DOWN BY THE SALLEY GARDENS Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree; But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree. In a field by the river my love and I did stand, And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs; But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears. -- William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

Nuala O'Faolain, author of "Are You Somebody" (1996) a NY Times bestseller, has been a waitress, sales clerk, and maid; a university lecturer, a TV producer, and, more recently, a columnist with the "Irish Times" living in Dublin. "She was born one of nine children into a pennilless North Dublin family... Pushing constantly at the boundaries of Ireland's confining Catholic culture, she ultimately became one of the country's best-known columnists. The story of how she defines herself outside the traditional roles assigned to women at that time provides an exhilarating example of courage, honesty, and bold living," per a book review. An excerpt -- "I knew other places besides home. They sent me to Kerry, to the relations. There were pig hairs in the yellow skin of the fatty boiled bacon the lady draped across the cabbage I had to eat. But on Saturday nights a technicolour pudding was installed in the parlour, under a white cloth; we got that after Sunday Mass. The north Dublin fields where we lived were silent and bleak, so it was like going to New York to be sent to my great-aunt in Athlone. She was the mistress of a tiny, hardly used pub, Egan's of Connaugh Street. Mr. Eagan kept a big hoinking pig in the slimy yard. Myself and Auntie Kit used to go around the public grass of the Battery on our hands and knees, collecting a certain weed for the bristly old thing with its watery eyes. The shed the pig slept in was full of disintegrating sheet music from when Kit as a young woman had been a pianist accompanying the silent movies in Listowel.. "Me and Jane in a plane/Soaring up in the sky;/No ! traffic cop/Will ever stop/Me and Jane in a plane." I loved the streets of Athlone: the lights, the chip shop, Broderick's Bakery a few doors away where a machine sliced the pans. I was even a small celebrity among the street's boys and girls, being thought to be from Dublin city. There was the big world, too, presenting us isolated children with puzzles. I went into a shop one day. The woman behind the counter was showing something - big photos - in a low-voiced, secret way to another women, bent over the counter. I glimpsed the photos... These were photos from the Holocaust. I saw gas ovens. Piles of bones. That night our friends came across the field, for us to go down the railway line and rob Williams's orchard as usual. But as we were going along I told them about the evil in the world, and we all decided to repent. We went home and upended the kitchen chairs to kneel at and said a very long Rosary."

A SOFA IN THE FORTIES All of us on the sofa in a line, kneeling Behind each other, eldest down to youngest. Elbows going like pistons, for this was a train And between the jamb-wall and the bedroom door Our speed and distance were inestimable. First we shunted, then we whistled, then Somebody collected the invisible For tickets and very gravely punched it As carriage after carriage under us Moved faster, chooka-chook, the sofa legs Went giddy and the unreachable ones Far out on the kitchen floor began to wave. Ghost-train? Death-gondola? The carved, curved ends, Black leatherette and ornate gauntness of it Made it seem the sofa had achieved Flotation. Its castors on tiptoe, Its braid and fluent backboard gave it airs Of superannuated pageantry: When visitors endured it, straight-backed, When it stood off in its own remoteness, When the insufficient toys appeared on it On Christmas mornings, it held out as itself, Potentially heavenbound, earthbound for sure, Among things that might add up or let you down. We entered history and ignorance Under the wireless shelf. Yippee-i-ay, Sang "The Riders of the Range." HERE IS THE NEWS, Said the absolute speaker. Between him and us A great gulf was fixed where pronunciation Reigned tyrannically. The aerial wire Swept from a treetop down in through a hole Bored in the window frame. When it moved in wind, The sway of language and its furtherings Swept and swayed in us like nets in water Or the abstract, lonely curve of distant trains As we entered history and ignorance. We occupied our seats with all our might, Fit for the uncomfortableness. Constancy was its own reward already. Out in front, on the big upholstered arm, Somebody craned to the side, driver or Fireman, wiping his dry brow with the air Of one who had run the gauntlet. We were The last thing on his mind, it seemed; we sensed A tunnel coming up where we'd pour through Like unlit carriages through fields at night, Our only job to sit, eyes straight ahead, And be transported and make engine noise. -- Seamus Heaney (b. 1939 Mossbawn, Co. Derry).

