Far better my lot than of those whom the dead Come haunting at Christmas, and grin round the table. Far better be captive in bed, when the pain Is not unendurable, than in a prison. Where pleasure expires at the clank of the chain, And hopes are extinguished as soon as arisen ; THE '' AT'HENS OF AMERICAr 195 Far better an ocean of bed than of wave, Secure from the dangers of wild aerostatics, I envy no seaman so close to his grave, While sick in a Boston hotel with iheumatics. How many a Prussian now trembling in France With hunger and cold and unspeakable hard fare, Would envy my bed, where no bayonet or lance Would conjure up all the wild horrors of warfare. Oh, Christmas, what thousands of palls hast thou flung O'er hearts and o'er homes tlirough this war's desolation ? Thy advent, once welcome to aged and young, Now brings only ruin, and woe, and starvation. To count all the sorrows of Teuton and Frank This Christmas, surpasses all my mathematics. But one thing is plain, my good ange' I thank. That I'm sick in a Boston hotel with rheumatics. I think of the thousands like me wlio recline In bed, but alas ! with less hope of revival, Who, friendless:', unpitied, incurable pine. And think their best blessing Death's early arrival. Ah ! Christmas, what balm for those wretches hast thou ? The memories thou bringest but heighten their anguish, The joys that thou sheddest of yore are but now Dim phantoms before which they hopelessly languish — For me, I but suffer some pain iri my knees, Which yields to the soothings of homoeopathies, And calmly philosophize here at my ease. Laid up in a Boston hotel with rheumatics. ' And were I at home ! what is home to me now. Since those who endeared it are vanished for ever ? The father who sat at the board with the brow Of Jove when serenest, again shall sit never. The mother whose face, like a garden of flowers, Gave out all its sweets to the sunshine of pleasure. Sheds radiance no more on the festival hours, A sharp, sudden stroke reft my life of that treasure. 196 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. A sister and friend guard the homestead for me, While Destiny flings me amongst the erratics ; Small difference then doth it make if I be One sick in a Boston hotel with rheumatics. Come, let us be jolly, whatever betide, And fill up a bumper : let's call it Falernian. It matters not what be the liquor supplied, As long as we cannot procure the Hibernian. Come, Mary and Pat, to your welfi^re here goes ; Time flies ! see, already the day's disappearing ! The season comes round once a year, and who knows The next we may spend in the dear land of Erin? The thought is so pleasant, it makes me inclined To try an experiment in acrobatics ; This Christmas, at least, is the last that will find Me sick in a Boston hotel with rheumatics. During my illness I heard from the servants and visitors a great deal about the preparations which were being made to honour the Christmas festival. But I was very much sur- prised to learn that it is only of very late years that the solemnity has been observed at all, and even so late as twenty years ago, it was regarded no more than any other day in the year ; and stranger still, that there were many persons in Boston and elsewhere who actually never heard of Christmas Day, or knew what it meant ! . That the anniversary of the Nativity of Christ should be ignored amongst Christians while other anniversaries were remembered and respected, is very singular indeed, yet so it was. Twenty years ago, on the return of Christmas Day there was nothing to indicate that any extraordinary day had arrived. Business of all kinds went on as usual. There was no church service except in the few Catholic chapels that then existed, and no one spoke of Christmas Day. See what a change has taken place in a few years. Christmas THE ''ATHENS OF AMERICA:' 197 Day is now observed by all classes with as much strictness as it is in any part of the world. And not only are the churches filled, and all business suspended, but there is an unusual amount of feasting, and visiting and house decoration, and holiday-making everywhere, and this is increasing from one year to another. The newspapers state that no previous celebration of Christmas surpassed this one in festivity, and the community were congratulated, upon their growing Christian spirit. No allusion however was made to the means by which this great revolution was brought about, while everybody knows that it is entirely owing to the influence of the Irish. The Irish would not work on a Christmas Day — so great was their reverence from childhood for this festival, that no threat or privation could prevail on them to desecrate it by servile work. They sturdily resisted the solicitations of their employers, and the end of that was business had to be given up and the obligations of Christmas recognised. The despised race brought about this change ; the weak ones of the world confounded the strong, and reh'jion witnessed another triumph at the hands of a people to whom its interests are dearer than life itself. Shortly after my last lecture, I received a letter of warm congratulation frorii a lady, "Missjannette L. Douglas," 209 Springfield Street, Boston, to which I replied on the eve of my illness, and which was soon succeeded by another. To the latter I replied soliciting the honour of a visit, as I was un- well. Miss Douglas came, and I immediately recognised a lady to whom I had been introduced to in the Victoria Hotel, Cork, about two years ago by my friend Professor Barry, since deceased. Miss Douglas is a fine looking lady — she 198 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. had been travelling alone, as is the custom of American ladies, and she now informed me that, on that occasion she completed a tour through Great Britain, Ireland and France. Her admiration of Professor Barry was intense. She described him as the most finished gentleman she had ever met. And indeed she did not err, for the Professor's manners were most courtly, and his conversational powers unequalled. Her sorrow, when I informed her of his death was genuine indeed. The lady had written the manuscript of a book which she is now preparing for the press, a journal of her tour, which I have no doubt, will be highly interesting, if I can form any opinion of her style from the correctness and elegance of her language in conversation, as well as from her powers of observation of men and things. I am to spend an evening at Miss Douglas's house when I am entirely convalescent. I should have mentioned long since that I lectured at Ports- mouth, New Hampshire, under the auspices of my friend the Rev. Canon Walsh, Pastor of that place, but with only triHing success, as the Catholic population is few, and not lecture-loving. The nett receipts were only fifty dollars. But my chief reason for going to Portsmouth was that I might enjoy the pleasure of meeting again that estimable clergyman, to whom I was introduced last summer in Mon- treal. His wit and humour, and hilarity were to me perfectly delightful, and his hospitality, which was of the genuine Irish pattern, made me feel quite at home. He had a kvf other guests, and "his sister Miss Walsh, a very talented and interesting young lady. From all I learn, the antipathy to the Catholic religion and the Irish population is very intense in this country. One THE '' ATHENS OF AMERICAN 199 instance of this amused me. A very estimable clergyman of Jamaica Plain was one day driving me in his carriage through a part of the country near his house. He pointed out to ;\ie a house on the road side, of not very portentous appearance, and a very stately mansion close by somewhat further from the road. The latter had been built before the former. An Irishman had dared to build a house within a few yards of an American ; but what was to be done ? The law afforded no solace to the wounded feelings of the Yankee, and as a last resource he erected a long and high wooden wall that would completely shut out from view the obnoxious domicile of the unoffending Patrick. I saw the wall of separation, and I could not help feeling disgusted to think that any man's hatred for another could carry him to such absurd and ridiculous lengths. But Patrick goes steadily " marching on." Every year witnesses new triumphs of his nationality and religion, and there is every reason to hope that after a generation or two, both will be once for all in the ascendant. In the city of Providence, and indeed, I believe, all through the broad island, there exists a law clearly aimed at Irishmen, that no " foreigner," no matter how long resident in the country, can v )te for any purpose unless he have real estate to the value of 134 dollars. This law excludes from civil and municipal privileges many Irishmen, although it permits even niggers to enjoy them. Even a negro is preferable in the eyes of a Yankee to an Irishman. -, According as I recovered from my illness I fou.«d it very necessary for me to go to some part of the country for change of air, for as long as I remained confined my appetite would not return. I bethought myself of the Rev. John McCaitny, 200 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. of Watei. jwn. I knew how kind and good he was, and I felt he wr;,.) the proper person for me to stay with. As good luck Would have it, who should drop in to visit me but the same good man, and he immediately invited me to his place. I promised to go on the following Friday, and he engaged to meet me at the station. When Friday came I left by the 1 2 train. The moment I entered the open air I felt it like a knife cutting my throat inside, and I coughed tremendously. I had no notion it was so cold, but it had snowed for some days previous and the streets were all white. This day I saw sleighs in operation for the first time \ I had seen them before in coach-houses, but now I saw them passing through the streets over the snow, and heard the pleasant sound of the bells making the whole air musical. I was not long in reaching Watertown, which is only seven miles from Boston, and there Father McCarthy was ready for me with his sleigh and his wolf-skin rug — it is remarkable that the first day I ever saw a sleigh in action was the first day I rode in one. Father McCarthy suggested that we should take a good long drive before coming to the house, which was close at hand. I agreed. The whole country was covered thick with snow, and probably will be for several weeks, if not months. The air was biting cold, but bracing and healthy. I was snug in my magnificent Irish frieze coat, the envy and admiration of everyone who saw it ; and the grand muffler made for me at home by the fairy fingers of Miss Bride Finnegan, encircled my neck and enveloped my ears, while two warm gloves without fingers, of which I had been made a present, kept my hands in a warm glow. We drove along — the horse, a splendid animal — and shot over the snow like a skiff, while the little bells tinkled a merry peal over the horse's back. THE '' ATHENS OF AMERICAr 201 We met many other sleighs on the way, some driven by ladies, others by gentlemen ; but ours was as good-looking, and our horse as spanking as any. The journey was very pleasant : but it was impossible to discern any beauty in the landscape, as all was enveloped in snow. Not a bird was to be seen anywhere. Father McCarthy told me that through the whole winter not one was visible, they all fled to southern and warmer climates, indeed, if they remained, a few weeks of starvation would have killed them all. It was amusing to see the various costumes worn by gentlemen driving in sleighs. Furs were the most abundant, and I saw one gentleman so enveloped from, head to foot in skins that it would not have been difficult to mistake him for a wild beast, especially as there was a something ferocious in his aspect, quite in correspondence with the hirsuteness of his attire. Children derive great amusement from the snowy and frosty weather. They pull each other on small sleighs, which they call " sleds," and take a great deal of exercise in this manner. The atmosphere is by no means cold in this snowy weather, on the contrary, it is often mild and genial, and the bracing air quickens the spirits and makes one feel happy. When we arrived at Father McCarthy's dinner was ready. The house, like most of the priests' houses I have seen in this country, is admirably furnished, and very elegantly kept. All the rooms are heated up to 70° Fahrenheit, summer heat, in fact ; and it is so pleasant to step from the biting atmos- phere of the ice and snow into such a temperature. This is one great point in which the Americans seem to be so much ahead of us — domestic comfort. They seem to make it the especial element of their happiness. Everyone appears to 202 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN A MERICA. have a good house, and those who enjoy wealth, even in moderation, dwell in splendid mansions far superior in style and comfort to those of an equal position in Ireland. Almost all the houses, at least in the country, are built of wood — even the most magnificent palaces of merchant princes — but then they are all built in a beautiful style of architecture, are cooler than stone in summer, and warmer than stone in, winter, and resist time and tempests just as well. Building in wood, too, seems to suit the genius of the American people exactly. They do not build for posterity. Each man appears to build for himself. As men do not pride themselves on their ancestry in this country, so neither do they seem to reck what may be the character or position of posterity. Architecture, then, is consulted only as to what it can do for the present day, and it supplies what is at once most elegant, cheap and commodious, and this applies to public as well as private buildings. One of the finest houses I have ever been in, in America, was one which Father McCarthy took me to visit. It is the house of Mr. Adams, the chief of that firm known as the * * Adams' Express Company." This company has its branches all over the United States, It is devoted to the transmission by express of all kinds of goods and parcels from one place to another. The pi incipal (Adams) began life like so many remarkable Americans, without a cent, and is now one of the great millionain;s of the country. Well, he has a splendid house, very close to Watertown, and large tracts of land, all round which he has fenced in by a low granite wall, father McCarthy has a ;general entree into the house, where there is a very fine gai ery of paintings, and he drove me over to see the place, 'i he na^ntings are very fine. I fancied for a THE ''ATHENS OF AMERICA:' 203 moment that I was in some gallery on the continent of Europe, for the resemblance is perfect, and appears to have been studied. Many of those paintings are originals from European galleries, purchased at a great price, and others are very good copies. The whole is very interesting. The lady of the house hearing we were there came into the picture gallery and greeted Father McCarthy. He introduced me and the lady hearing I was from Ireland, very courteously observed that " good pictures were no treat to me," which implied good paintings were rare in America. And so they are, I fancy, at least paintings which are the works of American artists. Mrs. Adams pointed out the pictures which are most admired, and gave the history of many — where they were got, what they cost, &c., &c. We bade her farewell* with thanks, and mounted to the top of the house where there is a Belvidere. The glass is stained, each pane a different colour from the next, and the landscape viewed through the various panes presents curious aspects. We saw the State House of Boston at a distance of seven miles, and the numerous little towns and villages all around that are so abundant all through Massachusetts. ■ '' ■ The residence of another millionaire, Caleb Cushing, is in the immediate neighbourhood of Adams' ; and the great attraction here, are the gardens on which he lavishes a great portion of his wealth, but as all these were now all covered with snow, and were only invisible green, we did not mind visiting them. January ist — Father Shinnick came to-day from East Cambridge to dine, and in the evening some ladies and gentlemen came to see me, and we had a good musical treat, especially as Father McCarthy has a piano. All people in 204 ^lAR y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. America seem very fond of the Irish airs. Moore's Melodies are the great favourites. 1 do not know whether the Americans evince this love of our airs, probably not, but to me it is delightful to hear them — it makes me feel as if I were at home. January T^rd. — I feel quite strong enough to return to town. Father McCarthy came with me ; I bid him good-bye at the Parker House. I engaged the Music Hall for Tuesday, the 24th inst., for the purpose of delivering my lecture on "The Chivalry of the Middle Ages/' I met in the street Father Thomas Barry, of Rockport. It. had been arranged between him and me that I was to preach and take up a collection in his church next Sunday, but he comes to tell me that the principal firm in the place had failed, and that hundreds of people were thrown out of employment, in consequence of which there was no use in my going. This was a disappoint- ment, but there was no help for it. I go by train to Lowell at 1 2 noon and make arrange- ments to lecture there on the 15th. I make the acquaint- ance of a leading Irish citizen there, a Mr. Patrick Dempsey, who receives me at his house, and gives me hospitality, and does all in his power to promote my interests. He drives me about and introduces me to several prominent men like himself, and I have considerable success. I sleep at Mr. Dempsey's. He is one of the best self-educated men I have found in his position of life. He is an extensive liquor dealer, and highly respected in Lowell. On Thursday I go by train to Salem, distant about 20 miles from Lowell. Salem is on the sea, and is I think the oldest town in Massachusetts. It was the greatest strong- hold ot Puritanism in the State. There is a place here THE ''ATHENS OE AMERICA." 205 called Gallows Hill, where up to a comparatively late period, witches were hung and burned. Within a quarter of a century, all the Catholics in Salem were contained in one small church ; they could easily be counted. Now they are six thousand, out of an entire population of 24,000, and increase from year to year. Farming and currying are the staple trade of Salem. Indeed the whole atmosphere is redolent of tan. As that trade was once prevalent in Cork, and then fell into decay, those who were thrown out of employment found, many of them, a good refuge in Salem. The Cork element is very strong here. I stayed with a Mr. Martin Egan, a tanner, from Blackpool, in Cork. He and his wife were very kind. I was treated with the most profuse and cordial hospitality by those good people. Mr. Egan took me to see several Cork friends, and others hearing of my arrival, called at his house to see me. I was quite at home here. January 6th. — Celebrated Mass in one of the churches. Pastor, a young Irish priest. Father Gray ; his curate, Father Healy, born at Muinleravsara, Co. Cork, dined with Mr. Egan, who drove me to Peabody. This is a large town, so dose tc Salem, that it is impossible for a stranger to discern any line of demarcation. It is the birthplace of the celebrated George Peabody, whose statue is in London, and in compliment to whom it takes its name, having been formerly known as Danvers. Mr. Egan took me to see Mrs. Foley, nee Buckley, a cousin of mine (?), sister of Father Buckley, of Ballyclough, Co. Cork. She was very kind and insisted on the relationship. I was invited by so many to come again that I have resolved to lecture here, I hope it will be a success. 2o6 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. I leave Salem for Boston in order to be present at a great meeting to be held this evening in the Music Hall, to protest against the occupation of Rome by Victor Emmanuel. On reaching the hotel I got a great number of Cork Examiners, which were awaiting my arrival, and also a letter from Canon Maguire. I go to the great meeting, and justly indeed may it be called great. The Hall was crammed to suffocation and thousands had to remain out- side who could not get admission. The Bishop was present. Mr. P. Donahoe in the chair. A great number of clergy also were there. The utmost enthusiasm prevailed. It was indeed, to my mind, the most genuine and thorough Catholic demonstration I ever witnessed. The Bishop's speech was excellent, eloquent, and exhaustive — ^he was received with a cordial welcome ; the cheering was repeated over and over again. The next most popular speaker was my friend the Hon. P. A. Collins. Two things only were to be regretted, viz., — that three of the speakers read their speeches, and that there was no programmes. There was no series of resolu- tions ; each speaker said what he pleased on the whole subject, so that they were all harping on the one string, and many sentiments were repeated over and over again ad nauseam. But for spirit and ardour and Catholic earnest- ness, I never saw a better, nobler, or more eflfective demon- stration. January Mi. — In bed all day with rheumatism— shocking and constant pain in my knee. Dr. Salter called once more into requisition ; servants very kind and attentive, as before; receive visits from many friends, which is cheering. January 12th.— I feel better, get up and walk out. Here and there I get an opportunity of seeing my face in a look- ' THE '' ATHENS OF AMERICAN 207 ing glass, and the spectacle shocks and frightens me. I met Mr. Boyle O'Reilly and the Hon. P. A. Collins in Washing- ton-street. They express the greatest alarm at the alteration in my appearance. I feel this is the best proof I could have of the bad effects of my illness. I come to my hotel, and address a letter to Father M'Carthy, of Watertown, where I am to deliver a lecture to-morrow evening, to say I cannot go. This is a great sacrifice, but I cannot help it. Doctor Salter comes ; while he is present there is a knock at the door. " Come in," I cry. A boy comes in with some photographs of me from Mr. Black, my photographer, and the bill. I overhear the Doctor saying — " When I was a boy it was usual for boys, when coming into a gentleman's room, to take off their caps " (I observed the boy wore his), "but nowa-days boys have become too independent. Why- do you not take off your cap, sir, in the presence of a clergy- man?" The boy laughed outright, but never obeyed the Doctor. On the contrary, he seemed to have a great con- tempt for that worthy man, and to think that he had thrown away his speech. Yes ; the system of democracy which pretends to bring men to a level brings some lower than they were. January x<^tTi. — Am amused by an American gentleman, whom I met at the house of Mr. John Glanny, and who delivers himself of some very strange theological theories. After he had explained one opinion of his, he asked me what I thought of it. I said I could find no fault with it, except that it did not seem conformable with a certain pas- sage in Job, which I quoted. " Oh, but," quoth the gentleman, "I beg leave to differ with Mr. Job." His faith he summed up in the curious expression. 2 o8 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. " I am a Catholic, but I reserve to myself the privilege of independent thought and investigation." Every day something startling in theology turns up In America. A few days ago I saw a Rev. Mr. Alger, one of the great lights of Boston, advertised to preach the following Sunday. Subject — "What is to become of us hereafter?" a sequel to that gentleman's sermon of the previous Sunday, viz., '* The Resurrection of the Body Refuted." A Rev. Mr. Morgan delivered a lecture lately, in Boston, on " Fast Young Men," which made quite a sensation, and he followed it up with another, on " Fast Young Men of Dry Goods Stores " — />., in our phraseology, " P\i,st Young Men of the Drapers' Clerks class." These latter felt very indignant that their class should be thus ignominiously pointed at, and called a meeting, in which they drew up a requisition to the Rev. Mr. Morgan, begging of him to lecture next on a subject which they thought a good counterpart to the " Fast Young Men " — viz., ** Tough Old Sinners," of whom, no doubt, they deemed the said Rev. Morgan to be one of the most conspicuous. I go to Lowell (twenty-four miles by train), and stay with Mr. Dempsey. He and Mrs. Dempsey and daughter (Etta) are very kind, and do all in their power to make me happy. On Sunday I am very sick, and eat nothing, or if I do, my stomach reject, it — am very weak and languid. Hear Mass and stay in the house all day. The success of my lecture is not likely to be great, as the priests are not disposed to pub- lish it in their churches. One of them treated me In a very boorish manner, at my first interview with him, and he is still unrelenting. The Fates are dead against me of late. Miss Dempsey does all she can to amuse me. We play THE "ATHENS OF America:' 209 chess and draughts, and "Jack Straws" (an American game), and she shows me all the photographic and stereo- scopic views in the house. She then brings me her autographic album, and wishes me to add my name to those of other " distinguished p^ sonages " who had already honoured its pages. Thiii is a great trial to my modesty, which feeling suggests matter for the following lines, which I contributed to the young lady's album : — " My autograph I here append. Although my modesty may be to blame ; But a deaf ear what man could lend When Etta asks him only for his name ? " The lectui'e came off successfully, as far as I was con- cernedj but otherwise, considering the audience, who num- bered only 415, at twenty five cents a ticket. The nett proceeds amounted to only sixty-eight dollars, a great failure for So important a place. The lecture has knocked me up completely. I come home to Boston as quickly as possible, and go to bed. January 2 1st. — I am wonderfully improved in my health since yesterday, and feel equal to anything. Went to Law- rence, an important city, perhaps twenty miles from Boston, on the invitation of Father William Orr, who had invited me to spend Sunday with him, and preach on that day, so that I might be known to the people, and make a good col- lection amongst them, this third Sunday of January. It was very kind. He acted an excellent part towards us, for which we are very grateful. Return to Boston, paid a few farewell visits, as we leave for New York next Saturday. Called to bid farewell to Bishop Williams, but found he was absent from home. Made other visits, and spent my last evening p 2 1 o DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA, in the Parker House, at least for some time. A deputation from East Boston waited on me, asking me to lecture there, and accept the total proceeds. I promised to come up from New York some weeks hence, when I shall fulfil a few other engagements also. A few friends called to bid adieu, and we spent a pleasant evening together. CHAPTER VIII. THE EMPIRE CITY. We leave at 8.30 a.m. in a " Pullman Palace Car," quite a superb carriage, beautifully ornamented with mirrors, with compartments where two or three can lock themselves up comfortably, and enjoy each other's society, and sit or lounge on luxurious cushions. A young lady — Miss Mary Josephine O'SuUivan— Mr. John White's stepdaughter, is placed under my charge. She was never more than twenty miles from Boston, and is delighted at the idea of making her first visit to the great city of New York, where she is to be on a visit with some friends. The whole country is covered with snow. We go by Springfield and Newhaven, 209 miles. Miss O'SuUivan is provided with a basket con- taining a magnificent dinner, to which we did full justice in our little paln.re-car compartment. We had a very nice table, and every convenience. The Americans have a great notion of how to make themselves comfortable. The very carriage was so heated by steam that an overcoat or hat were quite unnecessary. A railway-rug is usually quite unnecessary in America. I use mine only as an additional blanket in bed» THE EMPIRE CITY. an We arrived in New York at 6 p.m. Have made up our minds to come to Sweeny's Hotel. A great number of fenian prisoners, just released on conditions of exile, are there at present. Accordingly, we are transported thither. In passing I admire Broadway very much, and the sleighs, and the bells making music in the air. It is indeed a mag- nificent street. Sweeny's is a very fine hotel. From the roof hangs a grand Irish flag— a harp on a green ground. A great crowd of gazers throng the street, expecting to see the Exiles. As we enter, the gieat hall is filled with men. While entering my name, a young gentleman steps over and addresses me. I recognise one of the Exiles, Charles Underwood O'Connell, looking wonderfully well, as if his imprisonment agreed with him. The last time I saw him was five years ago, in the dock in Cork, from which he saluted me. I gave him some Cork papers, with accounts of himself and his compatriots, for which he was very grate- ful. Next in the group I recognised General Thomas F. Burke, who made the splendid speech in Green-street Court- house, Dublin, previous to the sentence dooming him to death. I was present at his trial. I introduced myself. He had heard of me. A splendid-looking fellow, and of a gentlemanly deportment. I also found Col John O'Mahony, to whom I had been introduced last Summer. On the passage upstairs I found O' Donovan Rossa, whom I also recognised after a lapse often years. He rei, mbered xue, and introduced me to his wife, a very pretty and fashionably dressed young lady. Rossa also introduced me to Denis Bowling Mulcahy, and we had a good deal of conversation. In one of the evening papers, the New York Evening Express, the following appeared under the head of " The 2 1 2 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. Fenian Exiles : Programme for their Reception. Inter alia Rev. Father Buckley, of Cork, and a friend arrived at Sweeny's Hotel to-day, and have been presented to their fellow countrymen. They had a long and pleasant interview with the members of the Brotherhood." This morning, January "i^xst^ in the breakfast room, found all the Fenians breakfasting at one table — a real " Fenian Circle," as I called it when speaking with Rossa. Was introduced to Captain McClure, who distingui<;hed himself at Kilclooney Wood. We went off to see the Archbishop, and knowing how lie persistently refuses his patronage to all persons coming on a mission such as ours, we apprehended that we too would be re- fused the privilege. We were ushered into a dravvingroom and sent up our cards. The Archbishop soon presented himself and was extremely gracious in his manner. I explained the object of our visit. Ke replied that requests such as ours were the greatest difficulty he had to encounter. They were of daily occurrence, &c., &c., and it seemed to be a matter of trifling importance whether he granted permission or not, for priests whom he had refused had gone and collected in spite of him. I replied that we would be incapable of doing anything unbecoming the dignity of priests or gentlemen, when His Grace paid me the compliment of saying, "Indeed, Mr. Buckley, you need not tell me that." Finally, wonder- ful to relate, he granted us full permission to prosecute the object of our mission in New York, and wound up by saying that he should have us to dine on an early day. He also said he owed a great deal to Bishop Delaney, whose hospi- tality he had received, etcetera. This was joyful news for us. We visited Mr. Eugene O'Sullivan, of Wall Street, who THE " A THENS OF AM ERIC A^ a 1 3 entertained us at his house at Long Branch, last summer, and he is agreeably surprised to see us. In conversing v;ith him, he confirmed what I had heard elsewhere, that in the Catholic Churches on Sundays you can observe that the vast majority of the congregation are persons who have emigrated from Ireland, but that very few are to be found who were born in this country of Irish parents. Does the Catholic religion then grow weaker in the breasts of the Irish-Americans from generation to generation ? Father Charles McCready and Father O'Connell, of Chiselhurst spent the evening with me. February /^tk. — Dined with the Fenian Exiles this evening ; it was quite a banquet. The gentleman who invited me was Charles U. O'Connell. When he saluted me from the dock five years ago, I little thought I would be dining with him in New York. February ^th. — We paid several visits to-day. Amongst the other persons we visited Father Fecker, the founder of the Paulists, of whom I have made mention more than once already. On the subject of lectures he does not hold out to me much prospect of success. He says it is very hard to organize a lecture for a foreign object in New York, and suggests that I should engage myself as a lecturer to priests for some parochial charitable object, at a certain sum for each lecture. Father O'Connell, of Chislehurst, spent the evening with me and amused me a good deal by his views of America ; like mycclf, he is surprised at the abundance of turkey consumed here. The commonest dish in America seems to be roast turkey. Fowl of all kind is general, but the turkey is the fiece de resistance. And very good turkeys they rear, large and fat At dinner there is seldom more ii4 JOIARYOF A TOUR IN AMERICA. than one joint, and in nine cases out of ten it is a roast turkey. Nothing particular occurred until Thursday, February 9th, when we had the procession in honour of the Fenians. It was a very remarkable pageant, the whole city was astir all the morning, and crowds were assembling in front of our hotel to catch a view of the Exiles. They are fourteen in number, and O'Donovan Rossa is regarded as their head and repre- sentative. At 12.30 o'clock they were to leave the hotel for Tammany Hall. A little before that hour they assembled in a parlour upstairs. I