steamers, which usually ride in the fair way
by the harbour's mouth. Queenstown is the principal port through which
the emigrants leave Ireland. Young and old, when the "emigration fever"
is rife, the tides of people may be seen flowing oceanwards. Sometimes
they have a little money, and are going to better themselves; but most
usually they are going out penniless to relatives abroad, or "just
trusting in God." Not an unfrequent sight is to see bare-footed peasant
children waiting for their turn to cross the gangway which leads to the
New World. Perhaps they have nothing with them but "a pot of shamrock,"
or a little mountain thrush or orange-billed blackbird, in a wicker
cage, to make friends with "beyant the herring-pond." It is very
curious, but very Irish, that they do not at all seem to want the
sympathy that is lavished upon them by the onlookers. When they are
leaving their native place, the "neighbours" hold an "American wake,"
and in the morning, with heartrending embraces and wild caioning, give
them the last "Bannact Dea Leat"--"God's blessing be on your way"; but
when they come to Cove, the sorrow is smothered; they are buoyed up by
that trusting faith in the future which is the first fibre in the Irish
nature. They may look melancholy to us, but they themselves make merry,
and before the "big ship" is but on the "Old Sea," as the Atlantic is
called, the girls and young men are slipping through rollicking reels to
improvised music "to show their heart's deep sorrow they are scorning."
Perhaps, as the Gaelic proverb expresses it, "'Tis the heavy heart that
has the lightest foot." But a truce to trouble. They tell a story of an
emigrant and a grand trunk merchant at Queenstown which shows alike the
hapless condition and happy-go-lucky heart of the Irishman. "Pat," said
the merchant, "you're going to travel; will you buy a trunk?" "A trunk,"
answered Pat, "an' for what, yerra?" "To put your clothes in, of
course." "And meself go naked, is it? Och! lave off your gladiatoring;
sure it's took up I'd be if I did that!"

~Crosshaven~ and ~Aghada~, two watering places inside the harbour, are
within easy reach of Cove by steamer, which calls at Currabinny Pier.
The Owenabwee[3] river runs between Currabinny and Crosshaven; it is a
beautiful, well-wooded stream which has been celebrated in a
plaintive-aired Jacobite ballad, the "Lament of the Irish Maiden."

"On Carrigdhoun the heath is brown,
The clouds are dar