Account (1852) -- "I took a car for Westport. Stopped at Newport, Sir Richard O'Donel and his lady have established schools on liberal principles. The lady herself teaches two or three days in a week, and Sir Richard has an admirably well-fitted schoolroom, where he teaches a Sabbath school himself. The effects of a fair on Monday showed that Ireland is not emancipated from the effects of whisky. Rioting and fighting lasted through the night. I walked to Westport with the peasantry, and at six in the morning was on a car for Castlebar. Called a few moments on a Baptist minister there, who presented me with a bundle of tracts, which were quite too sectarian to suit my purposes in visiting Ireland. I stayed twenty-four hours in Sligo, and talked to many of the poorer people. I find in all Ireland the labouring classes, when I first speak to them, are ever praising their master. Just as in America, although the slaves may be often under the lash or in the stocks, yet to a stranger they durst not speak out, lest some "bird of the air should tell the matter." So the peasantry of Ireland are in such suffering, that lest they should lose their sixpence or eightpence they occasionally get while employed, they will make an imperious landlord an angel to a stranger. My next day's ride on the top of a coach was eighty-one miles to Dublin, some part of it romantic. The sea-coast was rocky and wild, and presented little that was inviting for the abode of man. The road took us through a part of Leitrim, Westmeath, and Longford. At the latter place, while waiting for a change of horses, the beggars seemed to have rallied all their forces, followed by the rags and tatters of the town. I told them I had nothing but books to give." -- Asenath Nicholson, "The Bible in Ireland," 1852.

I'd be interested to hear from any Callaghans (or variants) - or people with Callaghan ancesters - who are living in Ireland. Tim

----- Original Message ----- From: Tim Callaghan <tim.callaghan@4hstc.freeserve.co.uk> To: <ireland-gen-web-l@rootsweb.com> Sent: Tuesday, August 13, 2002 9:23 AM Subject: Irish moves to St Helens > I would be interested to hear from anyone whose Irish ancesters moved to > England during the famine (1840s/1850s). > > Thanks > > Tim > > >

"Twenty Years A-Growing," first published in 1933 can be found in your local library. A young Irish fisherman, then in the Dublin police force, sat down one day to write a book to entertain his friends on the remote little islands, the Blaskets, in the extreme SW corner of Ireland off the coast of Kerry, where he had grown up. He had never written anything before, had not had any schooling to speak of, and had no idea that what he was to write about the simple and familiar things that had been part of everyday life - dances, singing, story-telling, brawls, fairs, funerals, fishing, hunting - would be translated from old Irish into English and be read by millions around the world in numerous editions for at least the next 30 years. An excerpt -- "Would you like to go up to the hill with me?" said my grandfather, putting the straddle on the ass to bring home a load of turf. It was a fine, calm, sunny day. My father had gone at the sparrow's chirp lobster-fishing to Inish-vick-illaun in the west and was not to return till Saturday. We went up the road, my grandfather with a stick in one hand, the other holding his pipe in his mouth for lack of teeth. When we reached the top of the road, we had a fine view between us and the horizon to the south - the Great Skellig and Skellig Michael clearly to be seen, Iveragh stretching out in the sunshine to the south-east, not a puff of air nor a cloud in the sky, herring-gulls in hundreds around the trawlers which were fishing out in the bay, larks warbling sweetly over the heather, young lambs dancing and playing tricks on one another like school children let out in the middle of the day. We walked on until we reached Hill Head: "Look where your father is lobster-fishing," said my grandfather, pointing west towards the Inish. " Oh, it is grand to be up in that island on such a day as this. Do you see the house?" I stopped and looked. "I do not," said I." "Look carefully at the middle of the island and you will see the sun sparking on something." "Oh! Is that it? I dare say you were often there." "My sorrow, I spent a great part of my life going out to it, and it is little the shoe or stocking was worn in those days, not even a drop of tea to be had, nor any thought of it... Indian meal, oatmeal, potatoes and fine fish from the sea; and they left their mark on the people. Little sickness or infection came to them. Arra, man, it is the way with them now, they have shoes on them as soon as they can crawl, not to mention all the clothes they wear, and for all that they are weak, and will be. Would you believe that it is many a day I left the house at sunrise, myself and Stephen O'Donlevy, Pad Mor and Shaun O'Carna, for we were the crew of the one boat, dear God bless their souls, they are all on the way of truth now." As he spoke, the tears fell from the old man and he stopped for a while as if to put from him the catch at his heart. "Well," he said, drawing a long sigh, "would you believe it, we would have nothing on leaving the house but five or six cold potatoes and we would not come home until the blackness and blindness of the night? Where is the man who would stand such hardship now? Upon my word there is none."

