Actually I thought your remarks very much on topic and a wonderful tribute to your dear grandmother. Her love of the Irish music is the very heart of what Irish genealogy is all about. This is a lovely poem - I've not seen it before. Margaret

Thanks for spreading the word about PICT's Ireland Tour of Faith Healer. Below are the confirmed dates and locations. I believe Andrew is firming up a performance at Queen's in Belfast presently and is anticipated for October 30th. Do not hesitate to contact me if you have any questions or comments. FAITH HEALER ALL IRELAND TOUR OCTOBER 14 - NOVEMBER 2, 2002 October 14 - Watergate Theatre, Kilkenny, 056.61674 October 15 - Friar's Gate Theatre, Kilmallock, Co. Limerick, 063.98727 October 17 - Briery Gap Theatre, Macroom, Co. Cork, 026.41793 October 18 - Village Arts Centre, Kilworth, Co. Cork, 025.24451 October 19 - Tipperary Excel, Tipperary Town, 062.33466 October 22 - St. John's Arts Centre, Listowel, Co. Kerry, 068.22566 October 23 - Town Hall Theatre Kiltimagh, Co. Mayo, 094.81494 October 25 - Balor Theatre, Ballybofey, Co. Donegal, 074.31840 October 26 - The Playhouse, Derry, N.Ireland, 028.71268027 October 29 - Newry Arts Centre, Co. Down, N.Ireland, 028.30266232 November 1 - Clotworthy Arts Centre, Antrim, N.Ireland, 028.94428000 November 2 - Riverside Theatre, University of Ulster, N.Ireland, 028.70323232 Best, Stephanie Riso General Manager PICT Theatre PO Box 23607 Pittsburgh, PA 15216 T: 412-561-6000 F: 412-561-6686 E: sriso@picttheatre.org

THE BESOM-MAN Did you see Paidin, Paidin, the besom-man, Last night as you came by Over the mountain? A barth of new heather He bore on his shoulder, And a bundle of whitlow-grass Under his oxter. I spied him as he passed Beyond the carn head, But no eye saw him At the hill foot after. What has come over him? The women are saying. What can have crossed Paidin, the besom-man? The bogholes he knew As the curlews know them, And the rabbits' pads, And the derelict quarries. He was humming a tune -- The "Enchanted Valley" -- As he passed me westward Beyond the carn. I stood and I listened, For his singing was strange: It rang in my ears The long night after. What has come over Paidin, the besom-man? What can have crossed him? The women keep saying. They talk of the fairies -- And, God forgive me, Paidin knew them Like his prayers! Will you fetch word Up to the cross-roads If you see track of him, Living or dead? The boys are loafing With game or caper; And the dark piper Is gone home with the birds. -- Joseph Campbell (1879-1944)

Received (and passing along) this marvelous note re Cobh (Queenstown) Co. Cork Heritage Center: > I had the great fortune to have the opportunity of visiting Cobh for a day > during my trip to Ireland last summer. The visit had a profound impact on > me. > My ancestors did not leave Ireland until my parents' generation, but my > interest in the history of those who emigrated during the famine years until > after WW II drew me to the place where over 2.5 million sailed to Canada, > the States and to Australia... If you can see beyond all of the touristy paraphernalia (there's lots!), it's not hard to imagine what it was like when it was known as Queenstown. > St. Colman's Cathedral is an exquisite gem of Gothic architecture and has > undergone a complete restoration. It seems to magically cling to the town's > steep slopes as they sweep down to the sea. If you are lucky, as I was, and > get to hear the bells ringing, you will hear a Carillon of 47 bells. A > moving experience of itself. > The bronze statue of Annie Moore and her two little brothers, outside the > Cobh Heritage Centre, was unveiled by President Mary Robinson in 1993. Annie > Moore became the first ever emigrant to be processed in Ellis Island when it > officially opened on 1st January 1892. Annie and her brothers sailed from > Queenstown on the SS Nevada on the 20th December and arrived after 12 days > of travelling in steerage, arriving on Annie's 15th birthday. > The Cobh Heritage Centre gives a wonderful glimpse into Ireland's past. It > is built in the restored Victorian Railway Station on the Quay through which > all emigrants passed to embark and is a stunning multi media exhibition. A > visit to this exhibition is guaranteed to bring home to you the severity of > the times and the sadness of the port in those days. The town of Cobh has > tragic elements within its past. Themes in the Heritage Centre include The > Titanic, The Lusitania, Emigration & Famine. > If you are planning a trip to Ireland and your ancestors left from this > harbour, or any other really, I would encourage you to spend some time in > Cobh. If, like me, you have a love of Irish history, I again encourage you > to spend some time in Cobh. For anyone with these interests, one can't help > but be touched by the poignancy of the vision of the town, the sea, and the > dream of the hope beyond. My visit to Cobh is one I will never forget. > > Val - London, Ontario > > ----- Original Message ----- > From: "Jean Rice" "Lusitania," Sunk off the coast of Ireland, May 7, 1915