joined them there. I was introduced to Colonel Roberts, one of those who had taken a very pro- minent part in the Fenian movement at its inception in this country. When all was ready Mr. Connolly invited me to join him in a carriage. I accepted the invitation. Our carriage was first, and contained besides me and Mr. C, O'Donovan Rossa and General Tom Burke. About ten other carriages followed. The enthusiasm of the people as the cortege moved slowly on was intense. Several men put their hands in through the carriage and shook hands with Rossa and Burke. One in a soldier's uniform cried, " Which is General Burke ? " and when he was informed he seized the General's hand and looked at him most lovingly. " General," said he, " I am a soldier," and he kept loosing the General's hand and seizing it again for a long time, saying, *' Burke, General, I love you." He was then made acquainted with Rossa, whose hand he shook, but Burke was his favourite, and he said so. It reminded me of the passage in The Old Curiosity Shop — "Short is good — but I cottons to Codlin." We reached Tammany Hall in due time, and there was THE « A TIIENS OF AMERICAN 3 1 a dense and uproarious crowd. The moment the Exiles appeared the cheers were simply deafening, and the enthu- siasm indescribable. Richard O' Gorman took the chair, and made an oration. He speaks well, has a fine voice and good delivery. He welcomed the Exiles to America, and shook hands with them through Rossa. John Mitchel, whom I here saw for the first time, also spoke, addressing the Exiles as " Fellow Felons." There were cries for Burke and Rossa, and both spoke. Then the Hall was cleared and the pro- cession formed. Union Square was close by, and there was a constant booming of cannon which were stationed there. I can give no idea of the crowd that blocked up the space here. The papers set down the whole crowd of on-lookers through the city as 300,000. I did not take part in the procession, but took up my place in a magnificent establish- ment in Broadway with my new friend, Father O'Connell. It was a great holiday for the Irish. The houses in many places had flags and other decorations. The heads of numerous horses were ornamented with green ribbons ; people carried small green flags in their hands or rosettes in their coats. Many young ladies were dressed all in green. The men had green neckties. Banners with " God Save Ireland " hung out in many places. As the procession passed women scr .amed with joy, and waved their white handker- chiefs. It was a day of pride and jubilee. The spectacle of the procession was very imposing indeed. The police marched at the front of it, and at the rear several regiments, and patriotic societies with their bands joined. The Exiles were in open carriages, and had to keep constantly returning the salutations of the crowd. All traffic was stopped in the streets as thi procession passed, and by that singular magic 2 1 6 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. by which the police everywhere extort obedience, the people lined the pathways and left the whole centre clear. The processionists rode in carriages or walked^ Civic authorities were there in full insignia. Numerous bands of boys marched clad in a peculiar and picturesque costume, and evidently boiling over with patriotism, though most of them never saw Ireland. There were several carriages containing coloured officers and soldiers who had fought in the war, and who shared ^n the procession as fellow victims of oppression with the Irish, now breathing the pure air of American freedom. . They were received as they passed with striking manifesta- tions of respect. The mayor reviewed the procession as it passed the City Hall, where the thunders of a smart can- nonade typified the shouts of American welcome; Strange coincidence — almost at that moment Queen Victoria was opening the Session of Parliament and proposing measures for securing peaceful relations between England and America. ** While the cannon," says the paper, *' in front of the City Hall, within a stone's throw of our office, were thundering their war-like welcome to the great passing Fenian pro- cession, we were receiving despatches from London and from Washington, the whole purport of which is a new entente cordiale between England and the United States." It struck us as a most extraordinary concurrence of events, that while hearing this warlike thunder of the Fenian cannon, we should be reading those lightning despatches from the foggy Thames and the frozen Potomac — from President Grant and Queen Victoria. "Let us have peace." There were two rather remarkable carriages in the procession. One was a fantastically-fashioned barouche, drawn by six bay horses, of whom the four leaders were tandem, and all THE EMPIRE CITY. ' 217 were decorated beautifully — banners gold-mounted and the reins white. This was the carriage of the celebrated Helm- bold, the druggist, of " Buchu " notonety. The other carriage was simply an Irish jaunting car, of which I am told there are only two in all New York. The music of the bands was bad, and the men did not seem to have the bold bearing or the elastic step of their brethren at home in the Green Isle. On the whole the procession was grand, and it clearly proved that the love of Ireland and the hatred of England is undying in the Irish breast all the world over. To me nothing appeared so remarkable as the pare the police took in the procession. In Ireland they are regarded as the enemies of the people, and dare not take part in any popular demonstration, but are rather ordered to look out for disorders and to repress them, if necessary, by the extreme rigour of the musket. There the police joined in the pro- cession, and seemed proud of the honour. It is no wonder that Irishmen should love America, where they, once the victims of barbarous tyranny, breathe a free air, and bask in the sunshine of protection beneath the aegis of universal emancipation. Dined to-day on board the "Tripoli," a Cunard steamer, at the invitation of the purser, Mr. Ambrose Shea, son of the late Mr. John Shea, once Mayor of Cork. We had a jolly snug little party ; sorr»e of the officers of the ship dined with us. February 10th, — Great exultation amongst the Irish about the success of yesterday's demonstration. The waiter who helped me at breakfast asked, how did I like it ? I answered "It was splendid." He asked, " Did you ever see anything like it ?" This " ever " vexes me. ** Yes sir, we are a great people." 2i8 DTARYOFA TOUR IN AMERICA. February nth. — Father Maguire, of St. Paul's, Brooklyn has asked me to preach in his church to-morrow, so I cross to Brooklyn by steamer. The ferryboat finds great difficulty in crossing on account of the immense quantities of ice in the river. In the middle of the day the ice was so compact that several people walked across. At the flow of the tide the ice increases ; at the ebb, otherwise. It floats down from the Hudson and East Rivers. February 12th. — I preach on "Christian Hope" at Mass; the snowiest morning I ever saw. How the people came to Mass astonishes me ; yet there was a large congregation. By the way, every change of climate here is called a storm— if it rains or snows, it is a " storm " — I mean of course any change from good to bad. Father O'Reilly, one of Father Maguire's assistants, tells us a funny thing. He had said early Mass, after which he is accosted in the vestry room by a man who is accompanied by a woman. The man has the appearance of a sailor, Man says, *' Say, do you run this machine ? " ** No," says Father O'Reilly. " Then you're the foreman, I guess." ** No ; what do you want ? " asks the priest. " What do I want ? Why this lady and I want to get married right away." The conversation turned on American institutions. All agreed in what has been already stated, that corruption rules everything. A man may murdci another with impunity, if he has money enough to bribe the judge. The judge is elected by a political party. Rather than displease the party who elected him, he will yield to the mild influence of interposition, provided the certain number of dollars be THE EMPIRE CITY, 219 rubbed to his judicial fist Great freedom of religion — free- dom to all. Hence the great number of churches, for every man may have a view of religion different from another, and start a theological theory, and open a church, and appoint a minister of his own. In one street in Brooklyn, perhaps a mile long, there are sixteen churches. Went to the Cooper Institute to hear Mrs. 0' Donovan Rossa read for the benefit of the widow of J. J. Geavny (a Cork Fenian) who died here by falling into a boiling vat of soap. A crammed and most enthusiastic house — General Tom Burke in the chair. The lady was beautifully dressed, green being the predominant colour. Every poem she read had, ol course, a highly national complexion, and the telling points evoked furious rounds of applause. A lady from Cork whom I knew at home as Miss O'Brien (Mrs. PoUick) sang at the piano. A gentleman named Waters came for- ward and recited " Shamus O'Brien," but he ridiculed the Irish accent so unmercifully that he was hissed, and scouted off the stage. In one of the intervals there was loud cries for " Rossa." He at length came forward, and said he was not going to make a speech. "Deeds, not words" was his motto, but he would read a letter he had just received from a gentleman, addressed to his wife (Mrs. Rossa). The writer was Mr. Basford, and he presented a cheque for fifty dollars for the object of the meeting. Loud cheers for Basford, the modest, retiring, unselfish Basford. But lo ! a gentleman steps forward, kisses hands to the audience. This is the modest Basford, advertising himself. He writes a letter, (i) presents his compliments, (2) presents his cheque, (3) pre- sents himself. But modesty is a virtue unknown in Yankee- dom. Behold another sample of it. There are loud cries of 2 20 DIAR YOFA TOUR IN AMERICA. " Roberts, Roberts ! " This is the famous Colonel Roberts, once the head of a Fenian split of a split. I learn afterwards that the gallant Colonel had a lot of fellows paid to call on him. The air was filled with cries of " Roberts," and at last the Chairman came forward and asked was Colonel Roberts in the hall. The Colonel, who was at one of the doors modestly concealed, then marched up the whole length of the hall, appeared on the platform, took off his outside coat, and with a voice of thunder made a rattling speech on *' Irish Nationality." He gave- all the old claptrap, "these gallant heroes," " England's accursed tyranny," " Ireland's imperishable rights, founded on the principles of God's eternal justice," &c., &c., all well committed to memory. He paced the stage, and if England saw him then she would have trembled for her very existence. All this was a bid for the Irish vote ! All got up by the astute Colonel himself. Curious engraftation on the programme of the evening, but puffing and advertising is the great Yankee notion. General Burke in returning thanks to every one, thanked Mr. Weber for the loan of his splendid piano. Good for Weber. Fenians, buy your pianos at Weber's ! The gent who was hissed for " Shamus O'Brien" comes forward, one would think to apologise ; but no, it was a mere little bit of trade :— " Ladies and gentlemen, I beg to inform you that a full report of this evening's proceedings will appear in to-morrow evening's Globe," and so closed the proceedings. I adjourned to Mrs. Attridge's and, late for the cars, slept at Father Mooney's. I go in the afternoon with Father Crowley to his place at Huntington, Long Island. We go by ferryboat to Hunter's point, and thence by rail two hours' ride, to Huntington. The THE EMPIRE CITY. 221 ground is almost all covered with snow. Father Crowley pointed out to me as we passed along a very large tract of ground which the millionaire Stewart, New York, has pur- chased, and which he is laying out for the purpose of building a city on it. Big idea that ; big idea. That reminds me of another American phrase, *' We had a big time," />., a very jolly time. Again: — "We had quite a time," may mean the same thing, or " we had a great row about some- thing." ** I intend to make a time about that," means I intend to make trouble about it. When parting with a friend at the door of one's house he says, "Good bye, you'll call again, won't you ? " or " You'll call again when you're around ? " At Father Crowley's I had the great pleasure of meeting my dear friends, Helena and Caroline MacSweeny, who are living with him, and whom I had not met for the last ten years. Time, I am glad to say, had not diminished their amiability. They were very glad 10 see me, and we " had quite a time." February 21st. — It snowed through the night, and we were all day confined to the house with the exception of a few hours after dinner, when Father Crowley and I drove out. The village is small and the place lonely. Now in winter it is desolate — in summer it must look well. No gas for 3,000 inhabitants. A very neat chapel is just finished, built by Father Crowley. He is a very good fellow. His driving costume was queer — a bearskin cap, chamois riding-gloves, a bearskin rug, he smoking a cigar the whole way. Ground very snowy and wet, and roads bad and sloppy. Queer names of places here, such as ** Bull's Hollow," " Bread and Cheese Hollow," "Mutton Hollow," &c., &c. Had to 2 2 2 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN A ME RICA. stand a long catechising from the girls ; had to give them news of a whole decade of years, for the place is remote from the world, and few w rite to them. February 22nd. — Ash-Wednesday, Washington's birthday — a fast day and a feast. Business suspended through the States — shops closed, flags floating in the breeze, and bands playing through the streets. I came home at 3.30 p.m., and arrived at New York at 6. Letter from a friend telling me of the rumour at home that I have been appointed canon. It is only a rumour, but to m.e it is a matter of very great indifference. I would not give ten dollars for the honour. I spend the evening quietly at home. No new impressions gained, but old ones strengthened. Thus there is very little social enjoyment in America, and such as does exist is generally fast and wild, a violent outburst. The pervading idea everywhere is the dollar above and beyond all things. I spent the evening at the house of a family named McCarthy, Third Avenue, all from Cork, nephews and niece of Mr. Charles McCarthy, Grand Parade, Cork. We enjoyed ourselves very much. On arriving home I heard that the celebrated Captain Mackey and wife had arrived. I sent word to them asking where and when I could have the pleasure of an interview. They replied, immediately in their sitting-room. Poor Mackey looks very much the worse for wear. He seems to be a very excellent character, mild, gentlemanly, religious, unassuming and warm-hearted. Mrs. Mackey was delighted to see me. She observes that I look not half as healthy as I did at home. I got some letters from her through Miss Cox ; one from Miss Cox herself I read with great interest before retiring to rest, February 2ird. — Stayed within doors all day preparing my THE EMPIRE CITY. 223 lecture for the Boston Theatre. Had a visit from Mr. B. Devlin, of Montreal, who came to invite me to lecture in that city in or about Patrick's Day. He wishes me to deliver an address on Patrick's Day to an Irish Society of whirh he is president. All right, I go from Boston after my lecture there on the 12th prox. New York, and the United States generally, is a great place for slang. Various phrases without much meaning are soon picked up, and become quite common. At present there are two phrases afloat, viz. — •' How is that for high ? " and "you know how it is yourself." The former is used in this manner : — Suppose, for example, you tell a person that you have met some piece of good fortune, or that something has happened to flatter your pride, or to be a subject of con- gratulation, you exclaim, " How is that for high ? " The second phrase is the burden of a popular song, and is very frequently used. Thus, when you are telling something to a person and you do not wish to tell it all, either because he understands it or because you don't care that the by- standers should learn all about it, you say, " You know how it is yourself." 1 do not know whether or not in the early part of this book I made mention of a song which was in the mouths of everyone on the whole continent oi America last summer, it is called " Shoo fly." What the words signify, or pretend to signify, I could never learn ; but meaning seemed to be a matter of no consideration. The burden of the song was simply unintelligible, but the air was pretty. Everyone had it — ladies played it on the piano, and boys whistled it in the str^iets. New fashions in dress, new articles of attire, were called by the name of ** Shoo fly." There were "Shoo fly neckties," and " Shoo fly hats," and potatoes 224 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. in hotels were dressed in a peculiar way and called in the bill of fare, "Shoo fly potatoes." Here is the whole song : — "I feel, I feel, I feel, I feel like a morning star. I feel, I feel, I feel, I feel like a morning star. Shoo fly don't bother mc, Shoo fly, don't bother me, Shoo fly, don't bother m ^ I belong to the Company G. There's music in the air, My mother said to me ; There's music in the air, My mother said to me. Shoo fly, don't bother me, Shoo fly, don't bother me, Shoo fly, don't bother me, I belong to the Company G. It was translated into French and German, and sung in those languages, and in many more, for aught I know. The stranger in New York, and probably in other parts of America, is struck by the great number of military men in civil costume v;hom he meets every day. Nearly every second man is a general, a captain, a colonel, or a lieutenant. In the British Isles we associate the idea of an officer with what is generally understood as a gentleman — a person of good breeding, high education, fine person and easy man- ners. Here it is diffierent I have seen a colonel keeping a gin shop, and a major setting type. Passing Sweeny's hall I encounter a group of men dressed as artisans, one of whom knows me. He at once introduces me to the rest. One is captain, another major, a third colonel, and so on. ' ' THE EMPIRE CITY. 225 I find myself at once in the society of the elite of the American army. They are fine honest fellows, but their discourse is not of war or peace, or military operations. I have no doubt they are generous and brave, and as fitted for their parts as your ** gentlemen," who do the strategy of England ; but to one brought up to the English notions of military men, the contrast between the officers of the two countries is striking and somewhat amusing. I was in the Irish Democrat office yesterday, talking to Mr. Stephen Joseph Meany, the editor. He introduced me to a gentleman who sat at a table, and whom I took for sub-editor, though per- haps, for aught I know, he was only clerk ; but whatever the gentleman was he was a major. Soon came in another gentleman, whom I recognised; he was a colonel. Oiic cannot help being amused at seeing those military men looking so very civil, and engaged in the ordinary avocations of society, when he would rather expect to behold men of portly presence, farouche aspect, and that indescribable bearing which is gene''ally understood as the air militaire. The horrible habit of chewing tobacco is carried to great excess in America, and involves great filth. The first time 1 witnessed it was in the steamer coming from Queenstown. A fine handsome fellow from Alabama comes on deck while I was chatting with a Miss Badger, of Philadelphia, and he says to her — " Do you know anyone that has tobacco? I want some to chew. I have tried to write some important letters in the cabin, and I can't do it without a chew." I was disgusted, especially at the idea of a gentleman talking of such a thing to a lady ; but that was nothing. Crossing the ferry in one of those large ferry boats that ply to Brooklyn, you pass through the ladies' cabin. Everything is clean, and Q 226 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. the air is sweet ; but pass through the " gents' cabin," and the atmosphere is disgusting, and the floor is an abomination. Man approaches very close to the brute. The heat of the stove and the fumes of tobacco make the air perfectly unen- durable, while the floor reeks with the filthy expectorations of weed-loving gentlemen. Fortunately gentlemen who do not smoke enjoy the privilege of staying in the ladies' cabin if they are so disposed, and I for one always avail myself of that privilege. There is an article in a paper in which it is gravely, and hence I dare say, truly stated that it is no uncommon thing now to find receptacles for tobacco juice in pulpits and in the pews of churches of all denominations of the land, or if not so provided, those places are smeared with the filthy compound. Gentlemen take tobacco into their mouths, as men in Ireland take snuff into their noses. In the same article "Slang in the Pulpit," a preacher is represented as haviug said " Some time ago I knocked the bottom out of hell, and now I am going to hammer away at the sides." Another says, after laying down what he con- sidered a wholesome maxim, " Stick a pin in that." Another on a similar occasion, " Put that in your pipe and smoke it." A third relating an anecdote broke off at a certain point and said, " You know how it is yourself." Every evening some gentlemen visit me and spend an hour or two. The man that pleases me most is Stephen ] oseph Meany. He is a person of very gentlemanly manners and appearance, scholarly and accomplished, and a very agreeable social companion. Other gentlemen come and proffer their services for the promotion of my lecture. I am very much struck by their kindness, one of them under- taking to write paragraphs for all the papers. Captain TUB EMPIRE CITY. 227 Mackay conies and spends an hour with me this evening. He is a remarkable person, small in appearance, but high- souled as man could be ; capable of bloody exploits, and a l)lanner of daring "raids," yet almost monastic in his religious habits and style of living. March 5//r.~Come by train to Boston. Am visited by Mr. jv'ni White. Hear Mass at the Church of the Immaculate Conception. A very fine church and most respectable congregation, admirable music, and first-rate sermon from Father Fulton, S.J. I was very much pleased with the whole thing. I saw at Mass Doctor and Mrs. Salter. I met them coming out, and they introduced me to Doctor Marshal, an English convert of some considerable fame, an Oxford man, and author of a clever work entitled, History of Christian Missions, and a publication that caused great amuse- ment a few years ago, viz.,— 27/^ Comedy of Convocation. If there be one thing more admirable than another in tliis country, it is that no man is ashamed to labour, and no kind of labour is despised. Also that you may associate with any man, and bring any man into any company, and all are " gentlemen." You may sit down and eat and drink with the coachman who drives you, and introduce the gentle- man to every one around. Men of wealth are always " boast- ing " how they began life with nothing. How they became shoe-blacks, or tailor's apprentices, or newsboys, and crept up into wealth. And somehow in society you discover no classes of rank. All men seem to commingle on a broad common ground. The conversation to be sure is not above the reach of the humblest intellect— but the manners of all are polite, and the poorest man is bold and independent, and speaks correctly and with force. 2 2 8 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. March wth — Nothing particular. I kept myself as quiet as possible. The weather is delightful, and I walk every day in the common and public gardens, '* the finest in the world, yes, sir ! " March 12///.— My lecture came oflf this evening in the Boston Theatre. The audience was immense and looked really magnificent. Twenty Cork ladies and gentlemen drove in an immense carriage with four horses from Salem to Boston to hear me, 1 5 miles. I had a great gathering in my room after the lecture— those twenty and some twenty more. Some witty things were said, for we Cork people are witty. The best was by John White. He has a great habit of saying " like a tiger ;" it is an amplification, a super lative of his. We were speaking of niggers, and he said he met a nigger once who spoke Irish " like a tiger." " And, John," said I, '• did you ever hear a tiger speak Irish?" "To be sur-Idid." " What kind of a tiger ? " I asked. " Why, an Irish tiger, of course." The lecture was for the Vincent de Paul Society, and must have realised a large sum. I waited on Bishop Williams to thank him for his patronage of us and our cause. He was very agreeable and pleasing. Went to see some other IViends and then came home. Had a visit from Mr. Ambrose Shea, purser of the " Batavia," with whom I dined, \\ his ship, at New York, February 9th. He has been twice across the Atlantic since. He was accompanied by Dr. Johnson of the same ship, and they invited me to come and see them to-morrow on board the vessel. ''A PRIESTLY FENlANr 229 CHAPTER IX. "a priestly FENIAN." March ic^th. — Left Boston at 8 a.m. for Montreal, a distance of over 300 miles, a very long journey ; it took four- teen hours. The day, however, was beautiful, and the scenery after the first hundred miles, and especially through Vermont, was charming. The seil for the most part appears to be thin and poor. There was little vegetation and no verdure. There were fine large rivers and mountains, many of which were wooded to a great height. I fancy in summer the scenery here is very fine. I had been introduced to a gentle- man, Judge Woodbury, who sat with me for a few hours. He was in great glee over the result of the elections for New Hampshire the day before ; the Democrats had obtained a large majority, an event that had not happened for the last sixteen years. The Judge was an ardent Democrat and himself a Senator for the State of Massachusetts. Wherever we went, whatever station we touched, the excitement was the same. Newsboys all flocked into the cars crying. " The Monitor^'' " All about the elections," or some other exclama- tions of the same kind. The people in the trains could talk of nothing else. The point of the thing was that it took everyone by surprise, Democrats themselves as well as Republicans. I as an outsider was very much amused by all this, and was sorry I could not take a livelier interest in it. 230 DIAR YOFA TOUR IN AMERICA. I was struck as we passed along by the strange names of some places. One station bore the name of Canaan, another of East Lebanon, relics of Puritan fervour, but we had no sooner passed the Canadian frontier than we were met by St. Alban's, St. Alexander, St. John, &c., a new style of nomenclature, indicating certainly a more Christian tone of feeling than Puritanism in those who named them. St. Alban's is on the St. Lawrence, which I see for the second time to-day. Oh, the weary journey. The Grand Trunk Railway on which we get here is very rough and uncomfortable. I have heard the same before and can endorse it. I reach Montreal at 9.50, and am located in my hotel at 10 p.m. Two gentlemen on the part of Mr. Devlin wait on me, Messrs. Doran and Egan. Where is Mr. i >evlin himself? I have some supper in my room, and retire for the night. In the United States there is constant hurry, activity, ex- citement — money-making always going on, every one trying to make the dollar. Nothing save the dollar is respected, and it is wonderful how many very rich men are everywhere. There is no street in which you will not find a man worth thousands, tens of thousands, a million of dollars. Nothing is so common as to hear a person say, " Do you see that man ? That, man, sir, is worth a million and a half of dol- lars." Of another, " That man, sir, twenty years ago was a newsboy, a shoeblack, or filled some other low occupation, he was not worth a cent ; now, sir, he is Avorth two millions of dollars." - - - Men of buGiness habits — and that includes nearly all Americans— do not care how much time they spend at their business. One man, an Irishman, said to me of his employer : ''A PRIESTLY FENIANr 231 " That man, sir, never stops thinking of his business — the only day he feels miserable is Sunday, because he must go to church, and cannot be in his store. Last summer he had a nice house at the seaside ; his wife and family stayed there for some months, but nothing could induce him to spend one whole day there, except Sunday. He would go down every evening at 5 or 6 and be up again to business next day 3 yet, sir, there is no counting what that man is worth, he mus'. be worth some millions of dollars, but he is as avaricious to make more as if he had not a cent." At a Masquer; de Ball lately at St. Louis, a lady appeared dressed in the characte • of the " Almighty Dollar." The reader's imagination must supply the style of costume, but the lady- illustrated the theology of the age and country. March i6th. — Left St. Lawrence Hall and transferred myself and baggage to St. Patrick's, where I met again my old friends of last summer. The day was very wet, and strange to say it rained and froze at the same time. During a short time that I was out, I was obliged to raise my um- brella, and when I endeavoured to close it, I found it impossible, for the rain had been frozen on it, and made it quite rigid. This was a kind of thing I never saw before. I had a visit from Mr. Devlin. He seems warm about ray- speech to-morrow evening. March i^ih. — St. Patrick's Day. A very great day in Montreal. A very great day in every city in America. A very great day anywhere but in Ireland. Before I go down stairs, I am presented \.'ith a magnificent shamrock, the present of some unknown friend. There is to be a great procession, with bands and banners, consisting of several Irish societies. They are to meet at Mass in St, Patrick's ^32 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. church, and form there when Mass is over. Accordingly at lo o'clock thiTc are great symptons of preparations. The sound of music is heard, the w ^11 known anthem of " Patrick's Day" floats on the breeze, j.nd the bandsmen in a variety of costumes, halt before the church gate to finish the tune. Crowds are assembled without, and evidently enjoy the gathering pageant. Within we have a considerable accession of clergy from various places, and their number is swelled by an accident. On Sunday next, the new Bishop of Quebec IS to be consecrated, and many of the clergy from the West, bound thereto, halt there to join in the ceremonial of the day. Conspicuous amongst them are two bishops, the Most Rev. Dr. Pinsonnanet, Bishop of Hyacinthe, and Bishop Farrell of Hamilton. The students of the seminary, all clerical eVcves, also are present. High Mass is about to be sung, Bishop Pinsonnanet is to sing it, a very handsome old gentleman with a fresh countenance, and grey hair. The church is thronged, and the bands enfilade up the nave playing the national air. This has a thrilling effect. The membeia of several Irish societies are present, each with a collar of velvet and gold. A messenger summons me from the sanctuary. I meet Mr. Devlin, who wishes to introduce me to the mayor, Mr. Coursal, who is decorated with the civic chain, and is a Catholic. When the church is full it contains about 8,000 persons, and it is crammed to-day. I had no idea there would be so magnificent an audience, and that the spectacle would be so splendid. The green banners give a grand aspect to the scene, and the shamrock decorates every breast. The Mass was beautifully sung, and the effect was greatly improved by a solo on the organ at the offertory of a pure Irish character — nothing less than the " Minstrel ' ''A PRIESTLY FENIANr 233 Boy." The sermon was by Father Hogan, of St. Anne's. At the end of the Mass the procession began to form. The weather had been wet, and the ground is covered with hard snow since last December. Hence under foot it is all wet and slushy, and walking without slipping is a matter of considerable difficulty. But I must walk -, so I accompany Father Dowd and Father Singer, who march in their sou- tanes, and have bearskin caps on their heads. I slipped once or twice, and this puts me on my guard. I take Father Dowd's arm, and even so, get on with great trouble. It was the most difficult three miles I ever walked, and the dirtiest. Such a state as my clothes were in ! Oh, holy St. Patrick, what did I ever do, that you should treat me so ? It was, nevertheless, a grand procession \ the music was excellent, and in some places there were triumphal arches, with legends indicative of the blended feelings in the breast of religion and nationality. The spectators and gazers from windows enjoyed it as it passed along ; but there was no shouting, no disorder. I asked if this proces- sion gave offence to any party. No ; on the contrary, all classes of people liked it, and would be greatly disappointed if it did not take place. I looked in vain for a drunken man. Strange to say, drunkenness is almost unknown in Montreal, and even in all Canada. This is very creditable to our people, and clearly proves that there is nothing in the national character incompatible with temperance. In the evening there was a grand concert in St. Patrick's Hall, Mr. Devlin presiding. There must have been 2,000 people in the Hall. At the right of the chairman sat General Dart, U.S. Consul to Canada, and at the left was mjself. I found that an address was to be delivered by the '' ? 