BIO: John Moriarty has forged a link between his two backgrounds. He was born about 62 years ago on a riverbank at Borroloola, Northern Territory, Australia, to Yanyuwa tribeswoman Kathleen and Irishman John Moriarty. At the age of five he was taken from his mother under the 1937 Assimilation Policy which ensured part-aboriginal children were taken from their parents and placed in missions "to attain the same manner of living as other Australians." John never saw his father again. He spent his youth in various missions until at age 15, while on holiday in Alice Springs, a woman walked up to him, asked him his name, where he was from and said, "I am your mother." He then spent two weeks with her, before returning to Adelaide and she to Borroloola where she died circa 1993. After his schooling he trained as a fitter and turner and competed regionally and nationally on the soccer field. John was a new generation Aborigine, representing his people in sport and community organizations. He became the first Aboriginal graduate in South Australia. During his time in the Department of Aboriginal Affairs in Canberra, he met his wife, Ros. They decided to promote his Aboriginal background in exotic art and designs produced in their studio and marketed for clothing, swimwear, rugs, etc. under the "Balaringi" label. Circa 1980, John Moriarty's curiosity as to his Irish background led him to Blennerville in Co. Kerry, outside Tralee, from where his father, also named John Moriarty came. His enquiries led him to a relative who, having been persuaded (with difficulty) of his identity, gave John a fishing rod which had belonged to his father. The search then also led him to cousins in Tralee, where he spent two days with them. John was delighted to later receive from a historian a Moriarty family tree tracing his roots back to his great-grandfather. -- Excerpt, "Irish Roots" periodical

Greetings of the day to all of you. I am posting my little teaser to you all, again. On the 1851 Channel Islands census index there is an Ann HAYWOOD, age 62, born in U.S.A. She is living with her daughter Sarah, age 24, b. Ireland and son Thomas, age 22, b. England. On the 1861 Channel Islands census index Ann is living with another daughter, son-in-law and family and is listed as a widow. The daughter that Ann is living with is called Aley Alice Winnett BUTTERY (nee HEYWOOD), age 37, and is listed as b. Ireland. This name was on the birth certificate of her last child. Since the last time I sent this letter, I have found more information on Aley's name. Apparently her name was Hailey Alice Winnet Buttery (nee Heywood). She was born (1821 Ireland). Would SKS have any information on Aley (Hailey) and Sarah during their time living in Ireland and also on Ann's husband? As Aley (Hailey) was my g.grandmother, I would like to get a copy of her birth certificate. Needless to say I would appreciate knowing where she was born. Many thanks in appreciation. Regards. Joan. _________________________________________________________________ Send and receive Hotmail on your mobile device: http://mobile.msn.com

Received this information on Cork City hallmarks from a list member --. > Hi Jean, Just read you interesting mail on silversmiths. The city badge of > Cork City is two castellated lighthouses with a sailing ship between (the > entrance to the harbour) and this is used time and time again, or parts of > it, as hallmarks etc. Kathryn