Superstitions of Irish Country People Do you know why it is considered unlucky to meet a barefooted man, to start a journey on the tenth of November, to get married on a Saturday? Irish Country People believe that angels are always present among them and all good things-crops, rain and so forth come from them. Bad spirits bring sickness to humans, animals and pestilence to crops. They do not speak of fairies on Wednesday and Fridays for on those days they could be present while being invisible. Taken from the Book" Before the Devil knows you`re Dead" Buy Padraic O`Farrell Mary E Coss Staley Wheeling Area Genealogical Society

BIO: The Mulchinocks were people of some social standing in Tralee, Co. Kerry, but had come down a bit in the world, perhaps. In William Pembroke Mulchinock's time (1820-64) they owned a drapery shop in the town and lived in Clogher's House near the River Lee, from which the town takes its name. Traigh Li is "the clear crystal fountain" of the song, "The Rose of Tralee." Nearby is the ruin of Ballymullan Castle. According to tradition, William fell deeply in love with Mary, the daughter of a woman who worked as a domestic servant for the Mulchinocks. Because of the problems, social and economic, which followed what was then known as "marrying beneath your station," young William was quickly packed off to France. From there he made his way to India and was wounded in a war which had broken out. On arriving back in Tralee he saw a funeral coming down the street and was told it was Mary's. He joined the cortege and, as soon as he reached home, wrote "The Rose of Tralee." Having written poems for the "Nation" newspaper and other Irish journals, William left for New York in 1849, and gained a reputation there as a writer of lyrics. "The Ballads and Songs of W. P. Mulchinock" was published two years later. The list of patrons and subscribers included the poets Emerson, Longfellow and Whittier. "The Rose of Tralee" is not in this collection. By this time William had married, or perhaps the omission is due to a judgement that it was merely an unsophisticated song, and not for the eyes of America's leading poets. Mulchinock returned to Ireland in 1855 and died in Tralee at an early age in 1864. Co. Westmeath's John McCormack and his recording no doubt added to the international popularity of "The Rose of Tralee." At the turn of the century Irish sentimentality was an essential ingredient even among lyricists who had never set foot in Ireland. Up to the 1930s it was among the most popular of the songs in the singing pubs of Lancashire. Perhaps William Mulchinock would have preferred to be remembered by some of his more ambitious songs, but to have written the national anthem of his native county is no small achievement! Tralee is the gateway to Killarney, one of the world's best-loved beauty spots. THE ROSE OF TRALEE The pale moon was rising above the green mountain, The sun was declining beneath the blue sea When I strayed with my love to the pure crystal fountain That stands in the beautiful vale of Tralee. She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer, Yet 'twas not her beauty alone that won me. Oh no! 'twas the truth in her eye ever dawning That made me love Mary, The Rose of Tralee. The cool shades of evening their mantle were spreading. And Mary all smiling was list'ning to me. The moon thro' the valley her pale rays was shedding, When I won the heart of the Rose of Tralee. Though lovely and fair as the rose of summer, Yet 'twas not her beauty alone that won me, Oh, no! 'twas the truth in her eye ever dawning. That made me love Mary, The Rose of Tralee.