4 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. Rev. W. B. Buckley, in the second part of the programme. During the intermission, Gen. Dart was called on, and said a few words. Then my turn came. It was a difficult audi- ence to address, Catholics and Protestants, Irish and Cana- dians — some in favour of British Government, others opposed to it. I was loud on Irish religion and patriotism, and "death" on English tyranny. I had my audience in the best of humour. After the speech I retired to get a drink of water, when a gentleman pressed my arm. I turned round, saw a handsome young fellow in full dress, and gazing at me with a pair of sparkling black eyes. " Turgeon," I exclaimed. He was no other than the young lawyer whom I met in the steamer " Georgia " from Quebec to Pictou last August. Our greeting was of the warmest description. He had come to the concert solely to meet me, having seen it announced that I was to deliver an addresSo We make an engagement for to-morrow and sepa- rate. After the concert there are refreshments for the ilite. The people here are so like our own in their manners and habits, and so different from the people in the States. Con- sidering everything, the day was a success for Montreal. Sunday^ March i^th. — Preached to-day in St. Patrick's church. After dinner the two brothers Burke waited on me with a carriage and pair of horses, ana we had a very pleasant drive "round the mountain." The aspect of the day was very winteryish, and the air cold ; but I was " wrapped snug from those biting pneumatics," and enjoyed the drive very much. On some parts of the road the snow was piled up four feet high at each side of the carriage, and must wait for the heat of summer to dissolve it. We returned by the St. Lawrence, which was frozen across the whole way "A PEIESTLY FENIAN." 235 from bank to bank, with ice three feet deep. It has not broken up yet, although I heard it had been. It appears that people do not desist any year from crossing it until some persons are drowned. I spent the evening with tlie Burkes and their two sisters. We talked a good deal of D'Arcy Magee. John Burke made me a present of a short sketch of his life, which I intend to read. The Irish in Canada are very content, pay little taxes, desire no change,^ at least the masses ; it is only a class seek for annexation. Matrh 20th. — A flaming leader in this morning's Gazette headed " A Reverend Firebrand," blowing up my speech of St. Patrick's night in coarse and bitter language. The article is about a column and a half long. It accuses me of creat- ing mischief by appealing to the bad passions of my fellow countrymen here by ripping up old national sores, such as my allusion to " 700 years of wrong," et cetera. The article is very severe, and I am sorry that I should hurt the feelings of anyone in this city ; but it admits that my speech pleased my audience. Passing through town I find myself the ob- served of all observers. It is not my frieze coat now that attracts attention, although that is remarkable enough, but there is quite a furore amongst the people, at least amongst the English part of them, in consequence of my speech, and I am the hero of the hour. It is the event, the " sensation" of the day. I have been called in the papers " a firebrand," " an incendiary," " a hare-brained agitator," and a great deal more of the same kind. It appears that several rotestant gentlemen left precipitately after my speech, and those who remained have been severely censured by their friends for so doing. The Catholics are most indignant that a Catholic priest should be assailed in this manner. When a Methodist " -*» 236 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. or Swaddler comes and lectures here he may speak as much treason as he Hkes. Lately a Protestant clergyman of this city, in the course of a lecture rebuked England much more severely than I did, and yet there was no comment too laudatory for his harangue ; but a priest is at once pounced upon by those lions of the Press, and his words and conduct are shown up to the contempt and scorn of the world. In fact I am informed that nothing has occurred in Montreal for a long time that has so much stirred up the strife of party as this. The Gazette exhorted my friends to drop me, to give me no further patronage, but my friends are not going to take the advice of the enemy. The want of a Catholic paper is greatly felt in Montreal. There is a Catholic weekly, the True Witness. D'Arcy Magee also had a paper here, but it died after a year. His election to the Parliament of Canada withdrew his pen from the city, and the paper could not be conducted by another. Mr. Devlin made an attempt to start one, but failed ; but now again they talk of it more vigorously than ever. There are several English dailies, many French-Canadians, one at least Scotch, and yet with a Catholic population of about 30,000 there is not a Catholic daily paper in Montreal. This evening the Star calls upon other papers to take the tone of the Gazette., and gives a letter from some correspondent who accuses me of justifying agrarian murder. This is too much. When your enemy forsakes the ground of legitimate argument and seeks to crush you by lies and caluminous inventions, he defeats himself and saves you the trouble of an encounter. From all this I conclude that party feeling runs very high here, that the same feeling of bitterness on account of religion prevails here as it does in Ireland, and that unfor- ''A PRIESTLY FENI an:' 237 tunately the Irish lack that blessing of cohesion whicli would make them a compact body, a phalanx of strength, and thus a terror to their enemies. At St. Patrick's there is a comic servant, Patrick, from Nenagh. He is general servant, and I meet him every morning when he helps me to breakfast. He is the purest Paddy I ever met, appearance, accent — all ; but his peculiar phrases and style of speaking are most amusing. He says something new and strange every day. " Take an egg, sir," he says one morning, "that beefsteak is no good — take an egg, sir. I'll put one down for you, and the water is just in the humour." " Patrickjthis tea is not very strong," I say. " No, sir," says Patrick, " 'tis young yet, leave it grow." Speaking of Father Toupin, one of the priests here, a wiry, active man, Patrick said, " Sir, he's as hardy as a wild-duck," and of a very thin young lady he remarked that she was " as thin as a saw." Last summer when I was here, my slumbers every morning were disturbed by a grating noise, at the unearthly hour of twilight, and long after. This noise was occasioned by an old man sawing logs of wood for firing just under my window. I spoke of the matter to Patrick, and he said, " The deuce take the old corncrake." I was vastly amused because the lively imagination of Patrick just struck off a good idea of the noise which I had in my own mind, but could not realize, as he did. After one of my sermons. Father Leclair said to him, " Well, Patrick, what do you think of Father Buckley ? " " Lave me alone, sir, he's a terror ! " His description of the cold of a Canadian winter was vivid, but I could not transcribe it, for it was conveyed more in gesture than words. . . • ^ 238 DIARY OF A TOUR 1^ AMERICA. " And Patrick," said T, last summer, " I am told that the River St. Lawrence is quite frozen over in winter so that people can walk across it for months." " To be sure, sir," says he, *' there's not a word of lie in it, and I can tell you its no joke to freeze that river with the current that's running through it. It begins to freeze about •Christmas, and the ice is thin for some days ; but about New Year's Day there comes two or three days wicked, and there it is bound up as tight as a drum-head till Patrick's Day, and often longer." One of the clergymen here told me an amusing anecdote. He was for some time travelling through a portion of the Western States of America, and one Sunday morning he celebrated Mass in the open air, for the benefit of some Irish navvies who were making a railroad in that " section." During the ceremony, whenever he turned towards the people he observed a tall Yankee standing against a tree, smoking his pipe, and seeming to take a great interest in the proceedings. When Mass was over, the Yankee came up to him, and said with the usual nasal twang : " Friend, it takes considerable of a smart man to do a thing of tliat kind ; I guess you could not do it again ? " " Oh ! dear, yes," said the priest, " I will just do the same to-morrow morning, if you come you can see and judge for yourself. " The Yankee's amazement was so great, and he gave vent to his feelings in the usual local expression of astonishment, " Waal, I do declare." March 22nd. — Left Cork Harbour ten months ago this day. How quickly those ten months have fled. Patrick is as usual amusing at breakfast. He pours out the tea with his left hand. " Paddy's left," says he, " is his 'A PRIESTLY FENlANr 239 bully hand," and when he places the butter on the table he says le bare (peurrc\ imitating the French which he hears so constantly spoken at table. When I was done breakfast he exclaimed, Tout finit. But in all these sayings of our Hibernian valet, the real humour consists not so much in the things said as in the way in which he says them. I forgot to tell you of the strange circumstances of my meeting very frequently one gentleman, and only one who travelled with me across the Atlantic last summer. He is a young gentleman named " ToUey." We met him first at the pier of Toronto, next in St. John's, N.B., thirdly in Boston, which he left for some months and found us again on his return. Last Wednesday morning while I was seated at breakfast at the St. Lawrence Hall, Montreal, I was tapped on the shoulder, and on turning round saw my friend Mr. Tolley. We w ere both astonished at the circumstance, for it was singular that he and I alone should meet of all the pas- sengers. March 2^^rd. — I did not know until this morning -the flattering epithets bestowed upon me at some loyal festive gathering of " true blues" assembled ere-yesterday to cele- brate the wedding on that day of the Marquis of Lome with the Princess Louisa in this good city of Montreal. A Reverend Dr. Burns called me a " priestly Fenian," and the other speakers intimated that now while a strenuous effort was being made to broach disloyalty, here was a becoming occasion for the display of the opposite feeling. My even- ing was spent with Mr. Donovan, the Corkman to whom Mr. Maguire alludes in his " Irish in America," as an instance of what may be done by an Irishman here who relies on his industry and temperance. Mr. Donovan is President of the 2 40 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. Temperance Societies of Montreal, a very worthy man indeed. He told me that only one member of their society could boast of having taken the pledge from Father Matthew, and that man is so superstitious that he is firmly persuaded that if he broke that pledge, God would strike him dead. My host also amused me by telling me of an incident that occurred while he lived at Salem, Mass. It illustrates the absurd length to which fanatacism can carry men. Some stray prophet announced that the end of the world wus to take place on a certain night, and that the elect were to be- taken up to heaven. The " elect " believed, and actually gave away all their property, cleared out their houses of all their worldly goods, reserving only a decent dress in which to make their entrance to the Kingdom of Eternal Glory. Some of the ladies were dressed most gorgeously. It was quite a sight to witness the entrance to the church from which the elect were to be translated. They spent the night in prayer, sighs and groans, but they were not translated. Those who gave all away found themselves paupers next morning. One man who had been very rich consoled himself by saying the event could not be long postponed. March 24///. — I go by appointment at one o'clock to dine with Doctor Kirwin. His wife is as pretty and smiling as ever, and his wife's mother, Mrs. Gunn, a fine old lady, is present. The only other guest besides myself is a M. le Comte de La Riviers, a real (Canadian) French Count, a young gentleman with all the style and bearing of an Englisli officer, which I really thought he was at first sight. His black hair brushed and cut close was creased down the middle of his head, and he wore an exuberant moustache. The style of things and the tone of conversation as well as the ''A PRIESTLY FENIAN." 241 accent of all parties, particularly of Mrs. Kirvvin and the Count, brought me back from the democratic atmosphere of the United States, which I had been breathing for months, to the serener and loftier aerial surroundings of aristocratic life, and yet aristocracy is too full of airs, it seems too hollow, too affected to win admiration. Both phases of life-discipline, if I may so call it, have their faults. The principal of demo- cracy is rational and good, but it is abused in the States. Every menial flouts his equality with you in your face, but then in all the studied speeches of the well-bred English or Canadian gentleman, in the precision of his movements and the accuracy of his dress, in the evidently forced chivalry by which he devotes himself to the ladies, and in a thousand other odds and ends by which he seems to study how to talk without tripping, there is too much of the artificial, too much to confine the soul and contract the heart, too much generally understood to be insincere, which takes from the dignity of mankind and makes friendship only a name indeed. The Count went away early, and the Doctor took me into his drag and gave me a long drive along the St. Lawrence to Lachine, a drive I took last summer with the Burkes. The river however, presented a very different appearance now from that which it had last summer. It was thickly frozen over, and we saw people passing across. At one point it presented the appearance of an immense lake, five or six miles across, on any part of which a carriage might drive with safety. Only at this season no one knows when it may break up, and it would be too venturesome to try it. The rapids were frozen, and the ice there presented the same face of disruption and confusion as the rapids themselves, ^t seemed as if the tumbling waters had been caught and 242 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. frozen at some one moment by an irresistible power of cold, and retained in their arrest, the aspect of conflict and agony which they had when seized. It is snowing as we ride along, and the whole scene is as wild and wintry as could be imagined. We drive back and I reach home about four o'clock. The Gazette this morning has an article, a letter from a country reader, headed " Rev. Mr. Buckley and St. Patrick's Society," in which it speaks of me as " Priest Buckley," and hopes that the insult offered through me to the other societies present at my speech, will not be considered as expiated by the castigation of me the chief culprit, but that the St. Patrick's Society who brought me here, will apologize to all the rest, and thus give reason to hope that the like will never occur again. Sunday. — Preach to-day for Father Hogan. Fine churcli, and splendid congregation (Griffinstown). Have a nice drive with Father Leclair, to Hochelaga, the eastern bank of the St. Lawrence, which is all frozen over hard, white and thick. Opposite, about three miles distant, is the village of Longuiel, and I see horses drawing sleighs across the river, foot-passengers and skaters. There is a regular road across the river from Montreal to Longuiel. It has been there all the winter, and seems covered over with straw and other refuse. Return by the Wharf, where I miss the busy aspect of the shipping which I found here last summer. Not a small boat is to be seen. This stoppage of navigation all through the winter and spring is a great drawback to the prosperity of Montreal. It becomes an inland city for half the year. Dine to-day with the Burkes, at Michael's house. They are very good and kind. Miss Burke presents me yy' ''A PRIESTLY FENIANr 243 with a very handsome pair of slippers wliich she wrought for me. March 2^th. — The ground is all covered with snow, but the sun shines out gaily. After dinner, at 1 1.30 o'clock, I walk out and call at Turgeon's offices. He soon appears, and we have a chat. I then propose a drive in the country. Dr. Kirwin, who keeps livery siables, told me that I might at any time order a horse and carriage at his place. I accordingly go and order a carriage to call at M. Turgeon's office at 3.15 o'clock. It came punctually, and we drive along, Turgeon act- ing as charioteer. He intends to take me to see the Ottawa river, which is about five miles from Montreal. The afternoon is very cold, but I am wrapped in my Irish frieze, and he is still more snugly enveloped in a coat made of the skin and fur of some wild animal. We had just passed a toll-gate about a hundred yards when one of our shafts lost a screw and nut, and became useless for travel. We turned back, and the toll-keeper, an Irishman, soon got us over our diffi- culty. I doubt if any man is so ready in an emergency, or so inventive of the means for mending it. The toll-man cast his eyes about and saw some wire in a neighbouring fence. He instantly cuts off some of this wire and, with it, connects the shaft to the beam to which it had been screwed, and, in fact, "fixes it up" as strong as ever. Offering him many thanks, which he duly acknowledges to "your reverence," we pursue our journey. We pass by a great number of waggons, all driven by French-Canadians, with whom Turgeon familiarly chats in their own tongue. They appear to be very polite and extremely respectful to him, not that they all know him, but that they seem to have a great deal of that respect for aristocracy which exists among 244 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. the Irish peasants, and which is a relic of the feudal system. They clear the road where he is to pass, or they halt till out carriage passes. I thought within myself how slow a Yankee waggoner would be to afford us so much accommodation. Those peasants v/ere wrapped in all kinds of clothes and furs to protect them against the cold, but the most singular and picturesque costume was that which many men wore, and which I cannot better describe than by saying simply that it was the habit of a trappist, bound round the waist with a sash, and with the hood stretching up to a point on the head. Turgeon told me that the Canadian peasantry are very simple in their manners and habits, and intense bigots in matters of religion, being all Catholics, and having little or no toleration for any othei religion. Seldom does one of them become addicted to habits of intoxication, and when such one appears he is despised and avoided. They drink when they come to town, but seldom to excess. Their houses are clean and their diet simple. Seldom do they rise to the luxury of a roast turkey. Pork is the meat they most commonly use. Bread, butter, eggs, beans, molasses, &C.5 are the staple food. They make little money, and are very unambitious. The art of cooking, which is so well understood in France, they seem to have lost. They jog on through life having little, but content with their lot. Turgeon is a "rouge," a pure democrat, and yet I upbraid him with the pleasure he seems to take in the simple homage which those pay to his superior rank. He admits the superiority, but says there must be grades in all society, and adds that he wants a state of things which will afford all men the opportunity of reaching that rank in life which they ambition and for which they are adapted. The only aristocracy to ''A PRIESTLY FENIANr 245 which homage sliould be paid is to the aristocracy of intellect. The day is fearfully cold, but our great coats and bulTalo- robe make it less biting. At length we reach the restaurant of M. La Jeunesse, where Turgeon appears quite at home. He rattles away in French to the host, and shows me over the house. It is crowded on Sundays, for this is a favourite drive. We walk to the river and view it from a large wooden arched bridge which crosses it here. A broad river covered with ice, except one part where a tremendous current flows. The scene is very fine although it is wintry and cold. Turgeon's birth-place is some three or four miles farther on across the river, Terrebonne (Terra Bona — Ban-tir), and he is anxious I should see it, but not to-day, it is too late. We return to town in our carriage. The Mountain (Mount Royal is covered with snow, so are the fields in some places), and the domes and spires of the city lie in front. The whole scene is bathed in a flood of red sunset-light and looks charming. And the Canadian peasants returning homewards with their peaked cowls give a romantic picturesqueness . the tableau. March 2Wt. — I dine today with Father Campion, of St. Bridget's ; and preach for him in the evening. There are 30,000 Catholics (Irish), in Montreal, and only three Irish priests ! ! ! The Irish are never content with any priest except one of their own, and they go so far in this desire that they prefer a priest from their own part of the country to any other. Anecdote on this subject : — In Boston a woman's husband dies. She is Southern Irish. People ask her had her husband the benefit of a priest in his last moments. She replies " He had and he had'nt." 246 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. " What do you mean ? " say the neighbours. *' It was one of them Far-Down priests he had," she said, thus conveying that a far-down, that is a Northern priest, could not enter fully into the feelings of her Cork husband. March z^th. — I am in Father Egan's room. The boy comes and says to him " Sir, there is a lady down stairs wishes to speak to you." "This lady," says Father Egan, " is most probably a servant girl, very few ladies come to see me." "And," said I, "Is it the same here as in the States—is every woman called a lady ? " " That," he said, " greatly depends — if the person wears a feather she is a lady, if a muffler, she is only a woman. For some few weeks here in the winter there were no ladies. The cold weather banished feathers and introduced mufflers and clumsy head-dresses. Then every person who called here was, with the boy, only a ' woman.' But when the cold disappeared for a short time, none but ladie? called. On ordinary occasions, if a male visitor wears a moustache, he is a * gentleman,' but should he lack that characteristic of facial adornment, he is only a * man.' " At 8 o'clock this evening my lecture came off. The Hall was literally crammed, nor had the deep and still falling snow any effect on the numbers. There must have been 2,500 persons present. A magnificent band — the band of St. Patrick's Society diversified the entertainment ; they played several airs, all Irish. The proceedings lasted two hours and the audience appeared in the best of humour. The Presidents of the several societies were seated on the platform in the insignia of their office, namely, a collar of velvet and gold. Mr. Devlin was chairman. He made a long speech, ''A PRIESTLY FENIANr 247 alluding to the excitement caused during the past week, by the comments of a portion of the press on my speech of Patrick's Night, and making proper explanations. I delivered my lecture first, and then made a speech of explanation. The audience were in roars of laughter the whole time. I never met a better humoured crowd of people. All admitted it was about the pleasantest evening they ever spent in that hall. My friend Turgeon was on the platform. The whole thing was a grand success. March zZth. — My lecture and the proceedings of last night are the great topic of the newspapers this morning. There are no editorial comments yet. In the afternoon the Star has a leader, but a very mild one, I visit Mrs. Sadlier, of New York, at the Ottawa Hall. The Irish citizens of Montreal are to give me a oanquet this evening. I make other visits, and at 7.30 the dinner comes off at the Ottawa Hall. I was glad to find from statements made during the evening that the Irish are equal to any others in Montreal in wealth and prosperity, and that no less than 10,000 of them have deposit receipts in the bank. From all quarters I have heard of their sobriety. Father Dowd assured me for five years he had not seen a drunken person. I can add that they ar^ very kind, generous and social, and all seem pleased that this little " tempest in a tea-pot " should take place, because it bands the Irish together, and gives them common cause of batde against their enemies. March 29///. — The Gazette is out this morning with a leader headed " Irrepressible," in which it deals pretty severely with me, reiterating its charge of Fenianism, and refusing to accept any explanation except as glosses made in 248 DJAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. a spirit of cowardice and insincerity. The Hera/dhz.^ a full report of Mr. Devlin's speech and mine. The Witness in the evening is caustic and bitter. There is as much religious bigotry here as in Belfast. It is worse in Toronto, but it is more remarkable in a city where the majority are Catholic in a city which some have rather inconsiderately designated as the " Rome of America." March 2,0th. — This morning the proceeds of the lecture were handed to me by Mr. Donovan. I went at once and turned them into a Bill of Exchange at the Ontario Bank, of which Mr. Stamers is the manager. The news- papers are quiet to-day. I pay a few visits and prepare to leave the city. Some of my friends meet me at the terminus. We part. I cross the St. Lawrence, over the Victoria Bridge, and the huge river is still frozen hard and thick. I go from a region of cold to one of genial warmth, and from one people to another very different. A young gentleman with glasses and a very scholarly air, introduces himself (Mr. George Isles). He offers me Mark Twain's " Innocents Abroad, " which I read and enjoy very much. It lessens the tedium of a very long journey. The country all around is very flat, and presents a pleasant cultivated aspect, and the trees everywhere give the scene a charming picturesqueness. We reach St. Albans, and Mr. Isles directs my attention to the large number of emigrants we brought, and whom the carriages are now dis- gorging. The word emigrants is associated in my mind with the Irish, and I was startled by the expression of my com- panion. But these are only emigrants from Canada — French- Canadians on their way to the factories of Massachusetts, to which they flock at this season^ but return home in the ''A PRIESTLY FENI an:' 249 summer, for tliey are a very home-loving people, so are the Irish, perhaps still more. We take refreshments at St. Albans. Mr. Isles branches off, and I take the Vermont Central Route. As I am to travel all night, I am to have my first experience of the sleeping-car. At the cry of "All aboard," I step into the sleeping-car. The conductor is at the door, cold and indifferent. I say, like one who knows all about sleeping- cars, " I want a berth, please." Perhaps this was a mistake —it looked like confounding trains and steamers. From his impassive features I could not see whether he detected any greenness about me. He only said, *' All right, step in there," pointing to a place behind a curtain. I wondered did this conductor ever smile, or did he ever say an unneces- sary word ? Is he always the conductor ? Does he ever sing or be social ? Has he a wife, and does he take his children on his knee and pet them ? He seemed to mc to be the incarnation of office. So is it with most American conduc- tors. One would think that they had accepted the position in a pure spirit of condescension, and that the position ought to be very grateful to them for so doing. I sit on a kind of narrow bed. It faces the stove, and so I am very warm. I take off my hat and coat. Mark Twain is no use, for it is dark, and in this berth there is no place for a lamp. What shall I do ? Is this the bed, where is the pillow, where are the bed clothes, or are there any? Ask the conductor ? Oh, no ! He probably would not answer me. I lean against the panel and doze, and then I feel very sleepy. At last I make a pillow of my outside coat, and lie down awaiting the issue. I don't know how long I may have been asleep, but I was waked by a question. 250 DIAR YOFA TOUR IN AMERICA. *' Time to wind up, eh ? " I opened my eyes, and saw the rigid conductor. "Oh ! yes," I said, " where shall I go?" He pointed and I obeyed. I sat in the next berth, and he pulled from another, a bed, bed-clothes and pillows, and "fixed" mine. When he gave me the signal to return, I found my bed had been increased to twice its width, and was very snug and comfortable. But just fancy the magnificent conductor making it for me. It was an indescribable con- decension. I retired and slept very well indeed. While the train was in motion I slept, but its stopping always woke me. We passed through Burlington, the chief city of Vermont, and next morning at 5.30 reached Troy, which must be somewhere about 150 miles from New York. The accommodation for washing in sleeping-cars is not rechenh}, and there was no hair comb or brush, so that I did not feel very clean when I stepped on the platform of Troy. Here is a splendid refreshment room considering the point of size — but of what kind are the refreshments ? I sat at a small table, and a nigger almost as nonchalant as the con- ductor, attended me. " Tea and eggs," I said. When they did arrive, after a considerable delay, the first egg proved to be rotten. I appealed to the nigger, but he said it wasn't so bad, that it was about the best to be got, and most people did not object to eggs in such a condition. I replied, I only envied the stomachs of such people. The tea was some abominable decoction of hay and heath, and other indefin- able herbs. I ordered coffee for tUe next cup, but the tea was nectar in comparison, the bread was damp, and the butter, like the egg, far advanced in decomposition. The only genuine article of the breaktast was the payment of some extravagant number of cents. But I only heave a sigh ''A PRIESTLY FENIANr 251 for old Ireland, and change cars for New York. We steam away through a long street of Troy, as if a railway train was as innocent as a wheelbarrow. We kill no one, however. The people are scarcely out of bed yet. Soon we move by the pleasant banks of the Hudson — it is a charming morning. The Canadian cold is gone, but I find traces of snow thus far south. March ^isf. — After a few miles we see Albany sitting on the river, a truly charming spectacle, with its church spire and fine houses, all neat and fresh as if turned out only yesterday. I admire the Hudson immensely, and it looked lovely this morning — its broad waters, a noble tide, glistening in the beams of the early sun ; with far beyond the long bold range of the Catskill mountains, all sprinkled with snow, making a magnificent back ground to the landscape. I feel nervous as we approach the bridge where occurred the terrible railway accident of the 9th of February, known as. the New Hamburg disaster, when, at night, by collision with a petroleum train, some carriages were precipitated into the frozen river, some 25 people were drowned, the bridge was burnt, and all America was shocked for a moment. We reach it at length, it has been newly built, we crawl over it at snail- pace, and I see the charred timbers of the old bridge sticking up gloomily from the placid waters. When we are over, I feel very comfortable and fear no farther danger. Queer names of places here " Catskill," " Pigskill," " Fish- kill," and " Poughkeepsie," the three latter being names of towns on the Hudson. It was on this line I firs^ noticed the nuisance of newsvendors, and vendors of all kinds in railway carnages. While you are quietly reading, you are startled by a book or a paper, or a package of " hop 252 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. com," or a prize candy package cast into your lap, or into the book you are reading. You must inspect those thirr^s, and if you buy them, why you give the money when the man comes round, or if not he takes back his wares. It never ceases, when they have left one series of things in the laps of the passengers they go over the same process with some- thing new. CHAPTER X. NEW YORK IN SUMMER. I REACH New York about twelve o'clock, and proceed to Sweeny's hotel. The change of temperature from Canada is what strikes me most. April 6tk. — I have been for some time suffering from a kind of asthmatic affection — an incapacity to walk without puffing, and a certain strange stiffness about my knees, and want of muscular power in my legs. I see I must look to it; it comes from want of exercise. Happy thought — take a good long walk every morning. Told Charles U. O'Connell about it. He knocks this morning at my door at seven o'clock ; I am just getting up. Lovely morning, a little raw, but good for exercise. Charley proposes we begin the walking ; so we start along Broadway, stepping into Trinity Church (Protestant) on the way to look at it. A fine church, with a splendid stained glass window. We are sorry we cannot say our prayers : we can only think them. We march along until we come to the Battery, Castle Garden, and all that. Before reaching those places, hoW' •ever, we find ourselves in a handsome round square, where NEW YORK IN SUMMER. 