224 WANDERINGS IN SOUTH AMERICA. 



The steam-boat from Quebec to Montreal had above 

 five hundred Irish emigrants on board. They 

 emigrant were going " they hardly knew whither," 

 far away from dear Ireland. It made one's 

 heart ache to see them all huddled together, without 

 any expectation of ever revisiting their native soil. 

 We feared that the sorrow of leaving home for ever, 

 the miserable accommodations on board the ship which 

 had brought them away, and the tossing of the angry 

 ocean, in a long and dreary voyage, would have rendered 

 them callous to good behaviour. But it was quite 

 otherwise. They conducted themselves with great pro- 

 priety. Every American on board seemed to feel for 

 them. And then " they were so full of wretchedness. 

 Need and oppression stared in their eyes. Upon their 

 backs hung ragged misery. The world was not their 

 friend." "Poor dear Ireland," exclaimed an aged 

 female, as I was talking to her, " I shall never see it 

 any more ! " and then her tears began to flow. Pro- 

 bably the scenery on the banks of the St. Lawrence 

 recalled to her mind the remembrance of spots once 

 interesting to her : 



" The lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, 

 The fond companion of her father's years, 

 Here silent stood, neglectful of her charms, 

 And left her lover's for her father's arms. 

 With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, 

 And bless'd the cot where every pleasure rose ; 

 And press'd her thoughtless babes witli many a tear, 

 And clasp'd them close, in sorrow doubly dear. 

 WJiile the fond husband strove to lend relief, 

 In all the silent manliness of grief." 



We went a few miles out of our route to take a look 

 at the once formidable fortress of Ticonderago. It has 

 long been in ruins, and seems as if it were doomed to 

 moulder quite away. 