Researchers might be interested in this visitor's account, pub. 1888 by The Religious Tract Society -- "The Gap of Dunloe is a pass between the Toomies and the McGillicuddy Reeks, up which any but the feeblest walkers can go with the utmost ease, from the point where the cars alway stop. The River Loe traverses the Gap, expanding at intervals into five lakes. A good road winds up the valley, crossing the stream by bridges in two places. The mountains rise very steeply to a height of over 2,000 feet, and and scenery is very wild. The narrowness of the defile combined with the height of the mountains gives ita sombre and awe-inspiring influence. At one point the ravine narrows, and a huge mass of rock has fallen and split into two irregular portions. The road runs between these enormous stones, which have the semblance of a rude gateway. The spot is known as The Pike. The impression of wildness and desolation is considerably weakened, not only by the troops of beggars, but more legitimately by the number of little farms in the valley, and by the numerous traces of fairly prosperous agriculture. As the ascent is made, very good views to the north are obtained, but by far the finest is enjoyed when the summit of the pass is reached, and the traveller stands with the beautiful Owenreach Valley at his feet, the many-islanded Upper Lake to his left, the Kenmare Road and the Police Barracks directly opposite, and the Black Valley to the right over which tower the rugged pinnacles of the Reeks. Occasionally one meets with absurdly over-drawn descriptions of this Black Valley. When the writer saw it, under a bright April sun, it failed signally to harmonize with its name, since it lay smilingly at his feet, looking most attractive in its beauty . By an easy road the descent into the valley is made, Lordon Brandon's cottage is passed - a toll of one shilling being levied on every visitor - and then the boat is taken for the row down to Ross Island. This is certainly not less enjoyable than the earlier half of the excursion. If any part of Killarney deserves the palm, it is this row along the placid waters of the Upper Lake, in and out among its many rocky islets, and down the Long Range which connects the Upper and Middle Lakes. To the south rise Cromaglan and Torc Mountains, to the north the spurs of Purple Mountain and the Eagle's Nest. The views are extremely beautiful, and there is a marvellous variety of colouring and of contour. The boatmen, in their well-meant efforts to amuse, talk a considerable amount of arrant nonsense about the uses to which the ever-present O'Donoghue puts the many strangely-shaped rocks which abound on every hand. The most effective view of all is where the boat, following as it must the windings of the stream, passes immediately beneath the loftiest part of theEagle's Nest. This mountain, like its neighbours, is clad for some hundreds of feet above the water levels with arbutus, ash, oak, holly and other trees. Among other charms, this spot possesses a fine echo. Soon after passing this point the great excitement of shooting the rapid at the Old Weir Bridge occurs. There is just sufficient fall to impart a somewhat lively motion to the boat, and the distance is so short that almost before you are aware the descent has begun it is over. Under exceptional circumstances, with the water unusually high, it is conceivable that the passage would be attended with some risk. Of course, none but those well acquainted with the peculiarities of the place should attempt to take a boat down; the regular boatmen are all more than equal to the not very anxious demands which the descent makes upon their nerve and skill. After shooting the bridge, the boat glides into a most lovely part, the Meeting of theWaters, and the shore of Dinis Island, which divides the stream, one portion of the waters flowing out into the Middle or Torc Lake, the passing on to Lough Leane. Dinis Island is delightful, and any who have neither time nor inclination for the longer trips will find this part most accessible, and equal in beauty to any in the whole range of the Killarney lakes. Passing under Brickeen Bridge, having tarried for a moment to gather a sprig or two of arbutus, the boat shoots out upon the wide waters of the Lower Lake. This is 5,000 acres in extent, being, roughly speaking, 5-1/2 miles long by 2-1/2 wide. When it is breezy, as the writer tested by experience, the waves can rise, and the rowers need to bend their backs to the oars to urge their craft across the Innisfallen and then on to Ross Island. The former, 21 acres in extent, is the gem of Lough Leane. It is lovely as regards its scenery, and it is venerable by reason for past associations. Here, in the seventh century, St. Finian founded a monastery, of which some traces have come down to us; and here one of the famous early records of Irish history, the Annals of Innisfallen, were penned. At Ross Castle we land. On the mainland, opposite the Tomies' side of Innisfallen, is O'Sullivan's Cascade, which consists of three distinct falls, one of the favourite shorter excursions. At the south-eastern end of Lough Leane is the ruined Muckross Abbey. It was founded, according to Ware, by Donald MacCarthy about 1440; but the Annals of the four Masters record that it dates from 1340; there is some evidence that the building was begun by Teige, and finished in 1440 by his son Donald. It was restored, as an inscription on the north side of the choir states, in 1626. The church consists of a nave and choir, separated by a belfry of small proportions, and only calculate to hold a single bell. This belfrey is pierced by a narrow arch, which connects the nave and choir. On the south side of the nave there is a small chapel or transept, with which it is connected by a large archway; and on the north side a small doorway leads into the cloisters, which is the most perfect and interesting portion of the building. It is a square of twelve yards, encompassed by an arcade lighting the surrounding corridor, which is about five feet in length. The arcade consists of ten semicircular arches in its north and east sides, and twelve pointed ones on the south and west. The pillars and mouldings are of grey marble. The effect of these cloisters is rendered singularly solemnand imposing by a venerable and majestic yew-tree, which rises like a stately column from the centre of the enclosure, and which, from the density of the dark green foliage of its spreading branches, permits but a "dim, religious light" to penetrate the area. The stem of this remarkable tree, which there is no reason to doubt is coeval with the abbey, is upwards of twelve feet in height, and about six feet six inches in circumference. The vault of the MacCarthy Mores is placed in the centre of the choir, and is marked by a flat stone level with the floor, on which the coronet and arms of the Earl of Glencare are rudely sculptured; a more stately monument marks the grave of O'Donoghue of the Glens, who died in 1808, and is buried in the same vault. Hard by Muckross Abbey the road to Mangerton, the loftiest mountain near Killarney, 2,576 feet high, turns off from the Kenmare road. It is a very easy ascent, and the view is superb, embracing in the east Crohane, the Paps, Cahirbarnagh, and all that extensive country lying between Millstreet, Mallow and Tipperary, with the blue range of the Galtys in the far distance. Northward and to the west is Tralee, with the Slievemish Mountains in the neighbourhood of Dingle and Ventry, while a faint white line in the horizon marks the north estuary of the Shannon as it flows past Tarbert and Kilrush. Due west are the Torc, the Purple Mountain, and the Reeks, with Castlemaine Haven and the Laune running at their feet; to the south is an immense sea of hills, occupying the district towards Kenmare. The Bays of Kenmare and Bantry are prominent objects in this view - a view which can never be blotted out of memory. At the foot lie the Lakes of Killarney in all their beauty, with the thick wood and groves encircling their shores. At the steep part of the ascent, about three-quarters of the way up, is a depression in the mountain, from which the cliffs rise up steeply, and occupied by a tarn. This depression is known as the Devil's Punch Bowl, and from it descends one of the streams which form the Torc Waterfall. This is a fine fall, some sixty feet in height, situated in a ravine called Owengariff. it is most easily reached from Killarney by the Kenmare Road." Excerpts, account, Richard Lovett, English traveller to Ireland (pub. 1888).