Few realize that Cunard, as we know it today, had its beginnings in other than England. Samuel Cunard of Halifax, Nova Scotia, had the idea in 1839 of using his small, 1,154-ton paddle-wheel steamer "Britannia" to carry the royal Mail across the ocean. The Cunards were not of British descent, but rather German, their name having been anglicized from KINDERS by Samuel Cunard's grandfather when he settled in Philadelphia, PA. However, the Cunards were Tory sympathizers, and during the American Revolution, they abandoned Philadelphia in favor of Halifax, where Abraham Cunard was born. Samuel, his son, was born in 1787. After completing his schooling, Samuel went to work in the engineering shop of the Halifax Dockyard. Abraham and Samuel ventured out on their own and formed A. Cunard & Son, a costal shipping company. They had one small ship, the "White Oak," which plied the St. Lawrence River between Halifax and Quebec. The company prospered and extended its routes to bo! th Bermuda and Boston. By 1820, when the senior Cunard retired, their fleet numbered 40, and the foundation of the Cunard empire was well established. On 4th July, 1840, Cunard's "Britannia" set off from Liverpool bound for Halifax and then Boston, making the start of the first regularly scheduled transatlantic steam service. "Britannia" carried 4 foot long canvas bags in her holds filled with Royal Mail. Her sister ships, "Acadia," "Caledonia" and "Columbia" followed later, ensuring fortnightly departures (monthly during winter) from Liverpool to North America. In 1848, Cunard moved to England with his family in order to better oversee his successful operations. More important, he realized that the company's sail-assisted, paddle-wheel coastal steamers were ill-fitted to the rough North Atlantic, and he set about building more seaworthy vessels. In 1852, he introduced his first iron-hylled, screw-driven vessels, the "Andes" and the "Alps," to his fleet. They were the first to have limited quarters for emigrants. Four years later, the "Persia, the largest ship in the world at that time, was built and put on the run. In 1867, the "Russia" entered service, her large screw propelling her across the Atlantic at an unheard-of 13 knots. With so many advances in technology, transatlantic speed records were broken with the introduction of each new ship. But during the company's initial 35 years of service, Cunard boasted that it had "lost not a passenger's life or a piece of mail." From the start, Cunard concentrated on safety and r! eliability. Commenting on the caliber of the Cunard officers and their training, Mark Twain said: "The Cunard people would not take Noah himself until they had worked him up through all the lower grades and tried him ten years." Passenger amenities were also important, such as fresh milk, which was obtained daily from supply ships called "seagoing cows." Cunard had to overcome the public's centuries-old disdain for sea-travel. The "Servia, built in 1881, was the first Cunard ship to be fitted with electricity. "Umbria," the largest and fastest liner of her time, sailed in 1884,; she was the first liner to have mechanical refrigeration. With the turn of the century, other new technologies were developed. "Campania" became the first of the company's vessels to be equipped with a Marconi wireless and operator. Steam turbines ushered in an entirely new era in steam propulsion. The year 1907 saw the dawn of the modern era for Cunard with the launching of the "Lusitania " and the "Mauretania." For 22 years "Mauretania" held the "Blue Ribbon," indicative of the transatlantic speed record. These two sister ships were the largest and fastest afloat. While Cunard's ships were setting speed records, their competitor's White Star Line's "Titanic" and "Olympic set new standards for luxury, and were even bigger than the Cunard ships. The competition between these two companies and their ships were both tragic and ironic. Cunard's "Lusitania" was torpedoed and sunk during WWI. As bad as this blow was to Cunard, White Star's ships met an even more drastic fate. "Titanic," built in Ireland, struck an iceberg and sank on her first voyage, and her sister ship, "Britannic," the third ship of the class, was also sunk during the war, having never made a commercial cruise. The financial blow was one from which White Star never recovered, and in 1934, the company merged with its former competitor, Cunard. During the First World War, "Aquitania," the largest of Cunard's ships, and other luxurious express liners carried more than one million troops and ten million tons of cargo before signing of the Armistice. "Carmania," convert! ed into an armed merchant cruiser in the service of the Crown, made headlines by sinking the German liner "Cap Trafalgar." In all, Cunard lost 22 ships during the war. Other notable Cunard ships through the years included the "Umbria," "Etruria," "Lucania,"" Caronia," a captured German liner "Imperator" which was renamed the "Berengaria," and more recently, the "Queen Mary," and "Queen Elizabeth." Samuel Cunard was made a baronet for services in the Cunard lines rendered to Great Britain in the Crimean War. -- Excerpts, "British Heritage" magazine, Aug-Sept. 1990