253 there is an iron railing enclosing a green plot, where •'^lere are some high trees. The upright iron bars of this railing were, while the English ruled here, surmounted by heads of George III., but during the revolution the heads were torn off by the Americans, and made into shot to turn on the En[;lish. It is easy to see the signs of the wrenching. The place where the British Consul lives is close by, and is distinguished by two lions couchant, one at each side of the doorway. We got on board the ferry-boat for Staten Island. I had a most delightful trip across the spacious basin within the harbour. It reminds me somewhat of Queenstown, and if not as gay in summer time, is far more active. All kinds of craft are plying about with truly Yankee smartness. Little tug-boats particularly, which, like all small agents, even in humanity, strive to make up for diminutiveness by an affectation of gigantic energy. There are two Trans- Ailantic steamers, Guion and a Cunard, both apparently in quarantine, for smallpox prevails here just now. The sun makes the water dazzle, and I long to tread the deck of one of those vessels, and sail out the harbour's mouth, straining my eyes for the rugged coast, and the green fields, and the dear old hills of my native land. Api'il ph. — Don't feel so well to-day. Nevertheless, Charles O'Connell and I take our morning excursion. We cross over in a ferry-boat to Hoboken. The morning is cold and rough, with a dry east wind. What is Hoboken ? A collection of houses verging into another collection called Jersey City. We walk through till we come o Jersey. Here we go on board the " Oceana," the last Trans- Atlantic steamer built — br'U in Belfast— first of a new line, the "White Star." She is a splendid vessel, 432 feet long by, ^54 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA, I think, 42 beam, most gorgeously fitted up. Before we went out I should have said we had a tumbler each of boiled milk ; but, alas ! it was not milk. What was it? What was it like ? I know not; but one thing I am certain of— it was not milk. This is too bad. That when a man pays his honest money, he will not get an honest article. But what ■can you expect in a country where it is notorious that a fortune has been made by a dealer in wooden nutmegs, and that a man saved his bacon by the sale of wooden hams. Nothing is genuine here. How so many escape poisoning is to me mysterious. I preach this evening at St. Paul's church. Brooklyn is a fine city, with, probably, half a million of inhabitants. It is always on the increase. The number of houses built within the past twelve months in Brooklyn exceeds fifteen thousand ; and yet there are men living who remember when there was not a stone on a stone in this g^eat city. AVhen Archbishop M'Closky, of New York, was preaching a few years ago, at the laying of the foundation stone of the new Brooklyn Cathedral, he used words to this eff"ect :— " Well I remember when there was not a stone or a brick liouse in all Brooklyn— where I was brought up in my child- hood, when only a few wooden shanties skirted the water's edge, and when I, a little boy, was accustomed to walk with my little Irish mother along the sand on a Sunday morning, and went by a small ferry-boat across to New York, to Barclay-street church, almost the only one then in that great city, to hear Mass. Little indeed did I the*^ think that this great Brooklyn would be the third city of the Union, and that that little Irish boy would fill the proud position in which He whose ways are unsearchable has placed me." NE W YORK IN SUMMER. 2 5 5 April ?>th. — The most sudden and extraordinary change of weather I ever experienced ; from a harsh east wind to the boiUng heat of summer. It has taken everyone by sur- prise. The thermometer rose in the afternoon to 8 1 **. All the evidence of summer became suddenly manifest — the butter melted at table, everyone was seized with a craving for bitter beer, or sherry-cobbler and ice beverages of all kinds. Men threw off their coats, and children swarmed out of doors like ants, some very lightly clad, and some simply statuesque. The sun asserted itself, the pavement glowed beneath the feet, the imagination bore men away to the seaside to Staten Island, and Longbranch, and nature longed for a cool bath in the swelling salt-sea waves. Brows g'owed with heat and pearls of perspiration rose on the fore- head, handkerchiefs were plied with unusual vigour, and as if summer were impatient of postponement, there was one veritable case of sun-stroke — a man named Elishah Divan. Neither the prophetic influence of his first name, nor the Oriental magic of the second, saved him from the fatal stroke of that fire-king, whose rays glow hardly more fiercely in his own torrid realms of the east. Crossing from Brooklyn, where I slept last night, I beheld with gladness,, such onl} as that with which summer lights up the heart, the sparkling waters, ?s it were, dancing with a suddenly inspired ecstacy for the return of the gay and joyful time, and to my vivid fancy, the sloops and schooners, with their white sails wafting them swiftly through the waves, appeared like birds of passage, returning from cooler zones to the blighter and more genial azure of their own. ' Apr a 9»7/. — Easter Sunday. The heat to-day is intense — as hot as atiyone could desire. A cool breeze would be 256 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. a luxury, yet it is not that fearful heat of a New York sum- mer which renders people utterly incapable of doing any- tiiing — it is pleasant and comfortable ; but much walking would make it diragreeable. The streets are very gay and bright. People wear their holiday costume, and now and then a young girl appears in blue dress trimmed with white, and with white satin shoes, and mayhap a bouquet. Some fair child, who has just emerged from some church where she was a processionist, or had been to receive holy communion. The sight of so much beauty and innocence in this worldly- minded city on this great holiday has a peculiar charm. And apropos of the religion of New York, I may remark in passing that there is a great deal of religion here, especially amongst our people. The priests are always hard at work and are really most zealous. The churches are crowded on Sundays ; but what I have observed most is the spirit of r gion that animates most individuals whom I meet in private life. I have met a great number of men of whom it might be said that they were Christians in the true sense of the word — anxious to do good for themselves and others, deploring the tem.ptations to which they were exposed — particularly temp- tations to drink, and making, aye, and keeping, stern resolu- tions to resist them. Indeed in one word, I may say that I found as much true religion in New York of a solid unosten. tatious character as ever I met at home. I have no doubt that many neglect their religious duties altogether and perhaps lose their faith ; but of what Catholic land is not that true? I know nothing of the religious feelings of those who are not Catholics, but there is no doubt that New Yorkers as a class are great church-goers. The Herald every day plumes itself more and more of being the great moral teacber of America, NE W YORK IN S UMMER. 2 5 7 the great religious apostle of the press. People say it does good in that way, I know not what kind of good ; but I know that if a "gentleman in search of religion" wanted to build up a theory of faith — to fashion a creed for himself out of the preachings of the Herald, he would find he had created a monster more hideous than Frankenstein — a union of anomalies which no mind could grasp — no intellect recon- cile monstnim horrenditm informe ingcns cui lumen adcmptum. I dine to-day with Mrs. Attridge. The spectacle of the streets where the Germans most do congregate, particularly Avenue B, and the streets ofJ it, are veiy gay to-day, because to-morrow is to be celebrated the *' Peace Jubilee," namely, a general rejoicing for the termination of the late war between Germany and France. In this celebration the Germans alone are to participate, and it is said that it is to be one of the grandest public spectacles ever witnessed in the United States ; that the great object of the Germans is not so much to congratu- late their country on a return of peace, or to exult in a triumph over their French neighbours, but to show to the whole world their strength as a great component part of American nationality, that in the distribution of power their claims may not be overlooked. The only other element with which they have to contend in the ostentatiousness of power is the Irish. These latter put out all their strengtli last Patrick's Day. On that occasion the procession was con- ducted on a scale of magnificence unprecedented in the history of the Irish ; but it is said that the Germans will far outstrip all previous displays no matter by whom made. As I pass along Avenue B, the spectacle is indeed pretty. From every window, nay, from almost every pane of glass floats a banner. Tens of thousands of flags decorates the s 258 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. houses, some immense in size, others ordinarily large, tlie rest dwindling down to the size of a piece of paper. The only flags observable are the German (black, white and red), some few Bavarian, and the American "Star-Spangled Banner." "The Deutchers " are all out in holiday costume, and assume an air of unusual importance, as if New York were theirs for the next twenty-four hours. And no one seems to interfere with these delicious feelings of self-com- placency on their part. Indeed that is one of the things which a stranger, and particularly an Irishman, observes most in this city — every nationality celebrates its own festival, whatever the occasion may be, without offending others. The Germans look on and admire the Irish processions, the Irish are equally generous to the Germans — the only nationality whom the celebration of this " Peace Jubilee " could hurt would be the French ; but though 40,000 strong, they will keep quiet, and to give the Germans their due they make no allusion to France in the matter, but think only of the — peace ! Again, I remark the immense number of children in this German quarter. To almost every house there are steps, and those steps are crowded with little boys and girls making a terrible din, while the old folks sit admiringly outside the door, Mein Herr generally smoking his meerschaum, and the Frau Gemahlin reposing with her hands folded and calmly resting on that amplitude of sub- pectoral development which seems peculiar to the ladies of Deutschland. April 10th. — Easter Monday. Surely never did a brighter or lovelier dawn usher in a day so favourable for a public demonstration than that which called forth from their slumbers this morning the children of the Vaterland. I was NEW YORK IN SUMMER. 259 awakened at six o'clock by the booming of cannon announc- ing that the hour had arrived for the great event to begin. There is something catching in the joy of a great multitude — it creates a corresponding emotion in the breasts of those Avho have no other reason to be rympathetic. I felt a sen- sation of gladness as I looked out into the street and saw the German houses around me all " brilliant and bright," ^vith flags and laural festoonings and inscriptions in the (lerman tongue. Gladness was, as it were, in the air. The litreets appeared to be more than usually crowded, and the passing people were chatty and hilarious. The bells ringing ■on the necks of the horses drawing the street-cars seemed to chaunt a strain of jubilation, and the little flaglets fixed in their foreheads gave the idea that even the brute creation rejoiced with the exulting Germans. Now and then through the •dense mass of ordinary citizens, would pass some German in the costume of a Prussian soldier, or a bandsman, or a member of some society, with an appropriate badge oi decoration betokening the coming gala. Later on huge waggons gaily festooned and inscribed, pass along drawn by six or eight horses, occupied by men of the various trades, and bearing the emblems of their craft, all proceeding to Tompkins Square, Avenue B, which is the general rendezvous, the starting and finishing point of the procession. At eleven o'clock I also betake myself to Tompkins Square, or rather to Father Mooney's house which commands it. There is no language of mine by which I could convey the heauty of the spectacle all through the German quarter. The thousands of flags of yesterday seem to have multiplied a thousand fold, and myriads of Chinese lanterns are hung out in preparation for the illuminations in the evening. , -'■'■:\ 260 DIAJi V OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. The hot sun shines over all, the air is filled with the music of gathering bands, the streets eclio to the sound of treading horses, bearing the processionists to the ground. The hum of a hundred thousand voices increases the babel. In the midst of the enormous square, from which the iron railings exclude the public, is an immense platform, capable of holding three thousand persons, all wreathed and ornamented with Chinese lanterns and the mingled flags of Germany and America iu boundless profusion. Every window in the square has its crowded spectators gazing on the bright and busy scene from, amidst a forest of flags, while the very roof-tops all around (square flat roofs) are swarming with men and women, shaded by umbrellas from the scorching heat of the sun. The pro- cession forms, and those thousands of spectators, from window and roof, from basement and attic, all wave their white handkerchiefs in admiration of the scene. Here is a splendid band, then follov/s a long train of horsemen in military costume, then comes the enormous waggons thick with their foliage, in the midst of which the bakers bake their bread, the smiths ply their sledges on the anvil, the butchers surround a mimic ox prepared for the work of slaughter, or the rosy god, Bacchus, in correct mythological " fixings," sits aside on a lar^e barrel and swills veritable draughts of lager beer; next come footmen, keeping the step in true military style, bearing wands and banrers ; then comes open carriages with their aristocratic freights ; the inevitable Helmsbold is there with his magnificent six horse tandem, but it is all vain for me to attempt a descripiion of this procession, which is ad- mitted on all hands to be the grandest public demonstration ever made in America— a public spectacle unparalleled in the annals of the United States. One of the German papers, NEW YORK IN SUMMER. 2G1 afterwards alluding to the procession, described it as the greatest that ever appeared in the world. It was twelve miles long. The number of decorated carriages was 250, and it was computed that the mimber of processionists was 50,000. It was regarded as a great triumph for the American-Germans, and was a model to all other nationalities for the various qualities that distinguished it — the lavishness of expenditure, the unanimity of tone, the universality of participation, the propriety of conduct, the moderation of feeling, the artistic taste and effect of the whole niisc en scene were creditable in the highest degree. The Irish seem to feel they are beneath the Germans in this kind of thing — and why are they so ? Because the respectable portion of their people regard Patrick's Day pro- cession as vulgar and unworthy of their patronage or attend- ance, while the Germans high and low combine to make this pageant what it is, succeed, and are applauded and envied. Great expense is necessary to carry out a great procession such as this, and the Germans subscribed in abundance, hut the rich Irish, though wealthier than their German com- ^ peers, lack the public spirit to make this sacrifice. How shall I describe the illuminations in the evening ? It is vain. Tompkins-square was the great attraction. The houses all round were brilliant with Chinese lanterns ; the platform was brilliantly lighted up, and 400 voices chaunted hymns of jubilee ; electric lights and lime hghts turned «ight into day ; fireworks were going on in al) quarters ; rockets mimicked the stars ; hundreds of thousands prome - naded the streets. All through the city, wherever a German habitation stood, were decorations and illuminations. Every Bier-Halle swarmed with lovers of lager, and of the whole 262 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. demonstration it can be safely said that it was one of the most magnificent spectacles ever witnessed in any great city — one of the grandest demonstrations by which a wealthy^ a patriotic and a united people sought to prove that they were entitled to the respect and honour of the country they had adopted as their own. A}>ril nth. — Murk the vicissitudes of the American cli- mate. The hot broiling weather is gone, and a cold, harsh, dust-making March wind has set in again. This is another day for two coats. I spend the greater part of the day in my hotel paying up arrears of correspondence long due. In the evening I go with John Attridge to the Academy of Music, where the 71st Regiment have a ball. Previous to the ball there is a military drill. Twelve candidates com- pete for three prizes —a silver-mounted musket, a medal and a cup. The drilling is rather monotonous, and it lasted a good while. The whole spectacle, however, was very fine. The hall is a very grand building — half-theatre, half hall — with galleries and boxes. The pit was all hidden from view, covered over with a flooring placed for the purpose of dancing, and easily removable. A great number of officers were present, and they looked /ike officers — />., gentlemen, like ours at home, and very unlike the colonels and captains I have met in undress. Perhaps if the latter were dressed €71 inilitaire they would look as soldierly ; but take men as you find them. The evolutions appeared to my unpractised eye very well performed ; but, strange to say, the two whom I thought best were not amongst the rewarded. These two were the only ones whose exercises were applauded by the audience, which I regarded as a flattery to my own judg- ment j but we were, it would appear, all wrong. Three NEW YORK IN SUMMER. 26 o were selected for the prizes whom no one seemed to admire very much. No doubt we were all wrong. The moment the drilling was over, the floor was thronged with dancers. It was the first public ball I ever saw. The dresses struck me as very beautiful, but the ladies as the reverse. Out of about two hundred ladies there was not six who came up to my standard of beauty, while some were hideously ugly. The ugly ones appeared the best dressed, as if they endea- voured to supply by art Avhat Nature denied. Poor crea- tures, *•' They strove to bless In all the glaring impotence of dress." Fashion, it would appear, has introduced in New York a a habit of powdering ladies' hair, a good refuge for the i^rey, and to them a great saving of powder. They also pov\'der their faces. One lady was a perfect fright — old, scraggy, gaudily attired, but with her long, profuse, and doubtless false hair, all powdered steel grey, and her face as if it had been dashed with flour — she will not look half so hideous when she is a corpse. Then she will look at least natural. Balls are a study to a philosophic mind — to mine, of course, only in proportion to its philosophic depth. But why do people dance ? Is it that they may be seen and admired ? Dancing is not necessary for this ; promenading would do as well, and better. Those dancers to-night looked like moving statues ; they interchanged no smiles, no words ; Uiey looked cold. Nay, it would seem to a stranger as if they felt that smiles or interchange of sentiment would be vulgar, or bad taste. They simply danced, and then prome- naded, and strove to look self-possessed and severe. Pro- bably if I were a dancer I would see the pleasure, but 264 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. being only a spectator, I am, of course, a cynic. Well, I hope so, I heartily hope those butterflies enjoyed themselves. Tiiey certainly looked very pretty from a distance ; the tableau was charming, and I trust they will all feel better to-morrow morning. The notorious Colonel James Fisk, junior, better known as " Jim Fisk," was here, in full regimentals, a good-looking man, but I thought sensual-looking, perhaps because I know that he is sensual. All the world knows it, and "Jim" makes no eftbrt to conceal it. He is the most notorious man (excepting, perhaps. Train) in the United States ; hut Train is " played out," while Fisk is yet in the ring, and likely to be. He is proud of being the biggest " ;'A'/i? Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. April 2']th,- — My home-sickness is greatly abated, almost gone — strange vicissitudes of my mind — I cannot account for it. I would willingly recall my letter to Father Murph)-, but let it go, the disease will return again, and the letter will do for the next attack just as well. In the early morning the stranger whose slumbers are not broken by the milkman's cry of "milk" must have a very tranquil con- science, or very stolid ears. It is the most unearthly hideoas cry I ever heard. A murdered victim in his last agony could scarcely rival the misery of it. I was hearing it for Aveeks before I could tell what it was. Its bitterness is enough to curdle the milk in the cans. April 2iOt/i. — Travelled this evening to Camden, New Jersey, distant from New York about loo miles. Camden holds the same relation to Philadelphia as Cambridge does to Boston, or Brooklyn to New York ; in short, it is at the other side of the river. The day was pleasant and the scenery beautiful. Our road lay through the State of New Jersey, and we passed through some very important towns and cities, such as, Newark, Elizabeth, New Brunswick and Fenton. The aspect of the country reminded me much of England, as seen on the Great Western Railway from Bristol to London — low, well-cultivated, verdant, and with abund- ance of trees. Everything looked charming. New Jersey is a very agricultural State, but parts of it are very sand)-. It is said that on occasions of great hurricanes whole farms arc swept away, but on the return of the wind they are brought back again. The Delaware river lies along the railway, a magnificent river rising in the State of New York, about 500 miles long, and joining the sea about 100 miles below Philadelphia. I NEW YORK IN SUMMER 273 reach Camden at 8.30 p.m. It is dark ; I am driven to the lioiise of the pastor, Father Byrne, who has engaged me to lecture to-morrow evening for 100 dollars, at the solicitation of his assistant. Father Hogan, once of Brisbane, whom I met in Ireland. Father Byrne I met the first time. He is a young man, thirty-three years of age, and six feet six inches high, very muscular, and very zealous. Sunday. — I go across to Philadelphia by ferry-boat. The big city lies on the water, just like any other American city, a long, low range of red brick houses, with church spires at intervals. I am alone, and know no one here, save one, a Father Kirwan, whom I met in Cork last year. He lives at a place called Port Richmond, an extremity of the city, which, distant as it is, I find out, and him too. My visit was merely one of courtesy. I had an opportunity of seeing the city, though not much of it. It is a splendid city, very large, embracing an area of 127 square miles ! of course not all built up, but intended to be, and paying city taxation within those limits. Thus, said to be the largest city in the world, population, 750,000, founded by William Penn — "City of Brotherly Love" — full of Quakers, hence metho- dical, quiet, not Catholic, though, probably, the Catholic population is 200,000, perhaps more. Germans are ver}' abundant ; the first man I met was a German. Philadelphia^ always quiet, is almost a desert on a Sunday. No cars, that I could see, except the horse-cars, being out. I think I saw one or two carriages, but I am almost sure they were either going to or coming from church. The streets are, for the most part, recta)jgular. Method is the great feature of Philadelphia, the Quaker City. I reach Camden ; I am warned by Father Byrne that a 274 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. number of gentlemen, members of the local Father Mathew's Temperance Society, are at present in the church, and wish ^me to receive an address from them. This is embarrassing, but I go through it. A Mr. Hennessy reads the address ; it is very flattering, and of course I shall preserve it. In the evening I deliver my lecture on "The Bible," in the church, to a very large and respectable audience. Monday.— Father Byrne has arranged a pic-nic for me on the river at a place called Redbank, about ten miles away. He keeps four splendid horses, and is a lover of the noble brute. A pair come round to the door for him and me. We drive to Redbank, which we reach at twelve o'clock. There is a regatta on the river, which is so broad here that it resembles a great lake. Not far from this, and quite in sight of the spot where, in the war between the Americans and English, a man-of-war belonging to the latter was sunk by guns fired from this spot. The ship was the " Avgusta," one of the largest in the navy at that time. S-ie has been recently got up, and now floats in the dock at Philadelphia. *' Ben Heritage," the farmer at whose house we put up our horses, pointed out to me one of the cannons employed in the sinking of the " Augusta." A stone monument on this spot commemorates the valour of a Lieutenant Green who here defeated 2,000 Hessians with only 400 men in the same campaign. Soon after us arrive Father Hogan and Father Wiseman, . the latter parish priest of Gloucester, a town within three miles at that side of Camden. Also came Miss Anne King, ■. niece of Father Byrne, and some other very young ladies all ' of whom are very useful in laying the dinner on the greea sward at ?f point commanding a lovely view of the great NE W YORK IN SUMMER. 275 river. There are about forty yachts spread over the lake- like surface of the Delaware, many of which are racing and the rest spectators of the contest. There are steamers also conveying hundreds of sight-seers down from Philadelphia and following the course of the yachts. We had " a good time." We return homeward in the same order, Father Byrne and I together. He shows the mettle of his horses this 'ime, leaving all other charioteers *' nowhere " on the road. There exists in America a great love of competition in all things, but most of all in speed. Steamers race on the great rivers, nay, en the ocean, and accidents frequently occur ; lives are lost, too, but no matter, the question is who had the glory and honour of "beating the other? " One man has a splendid pair of black horses, and when he perceives Father Byrne is following he puts on all steam. No use. Father Byrne flies past him like a storm-wind. But the other pursues, and as he approaches we perceive that he has torn the riior.th of one of his horses. Every attempt he made to get before us was signally frustrated by the superior skill and mettle on our side. At length when it was quite clear that he was defeated, Father Byrne pulled aside ctnd let him pass. Tuesday. — Day excessively hot. Go across to Philadel- phia with Father Hogan, who takes me into a hatter's and makes me a present of a Panama hat, which I don at once. He wears one, too. Nobody minds a priest wearing such a hat here in the streets. I take him to see Mr. Moorhead, the gentleman whose acquaintance I made en board the " China " coming out last year. We reach the house indi- cated in the directory, 16 12 Walnut Street — by the way, many of the streets of Philadelphia are named after fruits — 276 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. e.g., "Walnut," "Chestnut," "Pine," " Vine," and many more I cannot call to mind. But unfortunately Mr. Moor- head has left this house and gone to reside far out in the suburbs. What fault could he have found with this house ? I think the finest in the whole street, built of cut granite, with a Grecian portico and steps. It was furnished in the most sumptuous and elegant style, and we could see even some marble statuary within apparently of great size and beauty. Coming home we see hundreds of Quakers going to meeting at their house in Arch Street. They meet very frequently this month. Their costume is the same here as at home, plain and clean. We spend the evening at the Cassidys — very nice elegant people — consisting of Mrs. and Miss Cassidy, her daughter, Mrs. Jenks, Mr. Jenks, the husband of the latter lady. Our converse Hon was more or less literary, philosophical, &c. Alay ist. — Eleven months in America. I call on the Rev. Dr. M'Glynn of St. Stephen. He invites me to preach next Sunday. Spend the evening with Father O'Farrell (jun.) of St. Peter's, Barclay Street, a fine young gentleman. We had company and spent a pleasant evening. The great topic of New York at present is this — A few evenings ago (Sunday, April 23rd), a Mr. Putman a mer- chant, of Pearl Street, New York, was riding in a street car, escorting to church two ladies, mother and daughter. A young man named Foster enters the car, and acts with impropriety towards the young lady. The gentleman comes to the rescue, and, of course, offends P'oster. The latter says " wait till I get you out." Accordingly when the party got out, so does Foster. Seizing a car-hook attached to the vehicle, he breaks the gentleman's skull. The latter NEW YORK IN SUMMER. 977 dies. Foster is arrested, and, query, will he be hanged ? The papers all cry out for his hanging, so does the public, and so are things done here, that it is mooted — he will be got off by influence / — political influence : Nous verrons — If Foster is not hanged, I will regard it as the most flagrant injustice ever offered to a community. We must watch the case. Afay 2nd. — This evening walking in one of the streets, I see walking on before me a number of young men whom it was impossible to mistake for anything but Irish peasants, and I also fancied that they had just arrived. " Boys," said I, addressing one with a pipe in his mouth, " how long are you out nere ? " "This minute, your riverence, we arrived," said he. "Put the pipe out of your mouth," said one of his com- panions in Irish. "Don't mind your pipe" said I, in the same tongue. They gazed in astonishment, and then ensued a conversation in the Celtic, from which I gathered that they were from Tuam. '•'And how is Archbishop McHale?" said I. " Well as he ought to be," was the reply. I hope these poor fellows will escape the many dangers that beset "green- horns " in this country. The names of the streets here are painted on the gas-lamp at the corners, and very seldom on houses. Strangers are here some time before they find it out — it is very useful at night. Manhood suffrage by ballot is the great pride of America — but in New York it is a humbug. Votes are bought and sold with unblushing coolness, and many candidates for office who obtam majorities are counted out by bribed scrutators. A thousand evils accrue from this, for example, there is no rule 278 DIAR YOFA TOUR IN AMERICA. of fare for cab-drivers here, they can charge what they please. Why do not the municipal authorities fix a tariff? Because the cab-drivers are a large section of the community, and at an election their votes and those of their friends could turn the scale against any obnoxious candidate. Favours are granted to the clergy and other influential persons, for the bare solicitation. Let a man be sentenced to imprisonment for a grave crime — a priest by properly manipulating the matter can get an order for his release. May /^ih. — Was introduced to-day to Mr. John Savage, whose name in Ireland and America has been mixed up for the last twenty years with Young Irelandisrn, Fenianism, &c. He is what is known as a ' gentleman." He invited me to his place, and I shall go. My lecture this evening on ** Curran," was a success as things go here. May e^t/i. — Received this morning, a handsome tribute of praise of my lecture from Mr. Sweeny, proprietor of the hotel in the shape of a cheque for One Hundred Dollars. Dine this evening at Fifth Avenue. This is the most aristocratic quarter in all New York. While surveying the magnificent apartments, furniture, &c. I thought of the pride which some of our aristocrats at home feel over their houses. But, on the other hand, a thing very amusing here is the remarkable contrasts between the style of the houses and the style of their occupants. In many cases, no doubt not in all, most of those who are wealthy were once poor and uneducated, ignorant of fashion — what are called the " shoddy aristocracy." When they became rich, they pur- chased a great mansion on Madison or Fifth Avenue. They gave a commission to an upholsterer to furnish according to improved taste, regardless of expense. Similar commis- NEW YORK IN SUMMER. 279 sions were given to the bookseller, the painter, the china- ware man, and thus the great houses were fitted up in right regal style : the human 'jirds once accustomed to the wild freedom of poverty, now j^lpmed themselves, and strutted about in their gilded cages, preping out with their bright, sharp proud eyes at their former associates abroad, as if they would say " why can't you get a pretty cage like this ? * Plebeian specimen of the ormis, " avaunt ! I pity thee j I live; on Fifth Avenue, chirp, chirp, chirp." But it is a vulgar chirp, and savours much of West Cork and Kerry, and the mountainous region of Sligo. No matter — you get a good dinner, at the right hour, at seven or half-past, and the wines are excellent, so are the *'segars," the real Habanas, or the genuine Henry Clays, and you wind up with a good game of billiards at a table worthy of a club. And then next day, you are able to tell your friends that you were sorry you could not have called last evening, but really you could not accomplish it, you had to dine with a friend on Fifth Avenue. Should the person you address thus live " down town," he feels suddenly elated by the apology, for it is a high honour to him to have on the list of his friends, one who actually dined the previous evening on Fifth Avenue, and who seems to regard the circumstance as quite an ordinary event in his life. There is not a more aristocracy-loving people on the face of the earth than your American democracy. May i^ih. — Spend this evening with Mr. and Mrs, Lyons,. Greenwich Street — very iLttiie aristocracy here ; but a vast deal of genuine good nature, and warm hospitality. We were about fifteen, and we were all Cork people. There was a Mrs. Flynn, formerly of Nicholas Street, Cork. I remember ^ti- 280 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. the name well, and I remember the lady's mother ; once a friend of my mother's. This lady remembers me a child. Her daughter, Miss Flynn, is also here, so are a whole family of the Draddys, of Quaker Road, out here for the last thirty years — a mother and three sons. At home they were stone- cutters \ here they are " sculptors " — a most respectable family indeed. We had a very pleasant evening ; some capital singing, and agreeable dancing. The old lady, Mrs. Draddy, danced as gaily as if she were only fifteen. I could not help feeling, when I saw the air of respectability that marked these young men — their thoroughly gentlemanly behaviour, and whole bearing — when I saw the happiness of the woman — I could not help feeling that things would have been very different with them if they had remained at home in Ireland. The stone-cutters would be very little regarded — the iron that cut the stone would enter their souls ; and their manly airs inspired by the aegis of American freedom would be the downcast bearing of men crushed by a diabolical legislation. May 20th. — Mr. Connolly had fixed on this day for taking me to the "Islands" to visit the "Institutions." We went to Bellevue Hospital — a splendid one. Mr. Gorett, formerly of Skibbereen, was with us. Leaving this we took the steamer, accompanied by Mr. Nicholson, Commissioner of Charities, and proceeded to Randall's Island. Great respect shown the Comptroller and his friends everywhere. Flags flying from the buildings on the islands — Foundling Asylums, Orphanage for boys and girls. The boys turned out in military array with mimic guns, and marching vvith a band. They drilled before us under the guidance of their drill- master — and one stepped forward on the part of the rest, and delivered an address to us. We saw all the asylums — NEW YORK IN SUMMER. 