"As the stranger proceeds on his journey through Kerry, which is essentially a mountainous county, he is suprised and shocked at the semi-savage state in which he sees so large a proportion of its population. Groups of girls, whose ages vary from twelve to sixteen, come running after the coach barefooted and ragged, with their long, rough, uncombed hair flying about their faces as if they were so many lunatics just escaped from some asylum. It is evident that they never, or very rarely, wash either their feet or faces, and that such things as a comb or brush never come in contact with their hair. An Englishman, until he sees this, would hardly have believed that such an exhibition could have been witnessed in the United Kingdom." -- Anonymous, in "Impressions of Ireland and the Irish," J. Grant (1844).

THE KERRY DANCE O, the days of the Kerry dancing. O, the ring of the piper's tune! O, for one of those hours of gladness, gone, alas! like our youth too soon; When the boys began to gather in the glen of a summer night, And the Kerry piper's tuning made us long with wild delight, O, to think of it, O, to dream of it, fills my heart with tears. O, the days of the Kerry dancing. O, the ring of the piper's tune! O, for one of those hours of gladness, gone, alas! like our youth too soon. Was there ever a sweeter colleen in the dance than Eily Moore? Or a prouder lad than Thady, as he boldly took the floor? "Lads and lasses to your places; up the middle and down again." Ah! the merry hearted laughter ringing through the happy glen! O, to think of it, O, to dream of it, fills my heart with tears! Time goes on and the happy years are dead, And one by one the merry hearts are fled ; Silent now is the wild and lonely glen. Where the bright glad laugh will echo ne'er again, Only dreaming of days gone by, fills my heart with tears! Loving voices of old companions, stealing out of the past once more, And the sound of the dear old music, soft and sweet as in days of yore, When the boys began to gather in the glen of a summer night, And the Kerry piper's tuning made us long with wild delight, O, to think of it, O, to dream of it, fills my heart with tears! O, the days of the Kerry dancing, O, the ring of the piper's tune! O, for one of those hours of gladness, gone, alas! like our youth too soon. -- James Lyman Molloy (1837-1909)

