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cited, everv one wanted to help Connor.
Jobs were thrown in his way, kind
words and frendly wishes helped him
mightily ; but no power could make him
share the food or drink of any other
workman.
That seemed a sort of charity to him.
Still he was helped along. A p’ jsent
from Mr. Bawn at pay day set Nora, as
he said “a week nearer,” and this and
this and that and the other added to the
little hoard. It grew faster than the
first, and Connor’s burden was not so
heavy At last, before he hoped it, he
was once more able to say “Pm going to
bring them over,” and to show his hand
kerchief, in which, as before, he tied up
his earnings; this time, however, only
to his friends. Cautious among strangers,
be hid the treasure, and kept his vest
buttoned over it night and day until the
tickets were bought and sent. Then
every man, woman, and child capable of
hearing or understanding, knew that Nora
and her baby were corning.
There was John Jones, who had more
of the brute in his composition than usu
ally falls to the lot of man—even he, who
had coldly hurled his hammer at an of
fender’s head, missing him by a hair’s
breadth, would spend his ten minutes in
the noon hour in reading the Irish news
to Connor. There was Tom Baker, the
meanest man among the number, who
had never been known to give anything
to ony one before, absolutely bartered
away an old jacket for a pair of gift
vases, which a pedlar brought in his
basket to the shop, and presented
them to Connor for his Nora’s mantel
piece.. And here was idle Dick, the ap
prentice, who worked two hours on
Connor’s work when illness kept the
Irishman at home one day. Connor felt
this kindness, and returned it whenever
it was in his power, and the days flew by
and brought a letter at last from his
wife.
“She would .start as ho desired, and
she was well, and so was the boy, and
might the Lord bring them safely to each
other’s arms, and bless those who had
been so kind to him.” This was the
substance of the epistle which Connor
proudly assured his fellow-workmen
Nora wrote herself. She had lived at
service, as a girl, with a certain good old
lady, who had given her an education,
the isms of which Connor told upon his
fingers. “The radin,’ that’s one, and the
"writin,’ that’s three, and moreover she
knows all a woman can.” Then he
looked up at his fellow-workmen, with the
tears in his eyes, and asked ;
“D’ye wondther the time seeins long
between me an’ her boys V ’
r So it was—Nora at the dawn of day—
Nora at noon—Nora at night—until the
news came that the “Stormy Petrel” had
come to port, and Connor, breathless and
pale with excitement, tlung his cap in the
air and shouted.
It happened on a holiday afternoon,
anfl half a dozen men were ready to go
with Connor to the steamer, and give his
wife a greeting. Her liitle home was
ready. Mr. Hawn’s own servant had pat
it in order, and Connor took one peep at
it before he started.
She hadn’t the like o’ that in the ould
couuthry,” he said. “But she’ll know
how to keep them tidy.”
Then ho led the way toward the dock
where the steamer lay, at a pace which
made it hard for the rest to follow him.
i'he spot was reached at last; a crowd
of vehicles blockaded the street; fine
cabin passengers were stepping into cabs,
and drivers, porters, and all manner of
employees were yelling and shouting in
the usual manner. Nora would wait on
hoard for her husband—he knew that.
The little group made their way into
the vessel at last, and there, amidst those
who sut watching for coming friends,
Connor searched for the two so dear to
him; patiently at first, eagerly, but pa
tiently ; but by and by, growing anxious
and excited.
“She would niver go alone,” he said.
“She’d be lost entirely; 1 bade her wait,
but I don’t see her boy. I think she’s
not in it.”
“Why don’t you see the captain,”
asked one, and Connor jumped at the
suggestion. In *a moment he stood be
lore a portly, rubicund man, who nodded
to him kindly.
“1 am looking lor my wife, ver honor,”
said Connor, “and I can’t find her.”
“Perhaps she’s gone ashore,” said the
captain.
“1 bade her wait,” said Connor.
. “Women don’t always do as they are
hid, you know,” said the captain.
“Norn would,” said Connor; “but
maybe she was left behind ; maybe she
didn’t come, I somehow think she didn’t.”
At the name of Nora the captain
started. In a moment he asked :
“What’s your name ?”
“Pat said the man,
“ And your wife’s name was Nora V*
“ fhat’s her name, and the boy with
her is Jamcsy, yer honor,” said Connor.
The captain looked at Connor’s friends;
they looked at the captain. Then he
said huskily.
“Sit down, my men ; I’ve got some
thing to tell you.”
“She’s left behind ?” said Connor.
“She sailed with us,” said the captain.