281 the idiots were an interesting though painful study — one boy particularly was dreadful to look at — the smallest head I ever saw — no forehead — long nose — receding chin — no ex- pression in the eyes — whole body stunted — he looked very like a monkey. The ''Soldiers' Home" was interesting —lame, infirm, poor broken down soldiers, supported by the State. The " Inebriate Asylum " for drunken men and women, came next. The treatment is simple — hard cases are gradu- ally weaned. About four days is sufficient to administer stimulants before final abstinence — then good plain food and exercise for a few months — but many relapse. In Black- wells Island are asylums for all kinds of human infirmity. Saw here a woman 107 years old. Democratic idea realized — Mr. Nicholson sees a young woman in bed and asks of the nurse "What is the matter with that young lady ? " The diseases are all beautifully classified here, so that the hospital for the sick is rather an aggregation of hos- pitals. There is a large room in this Island made in the shape of an isolated house, which might be called the calisthenic department. A lunatic man plays the piano, while, at the direction of a sane young woman, other women, for the most part paralytics, epileptics and lunatics, exercise themselves, to the time of the music, at dumb-bells, poles, etc. j this develops the muscles, and promotes health gene- rally. In fact, these institutions are magnificent ; the buildings are of the first style of architecture. No expense is spared. Light, air, room, cleanliness, good diet, fostering care, benevolence, religion, the ministrations of the Sisters of Mercy — these are the great features of management one /<^//«<' are dignified. But in almost all is one patent vulgarity, and that is a desire for alliteration in headings. I subjoin a few headings of this kind — "Personal Prattle," "Literary Lispings," "Cream of the Courts," ** Feminine Fancies," " Poor Paris," " Suburban Scraps," "Brooklyn Briefs," "Literary T .,als," "Lectures," &c., and in allusion to a terrible mine accident, in which some twenty lives were lost, at a place called Pittston, " Pittston Pitt." I shall note down others as I go along. Enough for the present. " Shining," i.e., shoe-blacking, is not a bad business. One of those boys tell me they earn about two dollars a day. A number of them swarm around our hotel all day, way laying t".e guests as they come in or out, and shouting " Shine? " Their costume is by no means elegant, and is of peculiar frailty, generally weakest at the knees, and cleanliness is no characteristic of the craft. There seems to exist a strong spirit of fraternity amongst them, as is evinced by mutual accommodation of trade materials, and also, strange as it may sound, by an exchange of books and newspapers. But I very much fear tha*^ the class of literature to which those hangers on of Crispin dtvote themselves, is not of a very u r r .1 :*t 290 D/A/i y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. rtcherchh or improving character, and that it dwells more on the exploits of " Jack Sheppard " and ** Captain Kidii," than those of "Julius Caesar" or " Rollo, the Dane." However, a love of reading is coiiimendable in the shoe- black, and the boy who "shined" me this morning was amused when I reminded him, in reference to the book he had just laid aside, that "he was equally diligent in polishing his own intellect as he was in brightening the understandings of mankind." All the glory and pride of his profession was awakened in him. He felt that to be a shoe-black was indeed to be something, and that what had been said of him could not have been applied without the very bitterest sarcasm to Ulysses S. Grant, President though he is of the United States. June iT^th. — Drove in a carriage and "double team" with Father Mooney, to Jerome Park, to the races, a distance from town of some twelve miles. The day was fine, but the wind made the dust unpleasant. We passed by the great new cathedral which I had not seen for a year ; it is advancing rapidly, and is truly magnificent — white marble — but it appears to me to be too short — 350 feet long. It will be a splendid church, but I do not see how it can ever be called a grand cathedral, comparing it with those of Eurcpe. We drove through the Central Park, which is truly grand— everything looked so fresh and bright to me who had not had a drive for several months. There was a great lack ot enthusiasm at these races, nothing like what we have at home, although in this instance the style was not trotting, but 'jockey riding" and hurdle as well as flat races. TV; "people" were not there, but fashion was there in full ing, and on our return home the equipages that passed us NE W YORK IN SUMMER. 29 1 by were gorgeous, many of them, while all were elegant. There was the inevitable Helmbold and his six horses, there also was the irrepressible Jim Fisk— there was the demi- monde and its attaches— boisterous, rollickinp, and gaudy. The racing was poor compared with ours — the contest for precedence coming home was remarkable, fast trotters, once over " nothing in it." Spent the evening with a family named Walter — the father Irish— came out poor — has made a fortune. The old story, he cannot see why every Irishman should not come to America. He could not live in Ireland now — would not be happy there no matter how wealthy he might be. When I tell him I could not live in America, he stares and wonders. He loves Ireland to be sure, and longs for her freedom, ct cetera, but as a place to live in, he regards it as one might regard Labuan or Honolulu. The two things that Irish people in America have against Ireland are ; first, the difli- culty of making a fortune or a living there ; and secondly, the grinding oppression of the law, as compared with the large freedom and equality that exist in this great continent. Equality ; a very good thing, but like all other theories, some- times awkward in practice. For example : in the Comp- troller's office, are gentlemen with salaries ranging from two thousand to ten thousand dollars a year. Now these salaries enable all those gentlemen to live in a manner quite in keeping with the name of gentlemen ; and I must say, having met them all, that they are equal in respectability to most persons I have met at the other side of the Atlantic. Nevertheless, the very door-keeper, a man named Reardon, addresses Mr. Lyons as *' Stephen," and sometunes with the still closer familiarity of the diminutive "Steeve" — while 292 DIAR YOFA TOUR IN AMERICA. this very evening a young shoe-black who turns in to clean the boots of the gentlemen before going home, when asked by " Major O'Rorke," another official, to clean his boots, says " Right away, I have to shine Mike's first," Mike being Mr. Michael Maloney. This is equality with a vengeuice. Charley O'Connell told me last evening that Ur Byrne had inMted him and me to the Jerome Park races for to-day. I accept the invitation. Charley meets me at 10.30, and Dr. Byrne joiiio us soon after. We proceed by car to Twenty-first Street, where we are introduced by Dr. Byrne to his friend Mr. Moore, and Mr. Connolly, a common friend, turns in by appointment. We proceed to the races in two open carriages with a pair of horses each — both magnifi- cent turn-outs ; Mr. Moore, Charley and I in one car, Mr. Connolly, Dr. Byrne, and two young Connellys in the other. Mr. Moore is a rich man, an Irishman, who is the first ot his countrymen that sought to make a living by the manu- facture of Weiss-Bier — a beverage theretofore exclusively brewed by Germans. Wherever I go to-day I see something indicating the success of my countrymen here, either in good or evil. Rain had fallen in the morning, and the roads were in splendid condition. The Park was superb. We stopped at a restaurant en route, and while the horses were being refreshed, Mr. Moore pointed out three men to me, and told me the middle man was Joe Coburn (Irish), the mc -t celebrated pugilist in America. Joe is a decent-looking fellow, and as much like a gentleman as most other "gentle- men" here. He and his companions go off in a "light wagon with a double team," or what we would call a " car- riai<^e and pair." Passing through the Park we observed NEW YORK IN SUMMER. 393 the statue of Professor Morse, erected a few days ago (I should have said unveiled). Professor Morse, they say, invented the electric telegraph, and still lives, thus affording one of the rare instances of a man having a statue erected to him during his lifetime. The statue is bronze, and it was executed by an Irishman named Power. The course is reached ; we go on the grand stand, where we recognise many friends, who swarm round us, and form '* quite a party." The events of the day are very interesting, the horses very well bred, the racing good jockey-racing, all flat. Here again my countrymen distinguished themselves. Three Irishmen won — men with the very Hibernian names of Coffee, Kelly and Shea. Indeed whenever an Irishman's horse went out he came in the winner. Mr. Moore, whom I instructed to point out all the celebrities to me as they turned up, next directed my attention to "Reddy, the black- smith," who might be called ** the hardest case of a rowdy" in New York. Reddy is famous for many daring exploits, the last of which was the killing, in a drinking saloon, of a bigger rowdy than himself — namely, Jimmy Hagerty. The murderer was acquitted for two reasons : tirst, because he was acting in self-defence —the other, because '* he has im- mense political influence. ^^ Reddy is an Irishman ; he is a low, square-built, hard-featured naan with a white coat, Panama hat, put on recklessly, and a thick red moustache. Several fellows who owe him a grudge are watching for the opportunity of doing for him, and they will, thus saving the hangman a great deal of bother, and the public a great deal of maudlin cant. When the races were over, the first man that started for home was Jim Fisk. Mr. Moore also pointed to me 294 DIARY OF A TOUR IN A Af ERIC A. Mr. Vanderbilt, the richest man in America. He is an old, slight gentleman, with white hair, whiskers and neckcloth, and wearing spectacles. Thus, in one day I saw the richest man in America, the first roue, the first pugilist, and the first rowdy. All are equally looked after, all are equally cele- brated. We spent a very pleasant day. No expense was spared, and the journey was delightful, in every sense of the word. The Archbishop was administering confirmation to-day In St. James's church, and I was invited to dinner. It was a very stylish entertainment, and was supplied by Delmonicos. The Archbishop, though apparently grave, yet has a good fund of humour in his composition, and tells very good anecdotes ; but if I were a bishop, I too would be very anecdotal. It only requires to have a good supply of stories, and to get an audience. I have the stories, and .'f ever I become a bishop, people will listen through respect. One point only do I wish to note iiere. The Archbishop said that the failing population of native Americans, though often ascribed >:o crime, must be also attributed, in a great mea- sure, to the effeminacy and dehcacy produced in both sexes, and particularly women, by the heating of houses in winter. I have not the slightest doubt of it. He told how being on one occasion on a visit, in Paris, at the house of a vicomte, it being mid-winter, he sat at the fire, and could scarcely warm himself. He observed the two daughters of the vicomte at a distance near the window, and he invited them to share the warmth of the fire ; but their noble father forbade them, saying, " There are only two fires allowed in this house at any time — one in the kitchen and one in this parlour ; the latter has been prepared solely for your lord- NEW YORK IN SUMMER, 295 ship. My sons do not need a fire, for they can warm them- selves by out-door exercise. My daughters must abstain from the luxury of warmth, for they are to be the mothers of soldiers." In Ireland, and Europe generally, bishops are addressed ** My Lord," or what is equivalent to it in the other languages. Not so in America. There you say, " Yes, Bishop," " No, Archbishop," simply. Bishop M'Closkey amused us by telling how when he went to Ireland first, on meeting with a bishop, the ** My Lord " stuck in his democratic throat, and could only be got up at a second attempt June z^th. — My foot being sore I remained at home through the day. In the evening my friend Healy calledi and so did C. W. O'C, the latter provided with a written order for the admission of myself and friends to the balcony of the City Hall, to witness the procession of the Saenger- bund. And what is the Saengerbund ? The Germans we know are proverbially a musical people, and in America there are almost in all important cities affiliated choral societies leagued in a band of union, and assuming the name of the Saengerbund. The coming week there is to be a great Saengerfest, and this evening the proceedings are to be opened. The representatives of the various choral societies of this continent have arrived, and have arranged to march 2,000 strong before the City Hall at 8 o'clock, when they will be received and welcomed by the mayor. On that occasion there is to be a grand choral performance in the open air by the 2,000 members of the Saengerbund, and it is to witness this spectacle, and to hear this magnifi- cent concert that I and my friends have resolved. The various houses in New York where Germans reside have been 2g6 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. made festive with innumerable flags and filial decorations arranged with that promptitude and taste in which the children of the Fatherland are justly distinguished at home and abroad. From several windows banners are hung out with such inscriptions as " Willkommen, Sangerbriider," &c., &c. The citizens generally of every nationality, except the French, laud the enterprise, the taste, the patriotism, and peacefulness of the German character. They are a very law-abiding people, and the mingled flags of Germany and America flaunting from their windows and housetops attest their blended feelings of patriotic attachment to the country they have relinquished, and to that which they have adopted. It is to be regretted that the Irish do not em.ulate their spirits of unanimity in national undertakings. Were they to do so, there is no power in America that could resist their influence, but where most of their enthusiasm should be aroused they sink into apathy, or only make a show that reveals their weakness, when it might show forth their magni- tude and strength. About 8 o'clock we three proceed to the City Hall, where only a very select few are admitted, but our order has a talismanic influence on the sturdy janitor. We are ushered upstairs to a splendid suite of apartments where I had been last year — large rooms crnamented with the pictures of America's great men. Here is arranged a supper table, and the " big bugs " gradually arrive. From the prevalence of the German tongue, I know that few except Germans are present. • But Mayor Hall recognises ine, and invites me to drink some Rheinwein, which I do He and I hobnob, much to the surprise of the by-stanov^rs. I introduce O'Connell and NE W YORK IN SUMMER. 297 Healy to His Worship— I should have said <* His Honor." The sound of instrumental music reminds us that the fraternity of song are mustering their forces below. Through an open window we enter on the balcony overlooking the City Hall Park (what a misnomer is " park," by the way). It is misting slightly, but the rain does not damp the spirits of the irrepressible " Dutchman " (a name given to all here who have any connection with Teutonism). On the balcony a gentleman makes a calcium light which illumines the whole park. 2,000 Chinese lanterns hanging from poles are held in the hands of the Sangerbiind. Below the Mayor and other gentlemen stand on an improvised dais with scarlet carpet and swathed in banners, all tastefully illumined with Chinese lanterns. Ten thousand people must be around, for it is a rare attraction. The rain increases. My friend, Healy, remarks that, " Heretofore in America the rain was rare, but now it was overdone." I told him that his wit must be boiling over. A sketcher from an illustrated paper was taking down the scene from a spot near us. " But r homme propose et Die u dispose.^'' Down faster and faster came the rain — the lightning flashed, and the thunder rolled, and the huge drops fell heavier and heavier. At last it descended with such fury that no human enthusiasm could withstand it. Ten minutes produced the most wonderful change in the scene. Where thousands of lights gleamed, now all was darkness, and the Chinese lanterns lay in saturated fragments on the ground. Where ten thousand people, men and women, stood in breathless expectation of festive song, now not a trace of humanity was visible. Only a huge cannon pealed forth its thunder, and lit up the darkness with its sudden flashes. Men, e 98 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN A M ERIC A . women, light and song— all melted away, like the feverish phantoms of a dream, like the "baseless fabric of a vision." Sunday, June 2t^th. — Lovely day. A new church is to be consecrated to-day by the Archbishop, at Mott Haven, on the Harlem River. The curate of Mott Haven at present is the Rev. B. , whose father taught him and me Latin grammar together much more than "twenty golden years ago." Twenty two years have elapsed since I met him. I resolved to fulfil the romantic desire of seeing him to-day. By arrangement I call on Mr. Healy at his lodgings, Fifth Avenue, and proceed with him to Mott Haven. This place is reached many ways, but we go by the Third Avenue cans, and reach Harlem on one side of the river. We cross the Harlem bridge on foot, and find ourselves at Mott Haven. We reach the house of the pastor, Father Hughes, and I soon catch sight of B . I recognise him at once, and ask, *• Did you ever see me before ? " He replies rather grufily that he does not know. I tell him who I am, and the announcement does not seem to move him much. In a word, it seemed to make no difference to him whether I was an utter stranger or an old school-fellow ; but I reposed in the consciousness of having gratified a worthy feeling of my own. The Americans are a great paper-reading people. " What paper in New York has the largest circulation ? " asked somebody. ** Of course The Sun — it goes round the earth every twenty-four hours — the largest circulation in the world." Newspaper gentlemen have a great many cant phrases. " Piling up the agonies " means heaping Pelion on Ossa, of horrible description. June 27///. — Lovely morning, charming country. We NEW YORK IN SUMMER. 299 drive, i.e.. Father Crowley, Charley, "Gus" and I, in two carriages, to a place called Westhills, the highest point in Long Island, and most probably the first American land I ever saw. It commands a splendid view, reaching from the Connecticut shore all round ihe Atlantic, as far as the " palisades " of the Hudson. The scenery at our feet of the surrounding country is very beautiful. Indeed Huntington has been styled the " Garden of Long Island." Splendid cedars grow quite commonly here, even along the road-ways, also locusts, a tree somewhat resembling acacia, wild cherry trees, pines, oaks, &c. There is said to be a tulip tree here seven feet in diameter. I have not seen it, and shall be dubious till I do. Indian corn is cultivated all round, and the ripe fields of maize resemble our full grown wheat crop. The roads might be better- -dusty in summer, slushy in winter. The land is mostly undulating, and there is a great deal of wood. The country villas are all beautifuL No two styles are alike, and there is a freshness and gaiety about them, and such an array of flowers, as indicates extreme neatness and taste. They look charming on the slopes of the landscape, lawn before and protecting fields behind. There is no poverty here, no begging. The farmers all own their land in fee. There is a solitary policeman in the town. The nigger population is large. There is an air of comfort everywhere. June 2,0th. — Am much better, though not quite well. Have a visit from C. W. O'C. He speaks of a friend, Major Haverty, who informed him that of the book-buying portion of the public six-tenths are Cork people. This is creditable to the literary taste of my fellow citizens. Charley takes me out and makes me accept a present of a pair of French crystal 300 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. spectacles, purchased in Broadway for six dollars. They are excellent glasses. He and I soon afterwards experienced an attempt at cheating us, which fortunately proved unsuc- cessful. Charley was thinking of buying a Panama hat. Now Panama hats are very expensive, but there are cheap ones, too, and an uninitiated purchaser does not well see the difference. We went into a shop whose speciality was straw hats. Charley took up a Panama. " What is the price? " he asked. " Twenty dollars," was the reply. The young man who made the answer then disappearcfl, and another man came on the scene, probably the " boss " of the establishment. " Well, sir, don't that hat suit you ? " " It is too dear," says Charley. " Dear ! " he cried. ** Sir, I can give you that hat for four dollars less than any other man can give it." " That may be," says Charley, " but I can't afford to give twenty dollars for it." " Twenty dollars ? " said the man. " Why, sir, the price is onlv six dollars.'' We then informed the man that the other had demanded twenty. "Oh," cried this one, "he doesn't know anything about it." We sought the first to confront him with the second, but he was not to be found. We then clearly saw that the first fellow had tried a swindle on our ignorance and credulity, and the second seeing the failure of the scheme was glad to sell the hat at its real value. But Chadey was disgusted, and we made no investment then. I went this evening with Mr. Williams, whom I had met ~NE W YORK IN SUMMER 30^ at Mr. Barry's last Sunday evening. Mr. Barry also was with us, and another young gentleman, an Englishman, named Anderson. We dined at the table d'hote. It was a boarding-house. What nuisances those boarding-houses are. The company are mixed — ladies and gentlemen — all strangers to each other, while the lady of the house pre- sides and carves the joint or joints as the case may be. Silence for the most part prevails. In the present instance, however, it was rudely broken by a gentleman with a very Yankee air and voice, crying out to the servant, " Don't remove that plate. You should know better. When a gentleman has dined he lays the knife and fork parallel on his plate. Mine were not parallel, but at a very obtuse angle. Again " (pointing to his teacup) " when I have done ' with my tea I place the spoon in the saucer; when not done 1 leave it in the cup." These words, uttered with great force and precision, made us all smile. He soon left the table, and we all fell a-chatting like old familiar friends. I fancy that on occasions of such miscellaneous gatherings at table — whether in boarding-houses or hotels — any man who would set everyone talking would be not only clever, but a very benevolent member of society, for everyone is anxious that the spell should be broken, but nobody knows how to break it. After dinner v^^e four sat and had cigars on a piazza. It was agreed that America was before England, nay Europe, in many things, particularly hotels — the fires department — peculiar made-up drinks — enterprise of all kinds — employing men on their merits and not on the recommendation of friends "interest" as it is called — insurances (every American insures his property, one third part of Englishmen don't). 302 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. Newspapers— at least the Herald^ which, despite an opinion I have elsewhere expressed, is superior to the London Times in the immense machinery by which it is worlced, and in every otlier respect, except the material, paper, and the elegance of style. A number of young "gentlen-'en " are here, lately come out from Cork looking for employment. Of five that I know, one only succeeded, the rest are several weeks here and can get absolutely nothing to do. What a mistake those young men's parents make ; they have educated their children for the professions ; the professions are over-stocked ; the super- fluity come out here. They have education — it is not wanted. What is wanted here is work. These young men are now ready to do any kind of work in order to keep body and soul together. Here work is honourable — at home it is de- grading. How absurd. Try to enforce these lessons at home. To-day 1 leave by steamer at 3.50 for Haverstraw on the Hudson. Lovely evening — magnificent scenery — wide river, at one side perpendicular cliffs, called the palisades ; at the other sloping wooded lawns with gorgeous residences vary- ing ever in style — all elegant, many palatial. Mount St. Vincent is a splendid red-brick Convent of Mercy, immense in length, elegant in style, charming situation over the river. In front of it is a stone castle belonging to the nuns, built by Edwin Forrest the g aat actor, for his residence, but given by him to the nuns. We passed Yonkers, a lovely town on the river; splendid country seats all round — Tarrytown the same — Irvington, close to which is the house of Washington Irving — Sing-Sing, the place of the great State Prisc-.i of New York. Then came Haverstraw— a great brick-making place, at the foot of very steep wooded cliflfs. Lovely country ali NEW YORK IN SUMMER. 303 around. Warren Village is the real name of the to»vn ; Haverstraw is the name of the "ploughland," one-fourth of Rockland County. Close by is Rockland Lake, where the choic'.'st ice is found for the use of the New Yorkers. The village, however is now called Haverstraw — the greatest brick-making place in the State. Jidy 22^rd. — George, Gus, and I go on board a sloop laden with bricks, and cross Long Island Sound, thirty-five miles, to Bridgeport. The voyage with a good breeze would only take three hours, but there is no wind, and so we take very much longer. Bridgeport is a nice town. The surburbs are very beautiful. It is the birthplace of Tom Thumb, whose family, excepting himself, were all of more than the average size. The celebrated Barnum lives here, when he is at home, which is seldom. One of the finest houses in the suburbs here is that of Wilson or Wheeler, I cannot say which, one of the great sewing-machine firm. The great charm of the villas here is the wonderful variety of their styles, as well as their extraordinary beauty of design. They are mostly frame houses, and their beauty is much enhanced by abundant foliage and well-kept gardens. At ten o'clock we leave by the Nangatuck railroad for Waterbury, of which my old friend and class-mate, Tom Hendricken, now " Doctor," is pastor. The distance from Bridgeport is eighty-six miles — scenery pretty, hills and rivers ; several villages and small towns on the way. Dr. Hendricken is not at home. Hard, as I have not seen him for eighteen years. He is on retreat at Worcester ; but his servant treats us with a hospitality that augurs well for his own. Waterbury is a manufacturing town, with 14,000 inhabitants. 304 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. We go off again by rail, thirty-six miles, for Newhaven, , ,. one of the finest cities of New England, on the Sound. It is much unlike American cities generally — a good deal of brick and stOne, somewhat like an English town. Here is our hotel, the Newhaven Hotel, a very fine one, and right before it, buried in trees, and surrounded by grass plots, is Yale College, one of the most celebrated in all America. We spend a pleasant evening. July 26///. — After breakfast we walk through the grounds of Yale College, a large aggregate of detached buildings, without any pretensions to style. It was vacation, and there was nothing to be seen. We hire a carriage, and drive around for two hours; but it is wet, and we have to change . from a landau to a brougham. The scenery of the suburbs is like that of Bridgeport — very beautiful; but the houses arc more frequently of stone than of wood. No place looks well in rain, and so with Newhaven. It was dreary and damp, but evidently a wealthy and important city. At 5.45 we go off by rail to Hartford, the chief city of Connecticut, distance also thirty-six miles, where we arrive by express in one hour. We stroll through the town, and admire it very much ; but we are weary and ennuyes, and so we retire early. July 2']ih. — Breakfast at 8.30, after which we hire an open carriage, and drive for some hours all through and around Hartford. The same characteristics of scenery as elsewhere. Charming suburbs, fine villas, many trees, and perfect horticulture. We see the Deaf and Dumb Asylum, the Lunatic Asylum, and Trinity College, and the magnificent residence of Colt, whose name is associated with the famous revolvers. This is one of the finest houses I have seen in NE W YORK IN SUMMER. 305 this country, charmingly situated, with splendid scenery all around — the Connecticut River beneath, and the ground adjacent laid out in the very highest style of artistic taste. We also see Colt's Revolver Factory, a huge pile of build- ings, where hundreds of men are employed. In the neigh- bourhood, and quite in the country, is one of the loveliest little Gothic churches I ever saw, built of brown stone. It was built out of the private purse of Mrs. Holt, at a cost of 250,000 dollars. Evidently no expense was spared on the exterior, and the Jriver assured us that the interior was beyond all conception, magnificent. Strange, that money made by the manufacture of instruments for taking human life should be devoted to the erection of an edifice intended to promote the glory of God ! After a very pleasant drive we take the train back to Bridgeport. Here we stop at the Atlantic Hotel. We expected to find the sloop preparing for a return trip to Huntington, but there was no sign of it. July 28///. — Up eariy; we strained our eyes looking for the sloop, but there was no sloop. We were therefore obliged to come to New York (fifty-three miles") by train. This evening coming down in the boat I had a good speci- men of the democracy of this country. A young nigger boy, about fourteen years old, employed by the ship, was going around, crying out " ice cream," at ten cents a plate. He asked me would I have some, but I said "no; but there is a man below with peaches. Would you, like a good boy, fetch lae up a quart of them?" He looked, smiled, and coolly replied : _ . '* You are poor enough to be your own servant." Politeness is a rare thing to find in America. On X 3o6 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. another occasion in the same boat, a drunken tnan came and sat beside me. He tried to draw me into conversa- tion, but I said, " Now, my dear friend, I am not dis- posed to talk. Would you kindly go and sit somewhere else?" "This is a free country," he replied. " Then," said I, " I shall avail myself of that freedom, and I shall sit elsewhere." There is a nice letter from Rev. Dr. Hendricken, regret- ting his absence on the day I called, and expressing the warmest affection for his old friend and class-mate. A few days afterwards comes a newspaper in which it is stated that the State of Connecticut is to be severed from that of Rhode Island, with which it has been hitherto united as part of one diocese, and become a distinct diocese in itself, with Dr. McFarlana as bishop, and that of the three names which have been sent off to the Pope for the new episcopate of Rhode Island, Dr. Hendricken stands first. /lily 2C)th and following days were spent in one dull monotony, so that it is quite impossible for me to adhere any longer, at least for the present, to the resolution I formed at the beginning of the year, and to which I have thus far steadily adhered, of noting down specially the events of every day. Where there are no events there is nothing to record. The weather is intensely hot. I can only read, write, drive, lounge, bathe, and keep off musquitoes and flies which are a horrible bore. I have got a letter from my bishop, in which he hints that he wishes me to desist from going to " Frisco " until he hears from iiis brother to whom he has written on the subject. I have been shocked on reading in the Examiner of the death of my friend, Mr. NEW YORK ly SUMMER. 