Jean.. Many of the O"Neil girls still live in the Boston area...I watched them growup myself...my mother sort of copied them to a point as there were five girls in my family....we were known as the "Kelly Girls" ;-) A couple of years ago there was a "reunion" of the living O'Neil family and they paraded down Commonwealth Avenue on a sunny Easter morning as they had done 50 years ago. It was wonderful to see them again as we felt as though we knew them from so many years ago. One of the local TV stations did a special and interviewed the girls and they brought out many of the outfits and made comments. It was a terrific show.... Thanks for bringing back some great memories of the good old days! Best from Boston, Maureen At 09:22 AM 8/26/2002 -0700, Jean Rice wrote: >SNIPPET: A lovely image -- In the spring of 1940, Daniel and Julia >O'NEIL decided to participate with their growing family in Boston's annual >Easter Parade. Mrs. O'Neil was an accomplished seamstress; so, in the >weeks leading up to the parade, she created matching outfits for her >several daughters. On Easter Sunday they caught the attention of a news >photographer, who snapped their picture. The photo of her beautiful Irish >Catholic girls walking in size order (smallest to largest) in matching >outfits was sent out over a news service wire. Suddenly and unwittingly, >the O'Neils became the poster family of Irish American upward mobility, >Catholic respectability, and solid family values. And every year, it got >better, as the family gave birth to one baby girl after another, each of >whom took her place in her matching Easter outfit.. In all, the O'Neils >had a dozen children - the eldest was a boy , followed by ten girls, and >then finally another boy. They marched every! > year from the 1940s through the early 1960s and always made the papers. > > >==== IrelandGenWeb Mailing List ==== >This list is sponsored by the IrelandGenWeb Project - >http://www.irelandgenweb.com

Would sks that has access to the 1840 and/or 1850 Drogheda census please look up a Henry Farley for me? His wife Rebecca should be listed with him on the 1840, but she died in 1849 so would not be there in the 1850 census. Thank you so much Michelle Wilson NE rural Vermont USA

Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi Lord, Make me an instrument of Your peace; Where there is hatred, let me sow love; Where there is injury, pardon; Where there is doubt, faith; Where there is despair, hope; Where there is darkness, light; Where there is sadness, joy. O Divine Master, Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; To be understood as to understand; To be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive. It is in pardoning that we are pardoned. It is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

SNIPPET: A lovely image -- In the spring of 1940, Daniel and Julia O'NEIL decided to participate with their growing family in Boston's annual Easter Parade. Mrs. O'Neil was an accomplished seamstress; so, in the weeks leading up to the parade, she created matching outfits for her several daughters. On Easter Sunday they caught the attention of a news photographer, who snapped their picture. The photo of her beautiful Irish Catholic girls walking in size order (smallest to largest) in matching outfits was sent out over a news service wire. Suddenly and unwittingly, the O'Neils became the poster family of Irish American upward mobility, Catholic respectability, and solid family values. And every year, it got better, as the family gave birth to one baby girl after another, each of whom took her place in her matching Easter outfit.. In all, the O'Neils had a dozen children - the eldest was a boy , followed by ten girls, and then finally another boy. They marched every! year from the 1940s through the early 1960s and always made the papers.

THE PAST O Spirit of the Past! Who hath not heard -- High on the sacred hills, when no wind blew, Rising from valleys where no echo stirred -- The murmur of the ages, floating through The silences of thought? nor seen In sleep the swift feet of the dreams flash by, When each revealing footfall is a light Thrusting a spear of flame into the night, Opening eternal doors, and bringing nigh What shall be, and hath been? For who shall call the Past a skein undone, And not a part of that which shall return? Man wheels his circle round a deathless sun, And with each meeting curve new splendours burn That shall for ever glow. For all deeds, all events, are quenchless lights: All that is done, is gained; what hath been, is: Down in the plain are blind uncertainties, But they who stand upon the mountain heights, Watching the world, they know. -- George Arthur Greene