“Where is she ?” said Connor
The captain made no answer.
“My man,” ho said, “we all have our
trials; God sends them. Yes—Nora
started with us.”
Connor said nothing’ He was looking
at the captain now, white to the lips.
“It’s been a sickly season,” said the
captain,” “we had illness on board—the
cholera. You know that ?”
“I didn t,” said Connor ; “I can’t read,
they kep’ it from me.”
“We didn’t want to frighten him,”
said one man in a half whisper.
“You know how long we laid at quar
antine ”
“The ship I came in did, that” said
Connor.
“Did you say Nora went ashore ?”
Ought to be lookin’ for her, Captain.”
“Many died,” went on the captain—
‘ ‘many children. When we were half way
here your boy was taken sick”—
“Jamesy,” gasped Connor.
“His mother watched him night and
day,” said tho captain, “and we did all
we could, but at last be died; only one
of many. . There were five buried that
day. But it broke my heart to see the
mother looking out upon the water.”
“Its his father I think of,” said she*; “he’s
longing to see poor Jamesy.”
Connor groaned.
“Keep up if you can, my man,” said
the captain. “I wish any one else had
it to tell rather than I That night Nora
was taken ill also ; very suddenly. She
grew worse fasi. In the morning she
called mo to her. ‘Tell Connor I died
thinking of him/ she said,‘and tell him
to meet me, —and my man, God help you,
—she never said anything more—in an
hour she was gone.”
Connor had risen. He stood up trying
to steady himself, looking at the captain,
with his eyes as dry as two stones. Then
he turned to his friends:
“I’ve got my death, boys,” he said, and
then dropped to the floor like a log.
They raised him and bore him away.
In an hour he was at home on the lit
tle bed which had been made ready for
Nora, weary with her long voyage. There,
at last, he opened his eyes. Old Mr.
Bawn bent over him ; he had been sum
moned by the news, and the room was
full of Connor’s fellow workmen. “Bet
ter, Connor ?” asked the old man. “A
dale,” said Connor. “It’s aisy now, I’lL
be with her soon. And look ye. mas
ther, I’ve learnt one thing—God is good;
He would not let me bring Nora over to
me, but He’s asking me over to her
and Jamesy—over the river; don’t you
see it and her standing on the other side
to welcome me?”
And with these words, Connor stretched
out his arms. Perhaps he did sec Nora
—Heaven only knows—and so he died.
[ Churchman .
—■ v-mm —————
THE IRISHMAN IN AMERICA,
Judge Lochrane addresed the Irish of Sa
vannah on St. Patrick’s day. Wo clip the
following from the speech as reported in
the papers of that city, which, we are told,
brought dowu loud and continued cheers.
Referring to the propriety of Irishmen
celebrating thffir lovo for Ireland, he said :
This is a sentiment to cherish, not to
crush—for the Irish heart that beats true
to Georgia when her manhood was in the
field struggling auainst the storm, and the
bravest advocate Ireland gave to the South,
was the one that was truest to Ireland
and drowned its shamrock on St. Patrick’s
day.
I cannot forget the sentiment T received
from that noble and gallant representative
of our name and nation, General Cleburne
written in response to a letter of mine,
thanking him in the name of his country
men for his illustration of their devotion
for the section of their adoption and
choice. He returned me his thanks for the
compliment conveyed, and remarked : “He
was more sensitive to the good opinion of
liis countrymen than that of all the world
besides.” No nobler illustration could be
given in favor of the position I occupy,
for in him we may recognize, at one glance
the purest type of Irish nationality, and
the holiest and deepest devotion to the
land of his adoption.
* * :jt * »jc Jfc
Passing over the fertile memorials of
heroic life and illustrious achievement, the
magnitude of poetical and regal events,
which cluster in bunches of poetical inci
dent over the glittering pages of Irish his
tory, and coming down to the living, acting,
thinking present, we may here pause to as
sert that the long continued attempts by
the government of Great Britain to root
; out the name and chui eh of St. Patrick in
Ireland, lias been the most constant as well
most fruitful cause of Irish grievance and
wrong.
Ho not, my friends, suppose I am going
into a discursive or exhaustive abuse of the
■BAIB3BB fSI
British Government; that I am here to
vituperate British laws, the British throne,
the British Queen, or the British Govern
ment. Eighteen years ago America pre
sented to the world a proud pre-eminence
in every political and constitutional free
dom. Light taxation and large personal
liberty characterized the Republic, the as
sent of each to the grand unity at Wash
ington invoked tho panegyric which by
contrast, reflected on Britain. But to-day
things are changed ; surroundings of the
hour impress me with the falsities of de
clamation and the oracles of demagogues.
