FROM LIVERPOOL TO BELFAST--IRELAND'S CONDITION DISCUSSED--EVICTIONS--A
SUNDAY IN BELFAST.
From Liverpool to Belfast, including a cup of tea, cost in all four
dollars and fifty cents. It seems ridiculous to a stranger that the cars
and cabs always stop at a little distance from the steamers, so as to
employ a porter to lift a trunk for a few yards at each end of the short
journey by cab.
The kind steward of the "Ontario" came over to the packet to look after
his passenger; had promised to see that passenger safely conveyed from
one steamer to the other, but, detained at home by sickness in the
family, came back to the ship a few minutes too late, and then came over
to explain and say good-bye. There could not possibly be a more
courteous set of men than the captain and officers of the steamship
"Ontario."
On the Belfast packet two ladies, one a very young bride on her way from
her home in South Wales to her new home in Belfast, were talking of the
danger of going to Ireland or living in it at the present disturbed
time. A gentleman in a grey ulster and blue Tam o'Shanter of portentous
dimensions broke into the conversation by assuring the handsome young
bride that she would be as safe in green Erin as in the arms of her
mother. Looking at the young lady it was easy to see that this speech
was involuntary Irish blarney, a compliment to her handsome face. "You
will meet the greatest kindness here, you will have the heartiest
welcome on the face of the earth," he continued.
"But there is a great deal of disturbance, is there not?" asked her
companion.
"Oh, the newspapers exaggerate dreadfully--shamefully, to get up a
sensation in the interest of their own flimsy sheets. There is some
disturbance, but nothing like what people are made believe by the
newspaper reports."