BIO: Liam NEESON, born circa 1942, is a native of Ballymena, Co. Armagh. Standing at 6 ft. 4 in., his physical stature mirrors a career of greatness with his acting excellence. Neeson originally came to Hollywood on a whirlwind tour, spending the first few weeks on a couch at his agent's home, vowing that if he didn't make it before his money ran out, it was back to his old haunts in London. Neeson got enough work to stretch both his dollar and his stay - playing a mute street urchin accused of murder in "Suspect" (1987), and as the disfigured scientist bent on revenge in "Darkman" (1990). By the time the Motion Picture Academy of Arts and Sciences nominated him for best actor in the haunting "Schindler's List," Neeson's financial worries were squarely behind him. Since playing Oscar Schindler, Neeson has had his pick of film roles and has continued to work behind the scenes for peace in Ireland, which has been extremely important to him. Among those roles closest ! to his heart was "Michael COLLINS," Neil Jordan's 1996 historical account of the Irish revolutionary and IRA founder. Current projects in 1998 were to include playing Oscar WILDE in "The Judas Kiss" on Broadway, and a coveted role in George Lucas's "Star Wars" sequel. One of Neeson's latest movies was the film adaptation of Victor Hugo's "Les Miserables." In 1998, Neeson was a resident of Manhattan with his actress-wife Natasha Richardson. The handsome actor has been active in Irish charity circles, notably as a spokesman for the events of the American Ireland Fund. -- Excerpt, "The World of Hibernia" Summer 1998

BIO: John Augustin DALY ( 1839-99) was one of America's most successful and influential theater managers and dramatists. Born in Plymouth, North Carolina, he moved to NYC in the 1850s and worked as a drama critic for several New York newspapers. Drawing on his knowledge of several languages, he translated and adapted many plays from French and German. His debut as manager came in 1867 with the production of the melodrama "Under the Gaslight." Success in that and other ventures allowed him to open his first theater in 1869. When it burned down, he established a new one named Daly's Theatre. Daly earned critical and popular praise for his noted productions of Shakespearean comedies and other original works of serious drama. Augustin Daly continued to write and at the time of his death he had written more than 90 plays. It should be noted that the celebrated Irish-born actress under Daly's tutelage, Ada REHAN, had actually been born with the surname CREHAN. Ada (1850-1916), who emigrated to New York took the stage name of Rehan only as the result of a printing error in her debut performance in Newark, NJ. A Shakespearean actress who worked with Augustin DALY's New York theater company from 1879 to 1899, she was the company's leading woman and performed memorable comedic roles in addition to successful serious performances. Her last performance was a benefit in the New York Met in 1905

SUITCASE "Check his belongings," the solicitor said. They were in a suitcase, Twenty-four inches by twenty. Ninety-one years of life Covered a corner of the kitchen table Everything! Childhood - photographed with mother. Youth - 1932, Galway Championship Football medal. A signet ring - Romance? Middle-age fling - binoculars; a smart pair. Spectacles of age, every lens stronger. Watches that had told each minute of his single life. Letters remindful of events, A Treasury of the Sacred Heart Of contemporaries consigned to clay And a cutting from a newspaper - A poem about loneliness. -- Padraic O'Farrell, "The Leitrim Guardian" 1997