Men in glass houses ought to be careful
of the use ot projectiles, and living under
that new dispensation of statesmanship
(so-called) which ornaments the capital—
which refines our Constitution, under
which the States were bound in political
and sovereign equality, until, like Saturn,
the Union devours its own children. lam
too sick of tyranny at home to itinerate in
search of grievances.
To-day tho British Government may pass
without any fling from me. For the Re
public, as administered by Republicans,
presents a picture I can neither speak of
with patience, nor contemplate without
horror.
We can only pray the interposition of
Heaven to avert from us the absolutism
from which other nations have been par
tially emrnoipated, and the crash and car
nage which tollow changes in government,
when the wheels turn back and the popu
lar explosion drives off splinters and scat
ters death in every direction.
Ihere is power in the nation to proteot
it from ruin, power to reassert the funda
mental law ot Constitutional government,
power to save tho Republic from being im
molated with the dews of its baptism still
upon its forehead, power to roll away the
stone from the sepulchre and call forth
the imprisoned spirit to walk forth in all
its majesty, to heal the wounds of the na
tion .. The way is strewn with palms, the
multitudes are ready to march forth with
hymns of glory on their lips, and by this
power, the power of the public virtue, the
power of the public voice, the power of the
intelligent and reasoning patriotism, we
will yet see, I trust, America rise up from
the flames of political persecution and
prostration, to soar to the zenith, without
a w ing being scorched or a feather rutiled.
I do not despair of Republics or wish for
“Monarchies by the grace of God.”
Fellow-countrymen, I trust it is not in
opportune, or outside the inspiration of the
occasion, to conjure you to stand by the
great principles for which many ot your
friends, brothers, and sons poured out their
life-blood from the Potomac to the Rio
Grande. We would be false to ourselves
and false to the memories of the past, if
we could cast a sneer upon their graves, or
forgetfulness over their acts. They were
our brothers, and at our bidding went out
under the conviction of duty to do or die
in Freedom’s cause. While defeat has im
posed its duties, and henceforth nationality
must be respected as the will of the na
tion ; while under tho flag of tho United
States wo must stand up manfully in ac
ceptance of tho duties of citizenship, and
must meet every essential of allegiance
with fidelity, yet fakh in the past is con
sistent with this duty of citizenship, and
the statesman who would question your
right to the memories of the past six years,
would expose an enormity of ignorance, at
which every reputable Irishman would
smile. Any attempt to change opinion by
force would only tend to make ail idol of
worship to the persecuted ; and besides,
tho heart may be true to memories and
true to living issues. Tho affectiou of the
widow, in her drapery of gloom and tears,
is more to be trusted than the smiles of a
mistress, w ho has no memories to bless aud
no lost ones to mourn.
We, Irishmen, can come under the flag
of tho United States and celebrate our
memories.
Every nationality can havo its day of
celebration. Then why may not men born
here under these skies have as much right
to their memories as foreigners V Are they
to be strangers and worse than exiles in
the land of their birth, and among the
very tomb3 of their ancestors i God forbid.
For my part, to-day, in this hall, I pour
out my tribute to tho Irishmen who main
tained with their lives the courage and gal
lantry of our people. Savannah gave some
eleven companies to the war, and some
from this city united with their fellow
countrymen in a Macon company which
honored my name by bearing it to the field.
Many of them have fallen, but I thank
God the Irishmen who survive can con
gratulate themselves that in their death
they distributed among us a heritage of
glory.
Georgia has no right to doubt the metal
of her exiled citizens ; for when the cloud
broke over this land and the rain of blood
crimsoned the streets, when gusts of
frenzied passion came aud went, and swept
before it every sentiment of peace, and
dashed wave against wave in angry strife,
the adopted son felt the cause was his and
bravely went to the rescue ; and the lost
is still his to keep in memory, and revere
his friends who went down with the tide
and left but tho testimony of a name un
stained as their epitaph. Better, yes, far
better, prouder, nobler, holier, to fill the
uncoffined ditch of some poor Irishman in
grey and leave no name or stone, and wear
tho consciousness “He tell for a cause still
loved, though lost,” than to have been born
rich like some we wot of, with a spoon in
his mouth, or grow up to fill his pockets
with spoons or fill a marbled tenement
with the inscription, “He was a Georgia
Radical to the manor born.”