307 Mugcnc Shine, who gave mc an entertainment last year at the St. Nicholas Hotel. R.I. P. August 15///. — A great clam-bake takes place to-day on the shore about a mile from Huntington. And what is a clam-bake ? Well, there is a small fish, called a clam, of which I have already spoken, and it seems to be considered by Americans a groat delicacy. On certain occasions, duly advertised, the public assemble at a certain spot, generally picturesque, where thousands of clams are previously pro- vided by persons who make the matter a pecuniary speculation. Those thousands of clams are gathered into one immense heap, under which wood has been piled, and they arc covered over with rods, twigs, and branches of trees. The wood is set fire to, and the clams are roasted. The public, which at a clam-bake as at other gatherings, is miscellaneous, embracing every sex, age, and condition, assemble and spend the day. The whole thing assumes a holiday aspect. Families bring their basket with cold pro- visions, not daring to trust to the monotonous and precarious clam. Long tables are arranged on the grounds from which the speculators aforesaid vend various descriptions of pota- tion, generally mild; proceeding in strength from the vapidity of ginger-pop to the very resistible force of Lager nier. The performance is varied by several concerted and casual operations, the latter left to the humour of the crowd^ and jolly or otherwise, according to circumstances. The Huntington Clam-bake was looked forward to as one of the great annual events of the place, an event so impor':ant that the local papers — the Suffolk {Co.) Bulletin and the Huntington Independent [?] — made allusion to its forthcoming some weeks before the event, and intensified allusion in the direct 3o8 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN A M ERIC A. ratio of its proximity. In the issue immediately preceding the great event, the eye of the reader wandered down column after column of the paper, and his eagerness for something new was ever disappointed by ingeniously varied allusions to the great clam-bake of the 15th. Thus: " Prepare, prepare — the day is at hand. At Bouton's Point, on the 15th comes off the greac Clam-bake." Again, "The event of the period— the great Clam-bake of the 15th. Secure your tickets in time ; only one dollar entrance to the grounds. See Mr. Atkins at once." "What!" you ex- claim, as your eye runs down the columns of the paper, "is it nothing but clam-bake?" You turn over to the third page or to the fourth as caprice suggests, and while you peruse an account of the meeting of some local board, or amuse yourself amongst literary excerpts from standard periodicals of the day, your eye is suddenly arrested by a short interposed paragraph about " St. Clambake, whose festival falls on the 15th, and which is to be celebrated at Bouton's Point." Where every visitor is expected to ^^ offlshiaie^^ on that auspicious occasion, etc. ; or " Beauties of Huntington ! They will be all at the Clam-bake on Tuesday." " Terpsichore ! who will refuse to witness thy performances on Tuesday next at the great Huntington Clam-bake ! " and thus ad the mfinitian of the fatigued imagination of a newspaper editor who is a great and particular friend of Mr. Atkins, and the party Mr. Atkins represents. Of course I must go to the Clam-bake — one of " our institootions." A TRIP IN LEA THERSTOCKINGS LAND. 309 CHAPTER XI. A TRIP IN LEATHliRSTOCKING'S LAND. August x'jth. — I received a letter yesterday from Sarah McAuliffe, dated Catskill, saying that she and party, i.e.^ Mrs. Attridge and John, were about to leave for Coopers- town, the residence of Father Devitt, their particular Iricnd with whom they would spend some days, and expressing a hope that I would be able to join them there. Accordingly this morning I rise early and proceed by stage to the pier (they call a pier a " dock " in America), distant about three miles. Here I take the steamboat, the " O. R. Martin," and accomplish 35 miles more of the journey, reaching New York at 9.30 a.m. Thence I proceed to Albany by express rail, leaving at J0.30 and reaching at 2.45, distance 142 miles. The route lay along the Hudson river, whose beauties I am never tired of admiring. From Albany I proceed by "cars" to Cooperstown, distant 91 miles, through the Susquehannah Valley, a region of great loveliness, embracing every feature of scenic beauty — undulating grounds, vast tracts of foliage, smiling well cultivated fields, now " rich with golden grain." The spiral river now so tiny that it only " bickers down the valley," now spreading into copious volume, while at intervals of every seven or eight miles, some charming village, such as Richardville, decorates the scene, reposing in the valley beneath, and from its white walled hous' s throwing back the reflected brightness of the August sun. This railroad extends from Albany to Bing- 310 DIARYOFA TOUR IN AMERICA. hampton, but at a certain junction I deflect from Coopers- town, distant 16 miles. I reach ihe town just about twelve hours after I had left Huntington, having traversed in that space of time by land and water a distance of 271 miles, and accomplished it perfectly at my ease, either inhaling the fresh morning breeze from the deck of a steamboat, or lounging on the luxurious cushions of a Pullman's Palace Car. On arriving, the porter of the " Cooper House," the great hotel of Cooperstown, accosts me, and finding what I wanted he, with that genuine courtesy so peculiar to an Irishman when dealing with a priest, undertakes to conduct me to Father Devitt's house, but requests that meanwhile I would stay for a few moments at the hotel while he was superintending the stowing away of some luggage just arrived. I assent. The hotel is close by, and I sit on a sofa in the large hall. Here is unusual bustle, as if some ' great festive event were coming off. The sofa of which I speak stood in the midst of a long broad corridor running the whole length of the hotel, and confronting a large square hall which forms the entrance. The floor of the corridor is carpeted and the walls all around are adorned with pictures. Into the corridor several doors open, through which are constantly emerging groups of ladies and gentlemen, all attired in ball costume, while the sounds of soft music are heard not far off. The gay groups parade up and down the corridor, chatting, laughing, and displaying their bright plumage in the glaring light of many lamps and chandeliers, while some fascinating damsels decoy their beaux to a table ill the hall where are spread for sale a vast variety of ^ bouquets (always pronounced " boquets," accent on second syllable), *' dearly bought for ladies." I fancy a great ball A TRIP IN LEA THERSTOCKINGS LAND. 311* is about to go forw ard, for in addition to the ladies and gentlemen, groups of children, boys and girls, very gaily dressed, play and run around, making the air still more musical by their shouts and ringing laughter. It is a bright scene, and one which, though no participator in its enjoy- ment, I can heartily admire, for why should we not be happy while we may ? and why not bask in the sunshine of pleasure, and languish in the perfume of sweet flowers as long as the pleasure is innocent and as long as the sweet flowers bloom ? I rise and view the pictures on the walls. Here is a splendid photograph of an old gentleman with very regular well-defined features, an eye of wonderful sharpness, and a forehead worthy of a Plato. Who is he ? I cannot help inquiring, and find that he is William C 'Hen Bryant, the celebrated living American poet. Here are portraits of others, even of less note than Bryant, probably well known to the visitors of the Cooper House, but as far as my ex- perience goes, undistinguished in the annals of world-wide fame. The pictures of scenery are very beautiful — one is " Leatherstocking's Cave," another "Leatherstocking Falls," a third "Cooper's Monument," a fourth "Otsego Lake," etcetera. I find that I am in a region of great natural beauty, whose created charms are rendered still more bewitching by the vivid imagination and the stirring romances of James Fenni- more Cooper, with whose name and whose works we have been familiar from our earliest boyhood. More we shall see as we go on ; but here is the porter now done his work, who comes to conduct me to Father Devitt's house. We walk while he takes my valise on his shoulder. It is nearly quite 312 DIAR Y OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. dark, but just as we pass under the gable of the hotel a light streams out through the windows, and I see in its glare a party of ladies and gentlemen passing close by me. One gentleman appears to be a priest, by his costume. I say to myself that Father Devitt cannot be far off. I see another gentleman of similar appearance. Then comes a lady who might pass for Mrs. Attridge, but I am not sure of her. At length comes another lady, there is no mistaking this one : it is Sarah. " Hallo," I cry. They all turn round and seem surprised and confounded. John Attridge comes over to me and exclaims, " By Jove, 'tis Father Buckley ! " I will not attempt to picture the astonishment of the whole party, who never dreamed of me at the moment, and to whom I appeared as an apparition suddenly dropped from heaven, or elsewhere. The air was filled with their exclamations of surprise and delight, but when I informed them of the long journey I had made in that one day, they regarded me as some grea* general of old might have been regarded, who had achieved a forced march with extraordinary activity, and stood at the enemy's gates when they deemed him hundreds of miles away. We go back to Father Devitt's house, and spend a pleasant evening. I should have mentioned that the porter told me that the festive proceedings at the Cooper House were nothing special this evening, but that almost every evening there was a " hop " of some kind or other. August xZth. — After breakfast we all proceeded on foot to the lake Otsego, which I humorously dubbed " Not Sago." Here we take a yacht and go forth for a day's sailing. The wind is pretty high, and our helmsman is a young lad named Joe, who is on a visit with Father Devitt. I do not feel comfortable at the idea of entrusting our lives to the care of A TRIP IN LEATHERSTOCKINGS LAND. 3r3 so very youthful a pilot, although he has acquiied much experience of boating off the Coast of Staten Island as Father Devitt informs me. Nevertheless we set sail, and are prepared for the consequence, or rather do not calculate too nervously on them. A lovely lake is this Otsego, nine miles long, by an average of three miles broad, the water so green that one might fancy it was rather salt or that it reflected the vernal hue of the surrounding foliage, for foliage abounds on every side. On one hand, the left, the land slopes upwards gently from the lake, and is mostly laid out in demesne from the midst of which peep out charming houses fantastically shaped, picturesque country residences of" city milUonaires or local magnates, embedded in leafy solitudes. On the other hand, the land rises all along into the attitude of a hill or mountain, and is one vast range of forest, remind- ing me of the wooded Tornies that spring from and frown down upon the lovely Loch Lene, the lower lake of Killarney. At one point of this mountainous wooded range we discern the necropolis of Cooperstown, the city of the dead, indicated by the white tombstones looking down upon us from amidst the surrounding trees ; and in the midst of our pleasure, like the page behiiid the king's triumphal car in the Roman procession of old, reminding us that we are mortal. As we sail gaily before the brisk breeze and our view of the scene is enlarged, we see hills rise behind hills in the distance ; eminences robed in the "forest primeval," whither, doubt- less the foot of man has not yet reached. A gay little steamer sounds forth its shrill whistle from the pier, warning the world that " it " is about to start for the remotest point of the lake, and awakening the thousand slumbering echoes of the mountains. As she steams past us we perceive that 3 r 4 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. her name inscribed on the paddle-box is " Natty Bumppo," ana that she is called after one of Cooper's celebrated heroes of romance. Everything breathes of Cooper in this romantic region. Amongst the monuments in the cemetery we distin- guish the marble pillar raised to his memory by public subscription, and further on is the precipitous frontage of rock beneath which is " Leatherstocking's Cave," and to which tourists ascend by a wooden staircase constructed for the purpose. , . But the wind grows stronger and stronger as we reach the centre of the lake, and the waves rise, and the boat scuds on like a bird, and her rudder indicates, by its rushing noise in the water, that we are careering at a tremendous rate. We deem it imprudent to go farther, lest the gale may increase or the direction of the wuid change, and for my part, I do not feel comfortable in the hands of the young pilot, "Joe," who seems somewhat disconcerted at the responsibility which the increasing storm has placed on his shoulders. By general consent we turn, but the sail flapping in the wind, and the frequent lurching of the boat in the trough of the waves, fill us all with alarm. It is pretty clear that Joe is not equal to the occasion. The ladies screamed, and [ confess I felt miserable. Some minutes of this terrible apprehension passed, and we heeded not the spray rushing over the gunwale, deluging the boat and drenching us thoroughly. At length we get all right, and steer for the nearest point of land, which fortunately we reach in safety. We bathe, and dine, and lounge about on the grass, and in the sunshine, in sheltered spots where no breeze blows, and beguile the time in a thousand ways, but chiefly in talking of the long, long past, on the home of our A TRIP IN LE • THERSTOCKINGS LAND. 3 1 5 birth, and most of all — for that is what now strikes us most — on the lovely scenery of Lake Otsego. Some few hours after we prepare to return. The wind has gone down, and we can scarcely advance a yard. We tack, but make no head- way. Wo then take the oars, and get on slowly, for the boat is large, and the oars are small. Thus the evening creeps on, and we are within two miles of the shore. Sud- denly a fresh gale springs up behind us, the sail is set, and in five minutes we reach the pier. August i^ih. — The weather is very beautiful, and we are tempted to go again upon the lake. The temperature here is very mild. Cooperstown is situated at a height of 1,200 feet above the level of the sea, which makes it constantly cool, while the refreshing breeze from the lake adds its quota of mildness to the air. It is needless to say that the town is called after the Cooper family — not, however, after the novelist, but his father, Judge Cooper, who came and settled here in the year 1785. Since that time eighty-six years have elapsed, and yet the town cannot boast of more than 2,000 inhabitants ; and yet there are several hotels, but they are unoccupied except in summer, when thousands of fashionable visitors throng to enjoy the luxuries which Nature has here scattered around with so profuse a hand. Judge Cooper was an important personage in his day. He came here from Burlington, in New Jersey, in the capacity of Chief Magistrate, and owner of property around the lake. On his arrival here, in the double capacity of judge and landlord, in the year mentioned, the inhabitants of the little village, thirty-five in number, came forth to welcome " the lord of the manor," and paid him that quasi feudal homage which has since grown not obsolete, but odious even to the 3 1 6 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. memo/y of America's fierce Democracy. Here Judge Cooper was visited by George Washington in 1789, and in 1795 by another distinguished hero of that age — no other than the famous Prince Talleyrand. By what strange impulse of the mind does one indulge in a dreamy pleasure standing on the spot and gazing on the scenes where the great men of the past stood and gazed as we do? I know not \ but this pleasure I felt as I stood on the borders of Otsego Lake, and fancied that, perhaps, on this very foot of ground George Washington developed to Judge Cooper his military schemes, or Talleyrand cracked some v/itticisms for his Worship's amusement. We go on the lake and row to the spot from which tourists ascend to Lakewood Cemetery, to which I have already alluded. Here we debark and ascend. The cemetery slopes up to the very summit of the hill, and is formed by a succession of terraces, between which the tombs and graves are placed. A perfect forest of trees encloses and enshrouds it. The first monument that meets our eye is that of which I have made mention, the marble monument of Cooper- On the base are carved the words " Fennimore Cooper." The pillar is ornamented with carvings indicating the im- plements of savage warfare, and the top is surmounted by a statue of Chingachgook armed cap-apie with feathers and scalps, with tomahawk and mocassins. This is not the grave of Cooper ; we shall visit that in due time. Having " done " the cemetery, which is one of the prettiest I ever saw, we take the boat once more, and chat over the strange saying of an enthusiastic tourist who was here lately, and who was such an admirer of Cooper and his tales that he said his greatest ambition would be to be drowned in that A THIP IN LEA TUER STOCKINGS LAND. 3 1 7 lake and buried in that cemetery. We row for the Susque- hannah River, which rises in the lake, and pursues a course of 400 miles before it reaches the ocean. It is narrow at the source, but we admire it very much. We take to fishing for perch, and have no success for some time, until at length one of the ladies, with a scream of surprise at her own success, hauls up a finny creature about the size of a sardine. Her triumph stops there, however ; and indeed I believe she had more to boast of than any of us. Thus we passed the evening, and returned brimful of the delight which is the inevitable creation of innocent enjoyment. August 20th. — Sunday. I celebrate Mass, and preach. The congregation was small, but much larger than was anticipated, for there was to be no Mass, only for my unexpected arrival. Mass is celebrated here only every second Sunday, as Father Devitt has to attend another church at Richfield Springs, and a third at Cherry Valley, both very distant from Cooperstown. The rumour was spread abroad that Mass would be said at the usual hour on Sunday, and it must have been spread to some purpose, for about 250 people were present, and that was a good number, considering that the church would scarcely hold more than 500. The Mass was a Missa Cantata. The organ was played by a young widow lady, Mrs. Tilton, and the soprano, I was told, was a very pretty young lady named Tanner. I gave Benediction in the evening at eight o'clock, and preached again. About fifty Americans were ' present on this occasion. Father Devitt informed me they come every Sunday evening, when he preaches on something doctrinal. A large congregation were present. August 2ist. — All up at five this morning, because we 3 1 8 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN A ME RICA. have to make a long journey to the celebrated Sharon Springs, via Cherry Valley. The latter place is fourteen miles from Cooperstown. We start at six o'clock. The morning is damp and misty, and the scenery is not very distinctly visible. Our vehicle is a barouche, and our charioteer a " coloured gemman." Our road lies over the mountain, on the right hand of the lake, by the cemetery. Through the foliage we catch glimpses of the water below. The view all along the road is very chariiing, but its effect was sadly marred by the persistent mist which hung all day over the landscape. This was particularly unfortunate at Cherry Valley, which, even veiled as it was, and displaying only a few glimpses of its beauty, was still delightful to behold. Our imaginations supplied the charms which our eyes were forbidden to reach. This region, which might well pass for the Happy Valley, was once the scene of an Indian raid made on the white inhabitants, who were mas- * sacred without mercy, sometime in the last century. Strange impulse of corrupt nature, which teaches it to defile with human blood and guilt the loveliest scenes in God's creation. Witness the ruthless massacre of Glencoe, per- petrated by so-called civilized men ! From Cherry Valley we go by train to Sharon, distant seven miles. On this railroad are some wooden structures running through ravines over which the train passes, and which are constructed with a reckless disregard of human life. Some day, ere long, a terrible accident will occur here, and then some more solid structure will be substituted for the present one. We reach Sharon and are at first somewhat disappointed, for there is nothing to be seen but some detached houses and a few shabby hotels. But we A TRIP IN LEA TBERSTOCKTNGS LAND. 3 1 9 go on farther, or rather deeper ; for it is all one long descent into a valley, buried in high wooded hills. When we have got down to the lowest flat we find ouselves in Sharon — one long street with enormous hotels on each side, and a very dirty, slushy roadway. These hotels are all supplied with piazzas, and on these piazzas lounge and sit ladies and gentlemen chatting : the latter in the invariable white hat and tweed clothes — the former in the degag'ee morning costume, or the more elegant afternoon attire, but all with the most fantastic coiffure which a diseased imagination could invent, or which Beauty could possibly desire for the purposes of suicide. We stopped at the first hotel we met — the " Mansion House." No one was visible. We walked into a room — it was untenanted, and there was a most unpleasant sen- sation of warmth about it, as if it were artificially heated, although the month was August. We left precipitately and went further. We fixed on the United States Hotel, left our things there, and ordered dinner for one o'clock. Meanwhile we go and have a sulphur bath, previous to which we drink sulphur-water, which has, to my mind, the taste of a hard-boiled, cold, rotten egg. All these watering places are about the same— the same in America as in Europe. Sharon is a Wiesbaden, and Saratago a Homburg. Sharon, however, is nearly "played out." Its waters are losing their strength, or are surpassed in strength by others. Hence, the hotel-keepers lay it on pretty heavily, being reckless with despair. We dine — the litde morsels of chicken or beef-steak to which we were helped would remind one of the limited rations on board a famishing ship, or in a besieged city. 330 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. But what right have we to complain? VVe fear to order wine, and so we call for ale. ** Yes, sir," says the waitress, and she fetches it after a quarter of an hour. But now, she brings on a tray about six or seven wine-glasses, which she helps around, and then proceeds to fill them with ale from what we call a tankard. Good gracious ! what notion of ale have they at Sharon Springs ? Do they regard it as some precious wine which must be doled out sparingly and drunk in sips, like Tokay or Marcobruner? like Assmanshauscr or Liebfrau milch ? We scofi" at the idea and scout the wine-glasses from the table. The astonished waitress at last gathers what we want. She removes the wine-glasses and fetches bumpers. But what is the matter now ? Is it ale, or muddy wine ? Where is the foam, and where is the sparkle that speaks poetry to the heart, in a glass of Allsopp or Bass? Alas ! we stood with our lips on the brink of liquid bliss, and as with the wretched Tantalus, the bright stream passed away for ever. But what is it ? we taste and put it away again — in this region of sulphur, we wisli it to the region of brimstone. It is only a coloured lluid, uttcii V tasteless and almost solid with infused dust. It is said UKit everyone must eat a peck of dust before he dies. Let him drink the ale of the United States Hotel of Sharon, and the task will be accomplished in a few weeks. August 22nd. — A telegram comes to Father Devitt from a place called Exter, some nine or ten miles away, saying that he is wanted to see a sick young woman there. We jombine business and pleasure. We start in a barouche for Richfield Springs — we can take the sick call on our return, and we must be home at six, as a couple are to be married A TRIP IN LEA THERSTOC KINO'S LAND. 3 2 1 in the church at that hour. Away with us then, along the lake for the whole nine miles of its length. There is no mist to-day, but all is bright and beautiful. What more can the eye of man desire ? The placid waters of a vast lake — the lofty mountains — the dense forests — the bright sunshine of summer. Every passing cloud gives some new aspect to the scene. Some miles down from the head of the lake, we observe apparently only a few feet underwater, a large grassy exposure, as if a field overflowed by a flood. This, Father Devitt tells us, is called the " Sunken Island," and there is a legend which accounts for the phenomenon. A certain Indian respected by his tribe, dwelt in times of old on this island when it projected from the lake. It was an island of peculiar beauty and fertility. He had acquired by some means a wonderful knowledge of pharmaceutics and was celebrated all round the coi ntry for his medical skill. No power could resist the power of his art. Like Lucifer, he grew haughty and defiant, he compared himself to the Deity, and proclaimed his independence of his Creator. Then came the retribution. One morning those who wandered by the lake sought for the island but could discern no trace of it. It had been swallowed up during the night, and nothing remained to tell that it ever existed, save the green grass waving, as it waves now, a few feet below the waters of the lake. Having passed Otsego Lake we find ourselves in the open country ; but even here the hand of Nature has constructed other lakes, smaller than Otsego, but very pretty. We observe three very close to each other other. At length we drive through Richfield, a bright, cheery, and fashionable village ; very elegant, in the midst of a well-cultivated and picturesque cC' itry. The hotels are here on a very large Y 3 2 2 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN A ME RICA. scale, and with their white: walls, and green blinds, and the gay costume of the ladies lounging on the piazzas, look very pretty and gay. I always speak of the dresses of the ladies, not of themselves ; for those whom I have seen in those fashionable watering places are for the most part ugly as sin — shrivelled, parched, skinny and gaunt ; and whatever other adjective you please that implies dryness and coldness. When one sees creatures like these trying to look youthful, pretty, and coquettish ; with costly silks and cosmeties, and artificial hair, teeth, and for aught I know, artificial eyes and limbs, it is a shocking spectacle, and makes one almost sigh that the Darwinian theory is not true, as then those female apes would at least have remained natural. I beg pardon of all good-looking, simple, unaffected ladies for my severe strictures on any members of a sex to whose refining and civilizing influence we men owe so much. We take a sulphur bath, first drinking the sulphur water, which is superior to that of Sharon j by which I mean it tastes more strongly of rotten egg. I pay one dollar to a man for two baths — when I come out the man hands nie back the dollar : — " Sir," said he, very respectfully, "when you came I did not' know who or what you were. I have since learned all about you. Please take your money back. I am proud to have a priest from the old country taking a bath here, and you are welcome to one every day on the same terms." He was an Irishman from Sligo. I find the Irish the same all over -i.merica — attached to home, to religion, and its ministers ; affectionate, warm-hearted, not covetous for the dollar like their indigenous neighbours, but generous and unselfish where a noble motive can inspire them. There is a pretty Catholic church here, but very A TRIP IN LEATHERSTOCKINGF, LAND. 323 small. Father Devitt says Mass here every second Sunday ; but the congregation mostly consists of visitors to Richfield, visitors from New York and other great cities. Richfield Sulphur Spring'-^ were discovered some thirty years ago, but came into repuie only within the last few years. It is "bound " to be a big place. We return, and Father Devitt intends taking in the sick call in his way. Our road lies by a beautiful lake *' Schuyler," a few miles from Richfield, six miles long by about three broad, almost as beautiful as Otsego, but that the surround- ing hills are not so high. There is a pretty wooded island in one portion of it, and crowds of small boats convey pleasure-seekers over its surface. We reach a small village called "Foot o' the Lake," and diverge into a narrow road by which we are to go to the sick woman's house. Three miles brings us to the place, and those were a ver}' unpleasant three miles, inasmuch as our carriage wheels often ran within a few inches of a precipice, and in other places there were a few broken planks thrown across streams by way of bridges, which were so badly put together that the horses leaped them rather than trust their legs to such a treacherous footing. Here is the house — a poor cabin — the occupants are Irish. The sick person is a very handsome girl of 18, married scarcely a year. Her husband, a mere boy, loafs around, and her mother is her nurse. Tiie hectic flush and expressionless eyes seem to denote consumption. Mrs. Attridge and Sarah are very attentive and consoling \ they recommend some nourishment ; but it comes out there is not a cent in the house. They give the poor woman some dollars. We leave for home ; it is now half-past six o'clock, and 3 2 4 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN A M ERIC A . the marriage couple are probably waiting in the church at Cooperstown. We have twelve miles to travel, and cannot reach before nine. I cannot describe the journey back, as it was dark. I can only say the road was very hilly, and we were more or less nervous, not knowing it well. When we got home we found the church crowded with people, especially Yankees, who came to see the marriage cere- mony performed ; but alas ! there was no account of the bridegroom. He never came, and what was stranger still, is that it is the second time he has thus deceived a woman in the same church. So passed this day. August 26th. — Morning wet; proper time and state of the atmosphere to visit Cooper's grave. He is interred within the precincts of the Episcopal Church, which was the one he frequented. By the way, for 2,000 inhabitants there are six churches in Cooperstown, all of different religious character, ail leading votaries to heaven their own way. I hope we will all meet at the same place, though reaching it by different roads, always provided the place be agreeable for all eternity. The Episcopal Church is within the village, or shall we say town ? I dare say we had better say town, especially as it publishes two newspapers — the Olsego Republican and the Freeman's Journal. I want to know is there a village in America that has not its newspaper ? I have often been proud of Skibbereen and its Eagle, and blushed for Dunmanway which could not rise to the dignity of a Democrat, or other exponent of public opinion. Shame on you Bandon ! Hide thy diminished head. O Kinsale ! there are cities of ten houses in America with their news- papers, cities not one fiftieth your age, while for the centuries that have passed over your old effete heads you have done A TRIP IN LEATHERSTOCKINGS LAND. 325 verily nought for the glory of literature, you for sworn children of the wise Minerva. I stroll out in the damp morning and proceed to Cooper's grave. Attached to the church, and overshadowed by the thick ibliage of dripping trees, is the graveyard, of which a large section is cut off and paled in for the Coopers and their relations, the Pomeroys. Two large horizontal slabs raised on brick some two feet over the ground indicate the burial place of James Fenimore Cooper and his wife. On one stone are inscribed a cross, and beneath it the words, " Jamss Fenimore Cooper, born Sep. 15, 1789; died Sep. 14, 185 1." No more. I did not note the inscription on his wife's tomb, but I did note that she survived him two years, and that her name was De Lancey. Cooper was brought by his father when only three years old to Coopers- town from Burlington, in New Jersey, where he was born ; and even in his boyhood traces of Indian life were still . visible about the banks of Lake Otsego. Although the Indians as a tribe had left the head waters of the Susque- hanna before the settlement of Cooperstown, yet numbers of them still lingered about the old camping grounds, and stragglers from the Delawares and the Mohawks were occa- sionally seen hovering about the shores of Lake Otsego, with traces of war-p^int upon them. True, they had buried the hatchet with the close of the war for independence, yet the story of their bloody deeds, and their wild and untamed looks, as yet hardly changed by contact with civilization, was sufficient to arouse the vivid imagination of Cooper in his boyish days. His lively brain was filled with half- forgotten legends and tales of the Indians, which the pre- sence of their native woods and the occasional smoke of 326 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. the wigwam, served to heighten and intensify, until it gave birth, in after years, to that wonderful series of Indian romances which have charmed y ning and old of all coun- tries for nearly half a century, and rescued from oblivion the chivalrous and the heroic in the ** noble red man." The monument of Cooper's father is here also, and somewhat like his own in shape, but more worn by time. An immense number of other stones, all perpendicular, and of marble, indicate the final resting-place of Cooper's family and friends, Pomeroy being the only name that varies the monotony of Cooper. Several infants, children of Cooper, lie buried here. The thought of " Sic transit " irresistibly steals over the mind. Alas ! what is human greatness, which ends in a little earth — in damp solitude and everlasting silence? We pass out of the churchyard and see the house where live, at an advanced age, two sisters of the novelist, and close by we see the spot where stood his dwelling-place, named the " Hall," of which, since it was destroyed by fire, no trace now remains. We go again on the lake and fish. What a bore the poor fish must think us. But thunder, lightning and rain again drive us prematurely home. We talk a good deal about ghosts this evening, and I grow nervous. They say the house is haunted. Whether it is or not I heard shuffling of feet and knocking at my door to-night after twelve. The knocking was several times repeated, and I cried, " Come in," frequently ; but the shy spirit did not obey. Are ghosts timid? August 21th. — Sunday; awful storm, and equally awful heat ; thermometer at 80° all day ; never ceasing rain from morning till night. Mass and sermon by me. After Mass A TRIP IN LEATHERSTOCKINGS LAND. 327 a number of men interview me at the house, five from Co. Cork, two from Waterford. They are all farmers, and live about seven miles from Cooperstown. The great rain and wind did not hinder them from coming to Mass on Sunday. They have purchased their farms " out and out," and have got plenty of time to pay up the purchase-money. They do not fear a landlord's frown, or an agent's threat ; they are independent. We had a long chat about the " old country,'' and I told much that interested them highly. Another sermon at benediction in the evening. Yankees, as usual, present in good numbers. A7tgust 28///. — Last day's boating on the lake. I do not know what is the charm about Cooperstown. It seems as if it were a retreat — a place isolated, shut in from the whole world, where one could be happy for ever. What a place for a monastery would be the bank of this lovely, lonely lake, and how the glorious works of Nature around would raise the heart to Nature's God. We taka tea at Miss Tanner's very pretty house, " Butternut Cottage," so called from a large tree in the lawn called a butternut. Her father and mother are nice people. Miss Tanner had told me that after tea she would take me " up a tree." But she was literal, and proceeded to fulfil her promise. The large butternut tree to which I have alluded stood in the lawn. It was very old and wide- spreading. The trunk extended up about twelve feet from the ground, and then thick branches shot out from it. AVithin the branches a flooring was made with seats all around, the backs of which extended from branch to branch. In the centre was a table, and the elevation was reached by a rude staircase. Here we sat, and chatted and joked over 328 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. the novelty of our situation. The sun had just set, and the full moon shone through the foliage of the trees all around, while in another direction we saw the calm surface of the lake almost at our feet reflecting the full moonbeam. The whole scene was lovely, but I was not permitted to enjoy it long. At 8 o'clock I delivered my lecture on " The Bible " in the church. A small gathering of people was there, conspicuous amongst whom was the Presbyterian clergyman who took copious notes as I went along. I should have mentioned when speaking of the Leather- stocking Falls that I had no loss in not seeing them. They were a mere tiny driblet, as the weather was so dry. At their best they are not much ; but they enjoy a fictitious importance from the romance cast around them by the vivid imagination, and highly-coloured descriptions of Fenimore Cooper. CHAPTER XII. CONCLUSION. August 29M. — Sarah and I leave Cooperstown at 9.25 a.m., for New York, via Albany. We leave with regret ; for we enjoyed the place immensely — but no human pleasure lasts long. We enjoy the Hudson exceedingly ; reach Mrs. Attridge's at 8 o'clock and retire eaily. August 30M. — Fearfully bitten by mosquitos last night. See Father Crowley oft for Ireland by the " Minnesota " — " Bon voyage /" Come down to Huntington by train, and spend several days in the dull routine of do-nothing-ness. CONCLUSION. 