BIO: On May 7, 1915, towards the end of her 101st eastbound crossing, from NY to Liverpool, the R. M. S. "Lusitania," pride of the Cunard Line and one of the greatest ocean liners afloat, was sunk off the southern coast of Ireland by a torpedo fired from the German submarine U-20; she exploded and sank in 18 minutes, taking with her some 1200 people, more than half of the passengers and crew. Cold-blooded and deliberate, the sinking of the "Lusitania" shocked the world. It also jolted the United States out of its neutrality, 128 Americans were among the dead, and hastened the nation's entry into WWI. All that evening a ghastly procession of rescue ships drew alongside the quay at Queenstown, some 12 miles north of the disaster. Under flaring gas torches, they landed the living and the dead. Most survivors were in shock, wrapped in blankets and staring silently ahead. Those survivors who were strong enough were ushered into the rear rooms of the brightly-lit Cunard offices to register their names on the list of survivors and taken into the back of the Queenstown post office on the harbor front to wire their families that they were alive. Gradually survivors were dispersed to whatever accommodation could be found. Adult corpses were lifted ashore on stretchers to be stacked "like cordwood...among the pain kegs and coils of reopen on the shadowy old wharves." Sailors gently carried dead children and babies in their arms to an improvised mortuary in an empty Cunard freight shed. As the night wore on, it became clear that many vessels were carrying greater numbers of dead than of living. The day after the sinking, the local Irish coroner opened an inquest into the sinking in the town of Kinsale, near Queenstown. The main witness was the "Lusitania's" captain, William TURNER, now clad in an ill-fitting borrowed suit rather than the resplendent dark blue uniform in which he had been washed off the bridge of his ship. At the end of his evidence Captain TURNER bowed his head and burst into tears. Many of the "Lusitania's" survivors were never to make a complete recovery. They would be dogged by the mental and physical effects of the sinking for the rest of their lives. Officials in Ireland were struggling to deal with the aftermath of the sinking. On Saturday, 8 May, in Kinsale, county coroner John H. HORGAN had opened in inquest into the deaths. Horse-drawn hearses, supplemented by wagons and carts brought from all over County Cork, were rumbling over the cobblestones of Queenstown. They carried load after load of wooden coffins -- some shaped caskets with handles, other just plain pine boxes - draped with the Union Jack and chalked with numbers. The local undertakers had run out of coffins, and more had to be brought by train from Dublin and Kildare. Cunard had employed local photographers like Mr. O'KEEFE, "Photographer, Cycle and Antiques Dealer," to photograph the bodies of the unidentified victims inside them in the hope that this would later help to identify at least. "Packed in their tiny brown boxes like dolls, lay the babies and children killed in the disaster. Their faces held none of the terror which was stamped on those of the other dead. Mothers of Queenstown had piled the little coffins high with flowers," commented one observer. When the coffins had finally been closed, the funeral procession wound its slow way up Harbour Hill, past the great granite and limestone edifice of St. Colman's Cathedral, where a requiem mass was being held, to the Old Church cemetery two miles outside Queenstown. A military band played the somber strains of Chopin's "Funeral March." The townspeople closed their shutters as a mark of respect and stood silent and bareheaded along the streets. Flags on buildings and ships in the harbor were all at half-mast. Soldiers of the Fourth Royal Irish Regiment, Connaught Rangers, and Royal Dublin Fusiliers lined the route of the cortege. Men of the Royal Navy and Royal Garrison Artillery marched behind the hearses, followed by a stream of mourners on foot or in carriages and cars. As the mourners sang, "Abide with Me," the bodies of more than 140 unidentified victims were lowered into three cavernous common graves designated simply as A, B, and C, dug by soldiers the previous day. Two coffins contained infants buried with their mothers. A firing party loosed a volley of shots, and 20 buglers sounded "The Last Post." Other bodies were buried in Kinsale. The atmosphere in Queenstown* was almost too much for some distraught relatives who had arrived to search for their loved ones. "The place is alive with miserable creatures like ourselves." -- Excerpts, "Lusitania, An Epic Tragedy," Diana Preston (2002) *Queenstown (Cobh) Co. Cork

Jean... your email ady errors out.... ---- The following addresses had permanent fatal errors ----- <jeanrice@mail.cet.com> (reason: 553 5.3.5 system config error) ----- Transcript of session follows ----- 554 5.3.5 Local configuration error But send along a PIERCE BROSNAN bio won't you..... . . . . valentineGet more from the Web. FREE MSN Explorer download : http://explorer.msn.com

BIO: John Augustin DALY ( 1839-99) was one of America's most successful and influential theater managers and dramatists. Born in Plymouth, North Carolina, he moved to NYC in the 1850s and worked as a drama critic for several New York newspapers. Drawing on his knowledge of several languages, he translated and adapted many plays from French and German. His debut as manager came in 1867 with the production of the melodrama "Under the Gaslight." Success in that and other ventures allowed him to open his first theater in 1869. When it burned down, he established a new one named Daly's Theatre. Daly earned critical and popular praise for his noted productions of Shakespearean comedies and other original works of serious drama. Augustin Daly continued to write and at the time of his death he had written more than 90 plays. It should be noted that the celebrated Irish-born actress under Daly's tutelage, Ada REHAN, had actually been born with the surname CREHAN. Ada (1850-1916), who emigrated to New York took the stage name of Rehan only as the result of a printing error in her debut performance in Newark, NJ. A Shakespearean actress who worked with Augustin DALY's New York theater company from 1879 to 1899, she was the company's leading woman and performed memorable comedic roles in addition to successful serious performances. Her last performance was a benefit in the New York Met in 1905