The following wit will be appreciated:
We might have visited the celebrated
castle where the Blarney stone is enshrined,
and had our tongues touched with the mel
ifluous civility it inspires by kissing it ;
that is if Irish tongues need* such a pro
cess to render them sweet. But 1 gravely
doubt now that the Blarney stone could be
found upon the remotest search in Ireland.
For I am satisfied that some American ed
itors North have, under the pretence of a
pilgrimage, carried the stone away, that it
could be used henceforth in the sole busi
ness of bespattering with praise a certain
aspirant for Presidential honors.
Poor Ireland! what will become of your
future without your “Blarney Stone?”
What can these editors give in return for
so great 8 loss?—an editorial from Greeley
on the rights of naturalized citiseus—a
sonnet from Forney on the “Boys of Kil
kenny”—an essay on the “Shillelah,” by
Sumner, and somo Yankee invention to
take its place, patronized and recommended
by Heury Ward Beecher. These might
compensate, but a true Irishman would
prefer “the Blarney Stone” to all tho
XLIX Congress could give in return.
As tor myselt, I call for their impeach
ment before the high Court of Flatterers
and Humbugs, and demand that they do
take the back track with that stone and
deposit it in the ruins of Blarney Castle.
I he rock of Plymouth has enough bombast
And vanity, egotism and self-adulation left
to last the editorial fraternity of New
England for a hundred years to come,
without robbing Ireland of her Blarney
Stone.
LITERARY AND ART ITEMS.
The Ohio State library has twenty-six
thousand volumes.
The Philadelphia Artists’ Fund Society
will shortly open an exhibition of water
colors at their galleries.
Thomas Dunn English offers a reward
of SSO to any one who will prove that he
was not the author of “Ben Bolt!” Who
wrote “Rock Me to Sleep, Mother V*
Rothermel expects to have his colossal
“Battle of Gettysburg,” which he painted
for Harrisburg, and for which he is to
receive $30,000, finished some time this
year.
Since the imprisonment of the two
editors of tho Memphis Avalanche , Mrs.
banny B. Galloway (the wife of the senior
editor) has entered the sanctum, aud
occupied the editorial chair.
A correspondent gives a fine descrip
tion of a well preserved statue in the
\ ilia Albani, near Rome, which is gener
ally supposed to transmit to our day the
form aud lineaments of the great fabulist,
iEsop.
Maj. Gen. Cullum will soon publish,
at his own expense, a “Register of the
West Point Graduates,” in two large
octavo volumes, aud comprising about
twenty-fiv* hundred biographical sketches.
Geu. D. H. Hill having purchased the
interest of James P Irwin and Capt. J.
G Morrison in the Land We Love , suc
ceeds to the exclusive proprietorship of
that able and popular Southern magazine.
Brothers *nd sisters should promote
each others temporal interests. The law
of God commands us to promote the tem
poral interests of our fellow-creatures as
far as in our power, and there is a pecu
liar obligation on members of families to
forward each other’s advantage.
All the sovereigns who visited the
Hotel de Vi lie, in Paris, this year, prom
ised M. Hausmann that they would send
their busts in wdiite marble. In fulfilment
of his promise, the King of Prussia has
just ordered his from the celebrated Ger
man sculptor, Cauer.
W. J. O’N. Daunt has recently pub
lished a volume entitled “Ireland and
her Agitators,” in which we are intro
duced to a number of turbulent worthies
of the past, as Bagenal of Dimleekny,
known as King Bagenal, a brave old
ruffian, who fought a duel in his seven
ty-ninth year, sitting in a chair to re
ceive his adversary’s fire. Bully Egau,
who fought fourteen duels at an election
for the county Cork ; and the Lords of
Muskerry, one of whom, on being’ urged
on his death-bed to repent, answered :
“Repent ? 1 don’t see what I have to
repent of. 1 don’t know that L ever de
nied myself anything.”
There must have been fine qualities in
Theodore Rousseau, whose death was
lately announced in a Paris correspond
ence. The French claim him <fs one of
their greatest landscape painters. Like
Govot and Daubigny, he had a faculty for
mystifying ordinary scenes, but in most
cases the leadiness ot his color was un
pleasing in effect. An “Evening,” by
Rousseau, is on exhibition at the Avery
Gallery, New York. It is said to be a j
flat scene, somewhere in the forest of Fon- i
tainbleau, probably. Nothing but dark
ening stretches of sombre land, with a
post in the middle of it, and horses getting
their evening drink. There appears to
be something morbid in this manner of
O
treating landscape, but that it has poetry
caunot be denied.
Darwin’s long promised work, “The
Variation of Animals and Plants under
Domestication.” will soon be published in
New York. The first volume of Dr.