329 I find that the author of ** Home, sweet Home," was J. Howard Payne, a native of East Hampton, Long Island, a small village towards the end of the island, within Say- Harbour. To anyone ignorant of law affairs in New York, the following extract, which I have taken from a paper of August 27th last, will explain all : — " In the city of New York there are upwards of eigh*- thousand men who follow, at a more or less respectable distance, the profession of the law for a livelihood. In other countries, such as France and England, the legal profession is looked up to, not only by the lay community, but by the members of all the other learned professions, as one requiring and peculiarly adapted for the display of the highest possible degree of learning, culture, knowledge of the world and human nature, deep thought and study, and general ability. In England and in France the highest prizes in the field of statesmanship have, as a rule, always been carried off" by lawyers ; and so far above divinity and physic has the law been regarded in public estimation that many a parent of moderate means who might have made his son a clergyman or a physician without leaning very heavily on his purse, has been known to exhaust his resources and reduce himself to the very verge of ruin in a too often unsuccessful endeavour to make his boy a counsellor. In this country, too, the most coveted positions in the arena of public life have been, and still are, in the majority of cases, filled by members of the legal profession ; but the time has long since gone by when the law was regarded by the general public as the most desirable of all the professions. The cause of this is very plain. ] very calling or avocation is respectable and desirable only in proportion to its comparative exclusiveness, that is, to the difficulty, time, labour, expense, and unborn talent involved in the pursuit and acquisition of it. A long course of study, involving considerable expense, a liberal general education, and a fair share of natural ability were all necessary here- 330 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. tofore to the completion of a * Limb of the Law.' But how has it been of late years ? There is scarcely one intelligent reader who does not know an ignorant and stupid fool with his name over the door of a lawyer's ollice, whose whole qualifications for his successful admission to the Bar have been acquired by three weeks' reading of Blackstone, as many years' drinking of bad whiskey, and a little in- fluence with the judge. A diploma of this kind is so easily obtained that hundreds of jocose youths of various occu- pations, who never dreamed of entering on the practice of law have had themselves admitted to the Bar for the fun of the thing. *' These, however, are the more harmless class of our legal luminaries. Another source of supply for the law offices is the unhealthy and alarming dislike entertained by American tradesmen and mechanics towards bringing up their children to the trade by which they themselves have been enabled to pass through life on an independent competence. We are undoubtedly becoming wofully snobbish in this country already, and nobody is so badly bitten with this same snob- bishness as the average mechanic. He is ashamed of being only a * working man.' He is dazzled by the shmy coat which the briefless barrister and the poorly paid clerk have to pinch from their stomachs to put on their backs, and he determines that his boy, instead of being ' a poor drudge,' as he calls it, must be qualified for a gentleman. So the foolish man wastes his surplus earnings on young hopeful, who is put through a cursory ' course of study,' is called to the Bar, and in due time finds himself a full-fledged counsel- lor, attorney, and barrister-at-law, with nothing to do and nothing to eat. It has been already stated that there are now over 8,000 practising lawyers in this metropolis, that is out of every hundred of our population one man is a lawyer. Leaving out the women and children this gives us one lawyer to every twenty grown men, so that admitting that every man in New York goes to law with another man at least once a year, each lawyer can have only twenty cases per annum at an average to live upon. Now, inasmuch as some of our eminent lawyers monopolise some hundreds of these cases, it is plain that many of the lesser lights of the r. CONCLUSION. 331 Bar are left without any case at all. Still they must live somehow, and the question how so many lawyers do live in New York has oftener been asked than answered. . . . The unsavoury history, haunts and practises of the * Tombs Shyster,' that nondescript animal and social pest, are well known to every reader of the Herald. The public are not wholly unaware of the existence of a class of disreputable men who prowl along the docks in search of sailors with grievances, and who persuade poor mercantile Jack into empowering them to institute suits in his behalf against the owners and masters of vessels on board of which he has been ill-used, and afterwards compromise Jack's case for some sum of which the plaintiff never sees a cent, though he has already ' come down ' to his philanthropic counsel with a retainer equal to the whole amount of the wages he has just received. There are inumerable other ways by which needy and conscienceless lawyers manage to ' make out the case.' " N.B. — A "Shyster" is a lawyer such as described, who hangs about the Tombs' Court trying to net miserable dupes who may employ them. Some time ago there was a legal firm on Broadway, " Ketchem and Cheetham." The double entendre was too much for the public — the brother- hood were fairly laughed into a severance of their partner ship. Poets are rare in America. I believe Longfellow, Bryant and Whittier are the best ; Saxe is the Tom Hood of Ameri- can Literature. There is one named Walt Whitman, and how he has the audacity to claim the laurels of a poet, or how any reader is stupid enough to grant the claim, is one mystery out of the myriads by which we are surrounded in this world. A writer named Bret Harte has lately appeared on the literary stage as a poet. His book is small, and the pieces, all fugitive, are very brief Some of them are written in American slang, some are indelicate, there may be four out 332 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. of the entire lot fit to stand an examination. One has made him a name somehow, it is called the " Heathen Chinee." It is of the slang class, and illustrates the cheating propen- sities of the Chinese immigrants to this country. But in truth there's nothing in it, yet Hartc has, as it were, founded a new school of American poetry, and has his disciples. Another named Hay has appeared, and his collection is remarkable for nothing but cant, profanity, and indecency. And, en passant, it may be remarked that Americans, to my mind, are the most profane, blasphemous people in the world. The lightness with which the name of God and of religion is spoken of in this country is really shocking. I have heard things said of the Deity too disgusting, too horrible even to think of. Hay has a sketch called " Little Breeches," said Little Breeches being a dirty, tobacco- chewing, precociously sinful little wretch, whose father had gone West. This little rascal was lost in a snow-storm, and found in a sheep-fold. The question then was, in the fine and frenzied language of our poet, " How did he get thar ? " And the poetic answer was " Angels," as the child could never have walked in that storm. But this is the moral which our poet draws from those fearfully illogical deduc- tions : — " And I think that saving a little child, And bringing him to his own, Is a darned sight better business Than loafing around the throne." I read the Sunday Herald of this day. They call them- selves the " Hercules of Religion." They contend that they are equal to all the pulpits of America. Having no par- CONCLUSION, ' ill ticular religion themselves, they teach religion to all the world, but their theological ** platform " seems to be no more than the abolition of the new-fangled notions of sacra- ments, dogmas, " fire and brimstone," &c., and the establish- ment of a common brotherhood by all pious persons. " They have the gratification to know they have thus far succeeded beyond their expectations in quickening the pulse of grace in various communities, in infusing new and enlarged ideas into pulpits, and in spurring the laggard professionally religious Press all over the country to livelier work under the banner of their chosen and halo-crowned Leader." But its estimate of itself is in this very paper put forward in a more extravagant, and therefore more ludicrous manner. "The religion of the Herald^ nowadays at all events, is like its treatment of all wor! Uy and world-wide movements, measures and matters — as boundless as earth, and as illimitable as God's goodness. Nothing is greater than the Heralds coHiprehensive grasp, nor grander than its journalistic con- ception. It continues to be the foremost paper in the world." This is one of the things that vexes me most in America — the self-sufficiency of men proclaiming themselves and their institutions to be the grandest in the whole ivorld. But we must not look for consistency in the Ne7u York Herald. All must admit it is a paper cleverly conducted, that is to say, it relaxes no effort in procuring news from all the world to satisfy the curiosity of its readers ; expense is no consideration ;— it seems to have correspondents in every great country on the face of the earth. But it takes care to tell you so, over and over again ; and in the New York Herald^ the Herald reporter or correspondent is spoken of as i.'he were high-priest of the Delphic Oracle, a being to be 334 DIAR Y OF A TO UR IN AMERICA. honoured, respected, feared by all ; he is one whose "open sesame " unbars the gates of palaces and admits the Great Irre istible into the saloons of ministers, the closets of kings, and boudoirs of empresses, who impart to him the inmost secrets of their souls as if he were a Nepomuk of silence, instead of being a mere professional blab. The Herald embraces no peculiar phase of theological opinion, and enlisting itself under the banner of no special church or creed, professes to give a ** fair show " to all. But what is this but to say there is no need of any special form of worship, or that God may be worshipped any way. The most that the Herald will admit as its theological platform is the existence of God, and the immortality of the soul, and because it maintains these doctrines, it inflates itself into the dimensions of a colossal censor, and is terribly vexed it any one dares to preach against either of them. And yet I have read letters to the Herald trying to disprove the immor- tality of the soul, and the Herald has said never a word in reply. The Herald regards itself as the great moral teacher of New York, and probably of America, and constantly gives itself credit for- keeping preachers of all churches within proper orthodox bounds by its approval or castigation of their tenets. And there are some people who gravely assert that a vast deal of moral good is effected amongst its readers by the Monday morning resume of the previous Sunday's sermons. But in its reviews of these sermons there is an air of lightness, of badinage, of scoffing calculated to weaken an indiftierent reader's respect for great dogmas. For example, the doctrine of eternal punishment is laughed at by the Herald, which alludes to that state as " perpetual CONCLUSION. 335 roasting," " eternal basting," " everlasting brimstone," etc., etc. Other doctrines are treated with like levity. But it is amusing to witness the airs of the Uerald when speaking of religion — it seems to regard itself as having a special mission from heaven to teach the truth, while it is well known that most of its religious articles are written by men who have no religion at all. Since this Boulsby business came to light, it has sent its reporters into all kinds of dens. The Paul Prys of the Press have been interviewing the inmates of those hells, and the edifying conversations are duly published every morning in the Herald^ so that with all this guilt and shame, and those murders and hangings, explosions and collisions, one grows shocked and bewildered, and begins to regard mankind and the world as a spectacle of unmitigated horror and woe. While the Herald gives all these horrors to the world, it introduces them as a clown might introduce a fellow-clown in a circus. I have already alluded to its vulgar proclivity to alliterative headings. Surely when dealing with a horrible story of guilt and shame the editor might spare his brains the worry of finding out alliterations, and his readers the bizarre effect of reading them. But the Herald is the Herald and so we have " Rosenzweig's Rascality," and the " Terrible Tale," "the Trunk Tragedy," "the Boulsby Butchery," and. best of all, the "Hudson River Railroad : Harrowing, Revolting Record." One other fault in the New York Herald^ and I have done. It always presumes the guilt of a man accused of crime — it hangs him first and tries him after. Rosenz- weig, though not yet brought to trial, is condemned by the Great Oracle — he is guilty, and justice will be frustrated if he is not sacrificed. This is freedom of the Press with a 33^ DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. vengeance. Give me the Press which respects the majesty of the law, and which honourably subscribes to that glorious principle which the law inculcates — that every man is presumed to be innocent until he is found guilty. September 12th. — I have ne xr left this village* since the 30th of August, save for a carriage ride. I have been very ill all the time ; so much so that coupling the fact with the consideration that I have been more or less unwell all through the summer, I have resolved on sailing for Europe on the nth of next month by the Cunard s.s. "Java." It is needless to go into all my reasons for i^jrming this resolution — it is formed, and there's an end of it. Having thus, for the last fortnight, had plenty of time for observation on my hands, it is a pity I had not a wider range for my speculations than an obscure village, but such as the village is, let me describe the life of an ordinary resident therein — that ordinary resident being ourselves. Our house is a very pretty one — "frame," of course, like all its neighbours, standing on the outskirts of the village, railed off from the road on two sides, for it is at a junction of two roads, and surrounded by flower-beds, now in full bloom. The house is three storeys high is painted white, with green blinds ; has a " stoop " — a piazza and gallery projecting from the first floor. The gallery and piazza are united by pillars around which creepers grow in profusion. The roof is invisible, and a balustrade running all round on the top gives the whole a square appearance. It is, as I have said, a very pretty house, and it is pleasant to sit in a rocking chair on the piazza and read the paper to one's self, or chat with a ~ ' * Huntingtun, L.I. - CONCLUSION. 337 friend, as the case may be. We rise early, breakfast about eight, get the post and "paper" at 10.30, dine when we please, drive out, and spend the rest as we may. It is hard to keep up a conversation where materials are so few. We have no intercourse with the villagers, and consequently, no sympathy. We hear of some forthcoming clam-bake, but not having any interest in it, can get no further than the fact that it is about to take place. The weather is, ns every- where else, the staple topic, the great resource when all fails. It is always very hot, or rather cool, or going to rain, or we are about to have a " storm," which means any change for the worse. There is a great scarcity of birds here. No matin song of thrush or blackbird salutes the drowsy ear, and warns us to rise. " This gloomy shore skylark never warbles over." At evening, when the sun sets, there is scarcely any twilight. AVe sometimes sit and " cool off," after the heat of the day, on the " stoop," v>ith, and sometimes without, company. Sitting on the " stoop " is a favourite enjoyment amongst Americans. Here no bird's song is heard, and yet the air is filled with sound. I should rather say with sounds, for it is a most extraordinary melody. In one discordant strain are heard the croaking of the toad, the shrill cry of the cricket, not your little " cricket on the hearth," but a loud, tremulous piping sound, harsh as the grating of a file against steel, the eternal whizzing of the locust, and the unceasing croak of the " katy-did." This latter creature, an insect, so called because the sound it makes (by its wings, I am told) is very like that of a human being crying, " Katy did," and sometimes " Katy didn't." While all this weird concert is going on, the atmosphere is lit up by the star-like gleam of 3t ■ ,■4.. ..f..^, 338 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. fire-flies, which is very beautiful, and in the cloudless azure overhead the galaxy and the ursa major, unaltered in their everlasting brightness and beauty, sometimes delude me into the idea that I am gazing on my own native sky. Just as the sun sets one pretty sight is seen — it is that of the charming little humming-bird, tiny as r. butterfly, and yet a bird, flying through the garden from flower to flower, and poking his long bill gently yet eff"ectively into the bowl ot sweets which he knows so well how to find. He is not afraid of you ; he comes quite close, and sometimes, but not always, you hear the little humming sound from which he derives his name. • ••••• Nothing can surpass the neatness of Americans, especially American ladies. In dress they are not more extravagant or fashionable than the ladies at home, but they are always neat, their children are particularly well dressed, and it is refreshing to see a crowd of boys and girls going to or coming from school, so elegantly dressed, and brought up to notions of neatness from their very infancy. And here I may remark that the Americans appear to be extremely fond of their children. This is evinced not only in this matter of dress, but in the care which parents take of their young ones. Go where you please, in steamboat or train, and you see the children with their parents, sometimes in arms, but oftener more mature. Parents seem is if they could not enjoy a day's pleasure except in the society of their children. And yet why do so many children turn out badly in this country? For two reasons, as it appears to me. First, because of this very care and love which they receive from JiV;. CONCLUSION. ■ 339 their parents — an unwise love, which overlooks faults, and gives the will too much license ; secondly, on account of the system of education from which the religious element is carefully excluded. It is manifest that where, for example, geography is taught, and religion is not, the child knows far more about the former science than he does of the latter. The neatness of Americans is very remarkable in their houses. You never see a dirty house anywhere. Be it ever so poor it is cleanly and orderly —in the country the farmer's house is a model of neatness. The style is pretty, the walls are freshly painted, the flower garden blooms in fruit, while within the carpet ana hangings and pictures look bright and cheerful. Many of our Irish people who live here have learned those habits of neatness and conformed to them. What a pity they do not learn them at home ! Of how many pleasures do they deprive themselves by not adopting the simple means which Nature has placed in their hands for being happy ! The very cultivation of flowers, the very science of good cooking, would tend much to enlarge the sphere of their enjoyment. Their habits are greatly im- proved by their transfer to this country — at home they seem doomed to eternal stagnation. October isi. — Left Huntington at 7 a.m., accompanied by Charles Underwood O'Connell, 20 miles to say Mass. Have done this every second Sunday since I came here. What a long journey, quite across Long Island, from sound to sea, and such a strange road, so unlike what we see in Ireland. The weather, always delightful, was peculiarly so to-day. We drive through the village where no one is yet astir, but a few smoke wreaths gracefully curl into the lazy air, and seems loth to dwindle into non-existence. We creep up the 340 DIARY OF A TOUR IN AMERICA. hill and pass by the Episcopal Church, which is made of wood, and painted white from the base to the apex of the spire. Then out into the country, along a good road, with good houses at each side ; houses, as usual here, made like the church, of wood, with the closed blinds painted green, and with the balcony above, and the piazza below, and plenteous flowers around. No human being is visible. Our road lies for about five miles through a dense wood ; it is so narrow that the wheels brush constantly against the brushwood on either side. The eye wanders through the tall and silent trees, and the vision is limited within a few yards by the density of the plantation — the plantation of Nature, by the way, for human foot may have pierced this solitude, but human hand has never, sown a seed in this ungenial soil. And why plant trees, O man, when Nature spreads them around in such lavish profusion ? As we pass through this valley and find ourselves shut in from human view on every side, we cannot help thinking what a lurking place this were for the highwayman. But robbery here is unheard of, though black men abound who are generally ready for this kind of thing. When we catch glimpses of light we see the mosquitoes in thousands swarming around us, and they never quit us the whole way. Our handkerchiefs are constantly brushing them awa)', a laborious and almost fruitless task, for they swarm and swarm, 'and although thousands are killed or repelled, fresh thousands rush to the encounter, and drink your blood, and poison what they do not drink, in spite of you. Out of the woods we find ourselves again in the free air, but now our way lies through other miles upon miles of scrub oak, which extends at each side as far as the eye can see like a vast ocean, dense, close, solid, and through all the CONCLUSION. 341 way, whether in wood or thicket no bird song is heard, and few specimens of the feathered tribe display their plumage. At length after three hours driving we arrive a,t the little church, where about 200 Irish people are assembled, won- derfully neat and well dressed, with about 50 waggons — for all are farmers and have waggons — not common carts, but spring vehicles and a *' team," and all have to come long distances, as far as eight or ten miles. Mass is only every second Sunday. I hear confessions, say Mass, and preach. We start on the homeward journey and reach Huntington at 4 o'clock, October 2nd. — I leave Huntington to-day for New York. The girls are very sad. No wonder ; they were lonely for Father Crowley, and the presence of an old ai. 1 sincere friend reconciles them somewhat to his absence. Then they do not know who is to take my place, and so they are lonely and sad. But life is made up of meetings and partings. i \ \ r; ■,'. > . •', (.»■,■ ■,-■ ' i„ -•■ APPENDIX. FUGITIVE PIECES IN Verse and Prose. I POETRY. 345 Bunmanwag (Town. Air: *• The Groves of Blarnev." All ye who hear me, I pray draw near me, And kindly cheer me while 1 sing for you, In strains melodious, sweet and sonorous, A song harmonious and most strictly true. My subject splendid and in it blended, Are themes attended with most high renown In sweet-sounding phrases and poetic mazes I sing the praises of Dunmanway Town. Mid mountains hoary and famed in story, Great Carbery's glory Dunmanway lies, With the Bandon flowing, its charms bestowing, Which in Mount Noen does take its rise. And there a lake is, where the duck and drake is, And the crane can take his sweet feast of frogs, But when night comes round it, the spirits surround it, Since there was drownded Sir Richard Cox. Then quite adjacent, both clane and dacent. With high railings facin' it, does the chapel stand, With the cross high o'er it, and a lawn before it, You'd almost adore it, 'tis so mighty grand. In Cork or Cloyne ye never saw any Man like Father Doheny, he can't be found, 'Tis by him we benefits, for out of that head of his, He raised that edifice up from the ground. 346 APPENDIX. Tis there in Shrovetimes, those famous love times, The maidens oft-times they do repair,* With cheeks like roses, not to mind their noses, And artificial posies set in their hair. On every Tuesday, their nate and spruce day. In new cloth boots they assemble there, From mountains wandering, and through vales meandering They come philandering from far and near. The lovely lasses, as a bouchal passes. Through pigs and asses, they look so sly, While Dhonal Cruaig or Paddy Buaig, And ould Nell Twohigf make the match hardby. A few nights after, midst mirth and laughter, Each sooty rafter looks bright with joy, While the lovely maiden like Eve in Eden, With smiles is wedding her darling boy. Black turf spontaneous, from distant ages, Grows quite contagious unto the town. Likewise the giush\ is growing most beauteous. And quite profusions much farther down. ' Fis mighty plazing to see them blazing, And the natives feasting with a happy smile, With their sons and daughters on the kids they slaughters. And huge beef quarters so juvenile. * On the Tuesdays immediately preceding Shrove-Tuesday, pig fairs are held in Dunmanway, at which, in addition to the sale of grunters, a good deal of business is done in matrimonial speculations. t Names of celebrated local match-makers. - + Giush is the Irish word for " bog-wood." POETRY. 347 Were I Tyrtxus or Polyphemus, Or Prout, whose name is spread through the Globe^ In sweet effusions more soft and studious, Dunmanway's beauties I would enrobe. Old Mother Nature, the jealous creature, Gave to them, each one, most high renown, Ikit did I inherit their poetic sperrit, You'd get your merit, Dunmanway Town. ^bc Cork Catbedral HSizWq, [Written on the occasion of erecting u Peal of Bells in St. Mary's Cathedral, Cork.] I. What joyous chimes, so new and sweet. Ring out upon the winter air ? See people pause in crowded street, And peasants form their thanks in prayer ; The solemn day — the promised hour, The smiling face of Nature tells That now at length from yonder tower Peal forth the Cork Cathedral Bells. II. Three hundred years have come and gone Since last we heard those sacred chimes ; But patient Faith kept burning on. Expectant of more gracious times, 343 APPENDIX. And heaven's voice the tempest stays ; Once more the Christian bosom swells, And Cork pours forth responsive praise To-day from her Cathedral Bells. III. Three hundred years of night and gloom, Enlightened statesmen, was your meed Of justice to a land whose doom Was to preserve her cherished creed. Vain all your arts to quench a flame Which God's Almighty breath compels. Peal forth a pcean to His Name, Once more, ye Cork Cathedral Bells. IV. Ring out — the Lee, whose source Finbar Hath blessed, stops upon its way To hear those melodies which are By his successor wiked to-day — To hear those mellow numbers fall, Weaving in air their solemn spells, After oppression's iron thrall, To hear the Cork Cathedral Bells. » f POETRY. 340 3'm Xcft Bloiic. [Written on the death of an intimate friend, a Fellow Student in College.] I. I'm left alone ! I'm left alone ! And sorrows now betiiie me, And drearily the hours have flown Since thou wert here beside me. My heart is lone ! My heart is lone I And dark'ning clouds surround it, Because thy sunny smiles are gone, That late were beaming round it. II. I'm left alone ! I'm left alone ! Should friendship thus deceive me ? Her sweets I scarce can call my own, Ere those I cherish leave me. Tho' charming was the wreath of love She wove for u.. together, 'Twere better far she never wove A wreath so soon to wither. III. I'm left alone ! I'm left alone ! No more are round me ringing That merry laugh, and mellow tone, Of inusic once too winning — 350 APPENDIX. Yet, still each loved and well-known sound Within my bosom lingers, On soft and sadden'd key attuned By mem'ry's fairy fingers. IV. I'm left alone ! I'm left alone ! Each morn brings thee before me. And when the last day-beam has flown. Thy image still hangs o'er me. I'm compassed round with happy smiles ; For me they've sadness only : My heart no alien joy beguiles, For I, alas ! am lonely. V, I'm left alone ! I'm left alone ! But shall it be for ever ? No — there's a sphere where souls live on, To be dissunder'd never. There free for love, and love alone. No sorrows shall betide me ; And Heaven to me shall sweeter be, When thou art there beside me. ^be l^oung 3Dca. In childhood's days I had a feeling Around my soul for ever stealing, As 'twere a secret, bright revealing, That I should never die : POETRY. 