Bellow’s travels, entitled “The Old World
in its New Faee,” is also nearly ready.
Gignoux is engaged upon a large pic
ture, which he entitles “Under the Fall.”
lne “fall” is the great Niagara, where
the spectator looks out from the depths
beneath lable Rock, and into the mist and
spray of the fall beyond. A huge icicle
hangs hangs from the crest of the vast
•filing above.
William Washington, of Virginia, to
wftom says the Souther Sbciety, (of Balti
more,) we have previously referred as
being one of the most promising of our
young Southern artists, has just complet
ed another church interior, representing
a baptism in Grace Church, New York.
Bradford is at work upon a small copy of
his “Sealers Crushed by Icebergs,” with
a few immaterial alterations. He also
exhibits a most successful transcript in
of bis celebrated pic
ture “Wrecked among the Icebergs.”
Dr. W. C. Hurley is about to issue
from the office of the Gilmer (Texas) Sen
tinel, a volume entitled “The Philosophy
of Man.” The widow of the late Gen.
Jerc. Clemens, of Alabama, will soon pub
lish his “Life.” A gallant ex-Confeder
ate officer, Col B. H. Jones, of Lewis
burg, West Virginia, publishesa card an
nouncing bis intention to prepare and
publish a work entitled “Prison Prose
and Poetry of the South.” Dr. G. W.
Bagby has republished in pamphlet
form, from the Native Virginian , “John
M. Daniel’s Latch Key,” being a very in
teresting memoir of the late editor of the
Richmond Examiner . Messrs. Roberts,
of Boston, have in Press, “Lord Byron,
judged by the evidence of his own Life,”
by the Countess Guiccioli. Bartlett is
preparing anew edition of his valuable
“Familiar Quotations.” The proprietor
of the Biddeford (Me) Democrat will soon
publish some unpublished productions of
Artemius Ward, whose agent he was for
some time.
An English journal announces the
early appearance of a volume of poems,
“nearly all of them of a serious stamp,”
by Miss Ada Isaacs Menken. The Pall
Mall Gazette observes that Mr. Gladstone
recently showed himself unconscious of
the fact that Scott’s “Hymn for the Dead,”
was an adaptation of the “Dies Irae.” A
new edition of Poole’s “Index to Peri
odical Literature,” bringing the work
dowu to 1867, is in preparation. Swin
burne has very nearly completed “Both
well,” the second poem of the dramatic
triology on the life of Mary Queen of
Scots, of which “Chastelard” was the
first. A copy of Audubon’s “Birds of
America,” in four volumes, brought £l5O
at a recent book sale in London. Profes
sor Von Sybcl’s “History of the French
Revolution” has appeared, in part, in an
English translation, from Murray’s press
in London. The London Examiner says
of it :
“Professor Von Sybel set himself a task
of gigantic proportions when he under
took this work. His design has been,
not only as a spectator to note down the
passing incidents of the great historical
drama of the last century, hut io dive
behind the scenes amid all the complica
tions of European politics and to con
struct out of them one large picture re
presenting every detail of national im
portance which the age produced in tho
iiistory of continental powers. Two vol
umes, containing upwards of one thou
sand pages of closely printed letter-press
(but a modicum of the whole part), form
the first instalment of Mr. Perry’s trans
lation. The original design was to con
tinue the history to the beginning of the
Consulate. At present it extends only to
the year 1795.
The Rome correspondent of the New
York Home Journal writes ; “The artists
and sculptors here must have pleasant
dreams now-a-days, or now-a-nights, rather;
from morning until evening their pleasant
studios are filled with Americans, not
only engaged in seeing, but in purchasing,
and purchasing largely. Could I, without
betraying confidence, tell of the several
beautiful marbles now being made for
your city, you would be astonished. Only
yesterday 1 saw one group, finished, and
ready tube packed, which took $1 ,000
in gold to own it, It is for a well-'.mown
New-Yorker, and to-day I saw a duplicate
of this piece ordered by another New
York merchant. Rogers’ “Ruth” and
Mozier s “Undine ’ are both to grace one
of our New Y ork private palaces, and
Reinhardt, Rogers, Mozier, and all the
American artists, have work on hand
that can but add to their reputations.
Mozier’s model of “Rizpah,” (2d Sam’l,
c. xxi, Bth, 9th, and 10th v.) not yet cut
in marble, will be an excellent production.
Our well-known poet, T. Buchanan Read,
has a studio here, and has a picture on bis
easel now, which will be sure to demand
attention. It is called “iris.”
3