351 Though youth and age around me faded, By dark disease and sorrow shaded, Yet I was ever well persuaded Grim Death would pass me by. But soon came Reason's light out-gleaming My blissful childhood's starlike dreaming, And showed me with her moon-bright beaming, Alas ! another doom — She seemed to say serenely, slowly : — " Away, my child, that thought unholy. And wake to Truth, however lowly ; Thou'rt destined for the tomb." And yet, amid my spirit's sighing, An angel voice was ever crying : — *' Within is something never dying That meets no earthly goal ; " When thro' the clouds with light surprising, High o'er my doubting and surmising, Religion's sunburst proudly rising Revealed — it was my soul. She pointed to the skies above her, Saying : — " Would'st thou be Religion's lover. And I will to thy soul discover, The regions of the Blest ; Let earth take back what earth has given, And when the chains of life are riven, Come share with me and mine in Heaven, Eternal peace and rest." / , 352 APPENDIX. A feeling strangely swee! came o'er me ; I felt, while stood that form before me, As if celestial pinions bore me Away beyond the sky ; And since that hour Earth seems a prison, Where shines no ray of real bliss in, And where I ever calmly listen For Fate to whisper — " Die ! " KiNSALE, May 22nd, 1856. Mbat woulDn.'t 3- Smasb tot l^ouc £ahc. (A new song, dedicated to John M'Aulifi'e, Esq., New York, by the Author.) Oh ! Molly, my darling bewitcher, Before I retire from the scene, Here's your health in a full-flowing pitcher Of genuine Irish potheen. And here are the stick and the hand, dear, A neck or a noddle to break, Oh ! give me the word of command, dear. What wouldn't I smash for your sake ? When roaming alone o'er the prairie, Far, far, from sweet Ballinaclash, I envied the boys of Tipperary, Who had skulls full and plenty to smash. But, twirling my darling shillelagh, i'hat I cut in the ould Irish brake, I thought of sweet Moll, and cried gaily, " What wouldn't I smash for her sake ? "' '»" •, . . .. ■;;■ ' --^ ■■■ v.- •; ••■■. , ■ T ,; POETRY. 353 But soon, dear, I took to despairing, And grieving we ever should part, For I feared that the boys of ould Erin Might steal from the exile your heart. And, therefore, one fine summer's morning My road o'er the waters I take, To give all your lovers fair warning, What wouldn't I smash for your sake ? I've traversed the sweet groves of Blarney, Where grows the shillelagh in style, I've seen the proud lakes of Killarney, Where nature so sweetly doth smile. But dearer than ash, oak, or holly, And sweeter than mountain or lake, Was one glance in the bright eyes of Molly — What wouldn't I smash for her sake ? And now, dear, alas ! I'm returning, To traverse the prairie once more ; My bosom with love, dear, is burning. Farewell, darling Molly asthore. But one day, if I don't fall in battle. In the land of the shamrock I'll take The hand of sweet Molly, and rattle " What wouldn't I smash for her sake ? '* Cork, September 12th, 1863. 2 A 354 APPENDIX. •fcopc ano 5nfstatl. On a lonely rock, beside the sea, Sat one of Earth's fair daughters, And her eyes were gazing wistfully Over the waste of waters ; And by her side an ancient crown, Stript of its pearly dower, Bespoke a queen without a throne, Bereft of queenly power. Betwixt a rainbow and the sea Uprose a charming vision, The fairest sylph she seemed to be E'er sent from realms elysian ; Who, as she neared the rock-bound shore, Ere winds or waves could keep her, In sweetest tones e'er heard before. Addressed the wondering weeper : — *' Daughier of Earth, why weepest thou ? Why mourn thus sad and lonely? Why seek this bold rock's beetling brow, Where sea-birds habit only ? What is thy name, and what thy race, And what thy doleful story ? Is it a tale of dark disgrace Or of extinguished glory ? POETRY. -555 "Why gaze thus mournfully o'er the deep? What is 't thy soul distresses ? Mayhap thy shipwrecked children sleep Within its dark recesses. Though sad to-day, thy bosom ope ; Speak frankly, child of sorrow, For I am the consoler, Hope, Who brings the gladsome morrow." " Bright messenger of Heav'n, hail ! " Replied the beauteous mourner ; " Hast never heard of Inisfail, Or how the Fates have shorn her ? Of all that man's rapacious greed E'er deemed a priceless booty. Of Freedom, land, wealth, blood and breed, And almost all her beauty ? *' A tyrant once came o'er the sea — A tyrant grim and gory ; Ah ! well-a-day, 'twas then for me Began this doleful story. Smitten by these two fatal charms, The Saxon robber wooed me ; My children rose in hostile arms, He in their blood imbrued me. "And prompted by the lust of gold, The monster, cold and cruel, Wrenched from my crown its wealth untold, Each sparkling pearl and jewel ; h','' 356 APPENDIX. Some emerald gems remain alone, — Alas ! I little need them, — The brightest gem of all is gone, The priceless pearl of Freedom. " Ar ' seven long hundred years have flown Since o'er the seas he hied him, And even the wealth of my poor crown Glitters at home beside him. I grudge him not his bauble prize ; Poor gems, I little heed them. Save one whose loss bedews those eyes, That peerless pearl of Freedom. " I've sent my children, many a year, To win me back my treasure ; The tyrant laughs with wanton jeer. And gains them to his pleasure. He gives them office, rank, and gold. And bribes them to submission, Till they forget, or lightly hold, Their Mother's lost condition. " You ask why mournfully I gaze Over the waste of water : Who knows there may come brighter days For Earth's most tearful daughter. Eastward the tyrant's stronghold lies ; Some genius yet may lead him Backward beneath yon azure skies, To pay me back my Freedom." POETRY. 357 " Fond, foolish child of Earth ! " cried Hope, " Thou little know'st the tyrant, Or to his mercy's narrow scope Thou wert not thus aspirant. Ere thou thy Freedom could'st regain By such poor mild resources, He'd ga'=h asunder every vein Through which his life-blood courses. " What was't ungemmed thy crown ? the sword ! Aye, hear it, Earth's lone daughter ; And by the sword must be restored Thy wealth beyond the water. For never yet beneath the sun. However rant or rave men, Was Freedom to a nation won But by the blood of brave men. " Mark how the still unvanquished Pole Bleeds for his dear Sarmatia ; Remember Tell while ages roll, How well he freed Helvetia. Beneath the despot's iron goad Gaul languished long unhappy, Till brave men's blood in torrents flowed, And drowned the line of Capet. " Thy children bleed in foreign lands, For others' freedom, fighting ; Would they but lift their vengeful hands Their mother's wrongs in righting, Ah ! then the gloo n would pass away That shrouds che Past's dark story. 358 • APPENDIX. And in the light of Freedom's day Rise Inisfail to glory. " Why only weep for giant ills ? Rise ! leave this lonely station ; Go ! sound the darion o'er thy hills, And wake a slumbering nation. Quick ! summon all thy children brave, And onward bravely lead them ; Thus only, on both land and wave, Can' St thou win back thy Freedom ! " %. XegenD of tbe Sbannon. On Shannon's fair majestic tide The moon with queenly splendour, Looks down in her meridian pride While vassal stars attend her. Light zephyrs dancing o'er the wave Scarce break its peaceful slumbers. While Echo from each rock and cave Sings forth her magic numbers. But why doth yon frail shallop bear Across the rippling water. At such an hour, Teresa fair, De Burgo's only daughter ? Why flee's she thus, alone and free, From home and kindred speeding ? Why seeing sigh, yet sigh to see Portumna's towers receding ? rOETR Y. 359 Ah ! sure 'lis love alone can teach A maiden thus to wander, Yes, see ! upon the moonlit beach, A youth awaits her yonder. With bounding heart and eager glance He views Clanricard's daughter. Like some aerial being dance Across the rippling; water. The brave O' Carroll ! — he for years Had dared the Saxon power, And taught the force of Irish spears On battlefield and tower, Till one sad day saw fall his best And bravest kerns around him ; Insatiate for revenge, the next 'Mid Burgo's clansmen found him. 'Twas then Teresa's soft blue eye First wrought its magic power ; Teresa's love now bids them fly For aye from yonder tower. " Now hie thee, love ! " O'CarroU cried, " By yon fair moon I swear thee, Far, far away from Shannon's tide This faithful steed shall bear thee." " For this I braved thy father's wrath, He swore the kern should shun thee, But I had plighted thee my troth, And I had died or won thee. 36o APPENDIX. Now hie ;" but hark ! Teresa fair — What peril now had found her? Oh see ! 'mid shrieks of wild despair The waters close around her ! As to the serpent's witching eye The victim bird is borne ; Quick as from out the warring sky The lightning flash is torn — So dashed into the dark, cold wave Teresa's frantic lover, But while he stretched his hand to save The tide rolled calm above her. Though time hath since flowed fast away, The Shannon rolls as ever. And oft upon a moonlit bay That hems the noble river, The midnight wanderer has espied A steed, while o'er the water The tiny bark is seen to glide That wafted Burgo's daughter. POETRY. 361 B JBcnutffuI ZTrnnelntion. [We direct the attention of our readers to a translation of the German Eoet Biirger's celebrated ballad, " Lenore," at the hands of the Rev. M, i. Buckley, of Cork, which appears in our columns to-day. Amongst the numerous translations of this immortal chef d'auvrc, we doubt if any so forcibly expresses the meaning, or so artistically fashions forth the beauty of the original, as this. In one respect, at least, it differs from them all, and that is its strict fidelity to Biirger's metre. It is refreshing, in this hard, practical age, to find that a man, burdened as Father Buckley is, with the cares of an arduous mission, can snatch a few moments, now and then, to wander himself, and conduct others, through the pleasant paths of literature. But, even in his moments of pleasure, the priest is not forgetful of his sublime vocation, viz. : — to inculcate lessons of virtue, for " Lenore," embodies one of the noblest morals ever preached to Christian man.] — American Paper. Xenore. [From the German of Gottfried August Biirger.] Lenora sighed, one early morn, From troublous dreams awaking : — *' Oh ! Wilhelm, wilt thou ne'er return, Thy love so long forsaking ? " With Frederick's army to the war Had Wilhelm gone to Prague afar ; And never sent, that distance, A token of existence. The king, and eke his royal queen, A love for war disclaiming, Forget at length their hateful spleen, A welcome peace proclaiming : And home the host, with trump and drum, And flute, and fife, and bugle come. Green leaves their brows adorning That merry sunbright morning. 362 APPENDIX. Then far and wide, in swelling tide, Through high and by-way spreading, Flocked young and old, to view the pride Of heroes homeward treading. " Now, God be blest ! " cried wife and child, "Oh, welcome !" shouted bride half-wild ; But, ah ! no soldier wore a Sweet smile for lorn Lenora. Then low and high, with speech and eye, She questioned of her lover ; But not a trace of Wilhelm's face. Or fate, could she discover. And when at length the march was o'er, "^^ r raven hair she wildly tore, iiiid on the earth, with passion, She sat in maniac fashion. Her mother cried, with gesture wild, And heart with grief o'erladen : — ** Oh, God ! have pity on my child ! " And clasped the frantic maiden. " Oh, mother — mother, all is o'er ; Now Ufe for me hath charms no more ; Oh ! speak not of God's pity — ^ Alas ! what kindness did He?" , . , \ "Have mercy, God !" the mother cried, " Strike not, but pity, rather. What Thou hast willed hath best betide— My child say one Our Father." POETRY. 363 " Oh ! mother, mother, idle dreams ! God hates thy child too well, it seems ; Sure prayer avails one never When hope is past for ever ! " *' From God alone, if we repent, A Father's love we borrow. My child, receive the Sacrament, 'Twill soothe thy pain and sorrow ! " " Oh ! mother, mother, speak not so. No sacrament can soothe my woe ! What sacrament can waken The dead whom God had taken ? " " Thy lover, child, hath sure trepanned Thy heart with love o'erladen, And traitorously ta'en the hand ' , * Of some Hungarian maiden . Then teach thy bosom to forget — ' He'll reap the curse of treason yet, When soul and body sunder His vows will wake Heav'n's thunder ! " ** Oh ! mother, mother, woeful day I • He's gone, and I'm forlorn. Come, death, and snatch my soul away — Oh, would I ne'er were born ! Out, out, my lamp of life and light ! '*■' Out, out, in gloom and endless night ! Oh, speak not of God's pity ! Alas ! what kindness did he?" 364 APPENDIX. *' Oh, God ! Thy vengeful scourge withhold From her who raves before Thee, She knows not what she says, then hold Her guiltless, I implore Thee ! Ah, child, forget those griefs of clay ! Think, think on God, and yet one day To thy soul will be given ' Th' eternal Spouse of Heaven ! " " Oh, mother what is heaven's bliss ? And what to lose salvation ? With Wilhelm is eternal peace ! Without him is — damnation ! Out, out, my lamp of life and light ! Out, out, in gloom and endless night ! Since Wilhelm's gone and vanished , All joys from earth are banished ! " Thus rolled the tide of dark despair Through lost Lenora's bosom, Thus did she rage 'gainst God, and there Blasphemingly accuse Him ! Her breast she beat, her hands she wrung. Till night o'er earth her mantle flung, Till in the heaven's far height Shone out the silver starlight. And then, v/ithout was heard the stamp Of horse hoofs, sudden ceasing ; And then a horseman's martial tramp In dreadsome sound increasing. POETRY. 365 The door is reached — the tinkling bell Sounds through the darkness like a spell — Then through the hall there fluttered A voice, as 'twere one uttered — " Up, up, fond child — my lost Lenore ! Art waking, love, or sleeping ? Would'st thou on Wilhelm gaze once more ? Art laughing, love, or weeping ?" " Ah, Wilhelm, thou, so late at night ! Alas 1 I've watched and wept outright, Sad were my wails and bitter. But say, how rid'st thou hither?" " I took to horse at early night And rode from far Bohemia. Come let us speed our true-love flight. Quick, quick, sweetheart, why dream you ? " "Ah ! Wilhelm, now that danger's past, And coldly sweeps the midnight blast, Why hurry thus and haste thee ? Let thy Lenore embrace thee ! " " Psha ! let the blasts of heaven bestride The valley and the highland, Back to Bohemian plains we ride, This is no longer my land. Come ! quickly dress, and spring behir^ : We needs must travel as the wind . : A hundred miles away, love, And thou'U be mine to-day, love." 366 • APPENDIX. " A hundred miles, and wed to-day," Replies Lenora, doubtful. "Thou sure must err, my gallant gay, Eleven has rung out full." "Behold, the moon shines bright," cries he, " We and the dead ride speedily. Ere midnight's hour I vouch, love, Thou'lt reach thy bridal couch, love." " Tell me, where is thy chamber small ? Where may our bridal bed be ?" *' Far, far from here, lone, cool and all Tranquil as where the dead be !" " Hast room for me ? " " For thee and me. Come don thy garb right speedily. The wedding guests are waiting. The chamber doors are grating." Quick did she dress, and quickly bound Upon the charger gallant, Her lily hands she flung around Her lover, leal and valiant ; And, sweeping wild as winter's blast, Away, away, far, far and fast, •^i' -. They ride with wings of lightning, The road with hoof-sparks bright'ning. / Before her eyes the landscape flies. The scene shifts quickly round her ; Meadows and green can scarce be seen. Hollow the bridges thunder. POETRY. 367 *' Dost tremble, love ? the moon shines bright Hurrah ! the dead can ride aright — Dost fear the dead, Lenora? " *' Oh ! speak not, I implore you ! " But hark ! what means that doleful wail ? Why croaks the bodeful raven ? The death-bell tolls — the death-song rolls : — "Let's put the dead the grave in!" And then a spectre-band draws near, And bear a coffin on a bier. Lamenting through the hedges, Like croaking frogs in sedges ; "With sigh and groan, at dead of night. Inter the corse all pallid ; Now cometh home my bonnie bride Unto her bridal pallet — Come, Chaunter, swell the wedding-hymn Be Hymen's joy thy tuneful theme ; Come, Priest, and speak the blessing, My sweet bride needs caressing ! " The dirge is o'er — now halts the bier, Obedient to the speaker — Now distant noises reach the ear, Quick comes a horse, and quicker, And now is heard the tramp, tramp, tramp. As heavily the steel doth stamp ; Rider and steed, like lightning, The road with hoof-spaiks bright'ning. 368 " APPENDIX. Nowright and left, and left and right, Fly mountains, lakes, and valleys, Past whirl in most confused flight Streets, lanes, and squares and alleys ; " Dost tremble, love ? the moon shines bright. Hurrah, the dead can ride aright— Dost fear the dead, Lenora ? " " Oh ! speak not, I implore you ! " ^ Now, lo ! upon a scaffold high With supple feet and plastic, Half visible in moonshine fly A band of elves fantastic, " Ha ! merry elves, come hither, pray. Know you not 'tis our bridal day ? With your fantastic treading You'll grace our gladsome wedding." Behind the pair the elfins rush, As fear or fancy brought them, Whirring as wind yhirrs through the bush When leaves ar* sere in autumn. While sweeping wildly to the blast ; Away, away, fly far and fast. Rider and steed, like lightning. The road with hoof sp^rk!- bright'ning. The moon doth like a ghost appear, Through seas of azure driven, While higuer up the stars career Across the arch of heaven. POETRY. 369 *' Dost tremble, love ? the moon shines bright — Hurrah ! the dead can ride aright : Dost fear the dead, Lenora ? " ** Oh ! speak not, I implore you ! " " Hark, hark ! niethinks the cock doth crow— The sands of night are wasted ; Soon will the breath of morning blow — We spirits dare not taste it I Alight ! 'tis o'er ! our weary ride — The bridal-chamber opens wide. Ha ! ha ! the dead ride fast, love, We've reached the end at last, love." Before the iron gate now stands The steed, with bridle hanging ; A gentle touch from viewless hands Opts wide the portals clanging j Asunder quick the portals fly. Now o'er dark graves the travellers hie, While ghastly in the moonshine The stones o'er many a tomb shine. Hark ! trembling, hark I a wonder dread. To start each slumbering feeling ! The rider's garb falls shred by shred, A spectral form, revealing! His head, a hairless, skinless skull. Grim, ghastly, gaunt, and horrible, An hour-glass and a sickle Equip the goblin fickle. 2 B 370 APPENDIX. High pranced and snorted wild the steed, While blue flames skimmered o'er him ; Then lo ! the ground yawned wide beneath, And from the vision bore him. A howling cry, a serpent's hiss From moonlit sky and dark abyss ! Lenora raved with horror, For death, grim death, cried for her. Then danc"! beneath the pale cold moon The elrin-band till moming. All singing, to a sad quaint tune. Those solemn words of warning : — "Be patient, though thy heart should break ; ' » Bear all for the Great Chastener's sake. Peace to your clay, Lenora — May God be mild before you!" [Written in 1864, when Flax culture was revived in the South of Ireland, and a lar^e Factory erected in Cork under the auspices of the late Mr. Maguire.j Sound a paean to the flax, ^ ;•-.'. Seeds of flax ! What a harvest doth it promise of fine linen to our backs ! Let us scatter, scatter, scatter. From Rathlin to Cape Clear, If we'd richer be and fatter, Come, the flax-seed let us scatter In the spring-time of the year : POETRY. 371 Sow in time, time, time, ., . . In the merry vernal prime, Come drain the swelling sacks and exhaust the heavy packs , . Of the flax, flax, flax flax, Flax, flax, flax ! Then hurrah for the scattering of the flax ! See the beauty of the flax I Growing flax ! In the smiling days of summer-time how pretty doth it wax ! In the corners and the nooks, By the bogs and by the brooks ; Greenest of the green, Gently it is seen Waving to and fro : * How it smiles And beguiles The leisure-time of labour, " As you saunter with your neighbour Down the ftirzy old boreen, While the setting sun is seen - Pursuing golden tracks just behind the mountains' backs. Oh ! there's not a crop we grow Fit to sow. Pull, or mow. But the merry smiling flax. Yes, the flax, flax, flax, flax, Flax, flax, flax ! Then hurrah ! boys, hurrah ! for the flax ! 37 a APPENDIX. Hear the music of the flax, Mills of flax! Where the clangour of machinery of peace and plenty smacks. > Hear the merry voices ringing Of the men and boys and women ; See the merry eager clutching , And the dexterous unsheaving ; Hear the melody of scutching, And the spinning and the weaving Of the flax! ^ Hear the sounding of the pounding And the scientific v.hacks, As the O's and Mac's, The Jennies and the Jacks, Never dreaming to relax. Work the flax ! Oh ! merry sight to see, in those halls of industry, The son of Erin's isle. With the jocund genial smile And the merry repartee. Oblivious of the tax Which their pocket never lacks. Working ever at the flax With the energy of blacks, Singing flax, flax, flax, flax, Flax, flax, flax ! Then hurrah ! boys, hurrah ! for the flax ! Oh ! the future of the flax, Glorious flax! POETRY. 373 When old Erin from her ashes, 'spite of smashes and draw- backs, Like the phoenix shall arise After seven hundred years, From her melancholy eyes Brushing off the silent tears. And in holiday apparel, Robed in linen of her own — A Te Deum she shall carol In the place of ullagone ! When that happy time befalls, Should some minstrel take the lyre, From the walls Of Tara's ancient halls, And the fire Of his poesy inspire His merry roundelay, Let us pray, As his memory recalls All the great ones of the past, Who have lived anddied for Erin, struggling onward to the last, One name, at least, may not By the minstrel be forgot ; But as his visions glow In the light of heaven's fire, May his noblest anthem flow To the memory of— Maguire ! For we were, indeed, ac zero, until he arose the hero of the flax, flax, flax, flax, Flax, flax, flax, Until he arose the hero of the flax ! 374 APPENDIX. , ; Come scatter, then, the flax, Saviour Flax! Annuller of evictions, of the crow-bar and the axe ! In the bog and in the mireland — Through the length and breadth of Ireland ; Let us scatter, scatter, scatter, On the lower land and higher land, The seedlings of the flax. Sow in time, time, time. In the merry vernal prime ; Come drain the swelling sacks, and exhaust the heavy packs, of the flax, flax, flax, flax. Flax, flax, flax, Then hurrah for the scattering of the flax ! Flaxman. Loam Lodge, %th Ftb., 1864. POETRY. 375 Bn ^ridb Bcrostic (oc '68. A is an Army 'tis ours to repel, B is a Bigotry breathing of hell, is the Church of the Saxon and Stranger, D is the Diz/y Dog riot of the manger, S is Education demanded, denied, P are the Famines that flow as the tide, G is the Gibbet well superintended, H is the Habeas Corpus suspended, 1 are Informers, by Government backed, J is a prejudiced Jury well packed, K are the Keoghs that dispense us the Law, L is the Landlord, a needy Bashaw, M are the Mart)rrs for whom Erin grieves, N is the Nothing that Ireland receives, O is the Orangemen sighing for slaughter, P is a Parliament — over the water, Q is the Queen of Balmoral and Wight, R is the Rope, the great giver of Right, S is the Scorpion that sits at the helm, T is the Tory-crew ruling the realm, U is a Union by infamy planned, V is Venality stalking the land, W are the Whigs, " bloody, brutal and base," X is an Excellent change in the case, Y is Young Ireland in Fame's highest niche, Z's the New Zealander on London Bridge ! 376 APPENDIX, Hbe Xaet l^ose Of Summer. 'Tis the last rose of summer, Left blooming alone, All her lovely companions Are faded and gone ', No flow'r of her kindred. No rosebud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes, Or give sigh for sigh. I'll not leave thee, thou lone one, To pine on the stem, Since the lovely are sleeping. Go, sleep thou with them ; Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves on the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead. So soon may I follow, When friendships decay, And from love's shining circle The gems drop away ! When true hearts lie withered, And fond ones are flown, Oh ! who would inhabit This bleak world alone ? ECCE ultima rosa Florescit aestatis, Nee rubet ex omnibus Una cognatis ! In hortu, heu ! sola Suspirans marcescit, Nam flos qui confleret, Jam diu discessit. Non sinam te miseram, Sic deperire, ,, Sed volo cum sociis Te condormire ; Sic clemens do folia Supra rosetum, Perierunt sodales £t gusta tu loetum. Sic peream, caris Cum fuerim orbatus Nee orbis Amoris, Fulgebit gemmatus I In mundo horrendo, Quis ultro maneret Si simul amatis Carisque egeiet. POETRY. 377 ^ill tbe JSumpec fair. Fill the bumper fair Ev'ry drop we sprinkle O'er the brow of care Smooths away a wrinkle, Wit's electric flame Ne'er so swiftly passes, As when thro' the flame It shoots from brimming glasses. Fill the bumper fair, Ev'ry drop we sprinkle O'er the bruw of care Smooths away a wrinkle. Sages can, they say. Grasp the lightning's pinions, And bring down its ray From the starr'd dominions. So we sages sit. And 'mid bumpers bright'ning, From the heaven of wit Draw down all its lightning. Would'st thou know what first Made our souls inherit This ennobling thirst For wine's celestial spirit ? It chanced upon one day, When, as bards inform us, Prometheus stole away The loving fire that warms us. PocuLA replete, Frons enim rugosa, Curee, potu laeti, Vini fit formosa. Calicis ex ore, Alte si potares, Alus lepore, Facile praestares. Pocula replete, Frons enim rogosa, Curce, potu laeti, Vini fit formosa. Caelo de profundo, Sapientes vere, Jovis summi mundo, Ignem detulere, Sapientiores, Nos, ut debacchamur, Coelo de leporis, Fulgura furamur Velles scire quare, Pellimur confestim, Vini sic amare, Spiritum celestem ? Vates Promctheum, Scimus cccinissc Ignem eethereum, Olim rapuisse. 378 APPENDIX. The careless youth, when up To glory's fount aspiring, Tool: nor urn nor cup To hide the pilfered fire in. But oh ! his joy, when round The halls of hea/en spying, Among the stars he found A bowl of Bacchus lying. Some drops were in that bowl. Remains of last night's pleasure. With which the sparks of soul Mix'd their burning treasure. Hence the goblet's show'r Hath such spoils to win us. Hence its mighty power O'er the flame within us. Fill the bumper fair, Ev'ry drop we sprinkle O'er the brow of care Smooths away a wrinkle. Fertur autem ilium, Nulla cum adstaret, Urna quft scintillam, Rutilam celaret. Jovis inter aulas, Circum se spexisse, Ibique Bacchi mollis, Crateram reperisse. Foecibus cum men, Funditur scintilla, Quoeque cum crateree, CoiTiscaret stilla. Virtus inde vino, Hincque dum vivamus, Igne hoc divino Semper ardeamus. Pocula replete, Frons enim rugosa, Curae potu laeti, Vini fit fonnosa. POETRY. 379 ^be ®I5 ?ri0b ^fg. lIr(t>uZ>fum Ibfbernfcum. Oh I my blessing be on you old Erin, My own land of frolic and fun ; For all sorts of mirth and " divarsion " Your like isn't under the sun. Bohemia may talk of its polka, And Spain of its waltzes grow big — Och ! sure they are nothing but limping, Compared with our own Irish Jig. Chorus — HiBERNiA, sis benedicta ! Jucunda enim insula es : Gratiori non occurrit viator Quocunque dirigitur pes. Bohemia de Polka se jactet- Hispania jactet et se — Hibemica solum chorea Delectat tripudium, me. Chorus— Then a fig for your new-fashioned waltzes, Hinc Gallicse, ergo, choreae ! Imported from Spain and from France, Hispanse, valete et vos ! And a fig for the thing called the polka, Valete, Bohemia, vestrae ! - Our own Irish Jig is the dance. Oblectat, tripudium nos. I heard how this jig came in fashion, And believe that the story is true, By Adam and Eve 'twas invented, The reason was — partners were few. Although they could both dance the polka. Eve thought it ivas not over chaste, She preferred our jig to be dancing, And, 'faith, I approve of her taste. The light hearted daughters of Erin^ Like the wildraountain deer that can bound. Their feet neveir touch the green island, But music is struck from the ground. Tripudii fama inceptum Adami ingenio dat, Hevseque, nam in paradiso Consortium non fuit sat — Potuerunt et Polka saltare, Sed Heva non gaudens in re Tripudium magis dilexit Et bene dilexit, nonne ? Fuelbe venustee nostrates Ceu cervse resiliunt, et Non possunt attingere terram Quin musice sonitum det. 38o APPENDIX. And oft in their hills 'and green valleys, Et ssepe in colli seu valle The old jig they dance with such grace, Saltantibus, sicut est mos, That even the daisies they tread on, Prae gaudio sese pandentes Look up with delight in their face. Subrident et grameu et flos. This old Irish jig, too, was danced Tripudio quondam nostrorum By the kings and the great men of yore, Regum fuit deditum cor, King O'Toole himself could well foot it O'Toolius Rex id amabat. To a tune they called " Rory O'Moore. " Sonantibus Rory O'Moore And oft in the great halls of Tara, ; Our famous king Brian Boru, He danced an old jig with his nobles. And played his old harp to it, too. Temorensibus quoque in aulis Saltabat Brianus Boru, Nobilium stante coroni Suae citharae sonitu. And sure when Herodias' daughter Was dancing in King Herod's sight. His heart, that for years had been frozen, Was thawed with pure love and delight. And oft and a hundred times over I heard Father Flanagan tell 'Twas our own Irish jig that she footed That pleased the old villain so well. Herodem vix unquam placatum Movere Herodias scit ; Tyranni cor diu gelatum Saltante pup& liquefit. At nisi tripudium saltasset — Audivi a parocho rem — Cor regis scelesti movendi Omnino abjiceret spem. FACETI.E. A BOWL OF BISHOP. It is no use striving to cope with a bishop, for he is sure to carry everything by mitre-right. He is the most imperious of men, because he gives orders the moment he finds anyone fit to receive them. Bishops, in old times, were given to powdering^ now they are content to make canons ; though he may decry the use of wine, we are credibly informed that he has many reserved cases of his own. A bishop, though having very bad sight, may have a very good see. Though he could not become a bishop without " Nolo," yet he holds no low position in the Church ; dwelling in ^palace, and oftentimes sitting on a throne, he frequently gives away a crown, and yet, at other times, could not raise a sovereign. Though averse to prize-fighting, he makes his living by the Ring. However he may denounce the vocation of Calcraft, no man is a better hand at suspension than he. Like the cholera, he makes a periodical visitation, but while the cholera weakens all the firm, he co7ifirms not only all the weak, but all the year round. He may not translate a foreign language, but he may himself be translated to foreign parts. He may not lend you money, but he'll tell you when 382 APPENDIX. and how it is Lent. Not over indulgent to himself, he grants indulgence^ nay even license to others, especially to those who wish to lead z.fast life. He may not have toast for break- fast, but he often gets a surfeit of toasting after dinner. He is ever hospitable, particularly to young clergymen ; indeed he no sooner gives a priest an entree into his diocese, than he helps him to a remove. He may be a handsome man, but he must be ordinary. Sometimes, though quiet and sub- dued in his disposition, he is often to the end of his life an Arch-Mx^G^. Performing rights for others, he is content with dues for himself. The bishop is the head of his own chapter, which reminds us that he is the tale of this. DEATH OF A DISTINGUISHED GRINDER. This morning I lost by death one of my very oldest and most cherished friends. I made his acquaintance some thirty golden years ago, and from that moment to the hour of his demise we lived and loved together. I cannot boast of having properly appreciated or requited his friendship, for the manifestation of that tender feeling was altogether one- sided — he lived and laboured for me, while I did very little to promote his comfort or convenience. I could only admire and commend his devotion on every occasion that offered ; in truth, it may be said, he was ever in my mouth. But he did not stand in need of me, being perfectly inde- pendent in his own resources, possessing a considerable interest in his native soil, and having, moreover, a large and profitable connection with the gum trade. He is a FACETIM. 383 person of a very modest and retiring disposition, living in a quiet row, where he was known only to his immediate neighbours. The natural sweetness of his disposition was never for a moment marred, though creatures of extreme acidity of temperament frequently passed his way. When I was preparing for college he was invaluable to me as a grinder, for he was exceedingly well up in that profession, and imparted his services with right good will, as if he had a personal interest in the matter. And yet, with all his natural talents, that modesty of character to which I have alluded would never permit him to be drawn out, even in moments of his greatest excitement, which were not rare, as he was very nervous by nature. I am indebted to him for many wise saws, but his pet one was, *' My boy, I would fain keep a guard upon your tongue." Towards his latter end he contributed largely by his energy and zeal to pro- mote the interests of a local corporation, which grew and expanded beneath his fostering care, and which now with unfeigned sorrow deplores his loss. He had z. penchant foi neatness, and even to the last morning of his life brushed up with all the air of a gallant. A short time before his departure he was to all appearance in his usual good health, having breakfasted heartily on spiced beef and the etceteras. Resting after the meal in his easy chair, he suddenly dropped off and expired. A coroner's inquest was held, and the verdict had well nigh been " ojczxclental death," until it was ascertained that the deceased had been for some time suf- fering from a decay of the constitution, which, actinr; on a nervous temperament, caused him to indulge during his latter days in loose habits of living. He leaves no issue, having disappeared root and branch. It may be said in j84 APPENDIX. truth that ' he leaves a void which cannot be easily filled up. His neigh' (Ours regret his demise exceedingly, for he was to them a constant prop and support, and they look forward with considerable apprehension to their own not remote decease, which will no doubt be greatly accelerated by his lamentable removal. He was interred with all the honours, and sleeps in the hopes of a glorious resurrection, his occupation being gone, and never to be resumed, even in a future world ; for who on earth could imagine what would be the functions in heaven of such a thing as — A Jaw-Tooth? Sbalt, £btiu & Walxbb, Pmten, 04, 95 and 96 Middle Abbey Street, Doblio.