ARE YOU CONTENT I call on those that call me son, Grandson, or great-grandson, On uncles, aunts, great-uncles or great-aunts To judge what I have done. Have I, that put it into words Spoilt what old loins have sent? Eyes spiritualised by death can judge, I cannot, but I am not content. He that in Sligo at Drumcliff Set up the old stone Cross, That red-headed rector in County Down A good man on a horse, Sandymount Corbets, that notable man Old William Pollexfen, The smuggler Middleton, Butlers far back, Half legendary men. Infirm and aged I might stay In some good company, I who have always hated work, Smiling at the sea, Or demonstrate in my own life What Robert Browning meant By an old hunter talking with Gods; But I am not content. -- William Butler Yeats' melancholy poem "Are You Content" was first published in the "London Mercury," April 1938. Mentioned therein: The Reverend John Yeats, (1774-1846), the poet's great-grandfather and Rector of Drumcliff Church, Co. Sligo. The Reverend William Butler Yeats, (1806-62), poet's grandfather, rector of Tullyish, near Portadown. The Reverend married Jane Grace Corbet (1811-76) in 1835; her brother Robert Corbet (d. 1872) lived at Sandymount Castle on the outskirts of Dublin with his mother, Grace Armstrong Corbet, (1774-1864), and his aunt, Jane Armstrong Clendenin. William Pollexfen (1811-92), Yeat's maternal grandfather, a shipowner and merchant. William Middleton (ca. 1770-1832), Yeat's maternal great-grandfather, a shipowner, merchant, and possibly smuggler. In 1773 Benjamin Yeats (1750-95), Yeat's great-great-grandfather, married Mary Butler (1751-1834), who was connected with the Irish Ormondes, the Butler family of great wealth and power that had settled in Ireland in the 12th century. He also refers to the great English poet Robert Browning (1812-89) and his poem, "Pauline," in which he describes "an old hunter/Talking with gods." Excerpts, "The Yeats Reader," R. J. Finneran

I am researching my ancestor, Robert Henry DAVIS born in Donegal in 1865. His parents were Andrew and Ann (maiden name BUSTARD). They were married in Donegal Registry office in 1856. His father was John, her father was William. I know from his naturalization record that Robert emigrated to New York in 1869. He would have still been a small child, so probably with parents? Also, I would really like to find out what religion they were, since as far as I knew they were Catholic, but since Andrew and Ann were married in the Donegal Registry Office, probably they weren't. Any help would be appreciated.

Hi everyone, I have just launched a new FREE genealogical website, for the Lurgan area in Northern Ireland. The area includes Shankill Parish, Seagoe Parish and the Parish of Montiaghs. There are lots of records available (including census, valuations and directories) in the site and they can easily be accessed with an in-site search engine. Photos of Lurgan and its surrounding area are available and these tie in with the records available. There are also church details, timeline tables and a message forum in the site. http://www.lurganancestry.net Many Thanks. Martin McGoldrick. Lurgan Ancestry

ODE TO THE MAGUIRE Where is my Chief, my Master, this bleak night, marvrone! O, cold, cold , miserably cold in this bleak night for Hugh, Its showery, arrowy, speary sleet pierceth one through and through Pierceth one to the very bone! Rolls real thunder? Or, was that red, livid light Only a meteor? I scarce know: but through the midnight dim The pitiless ice-wind streams. Except the hate that persecutes him Nothing hath crueler venomy might. An awful, a tremendous night is this, messems! The flood-gates of the rivers of heaven, I think, have been burst wide -- Down from the overcharged clouds, like unto headlong ocean's tide, Descends grey rain in roaring streams. Though he were even a wolf ranging the round green woods, Though he were even a pleasant salmon in the unchainable sea, Thought he were a wild mountain eagle, he could scarce bear, he, This sharp, sore sleet, these howling floods. O, mournful is my soul this night for Hugh Maguire! Darkly, as in a dream he strays! Before him and behind Triumphs the tyrannous anger of the wounding wind, The wounding wind, that burns as fire! It is my bitter grief -- it cuts me to the heart -- That in the country of Clan Darry this should be his fate! O, woe is me, where is he? Wandering, houseless, desolate, Alone, without a guide or chart! Medreams I see just now his face, the strawberry-bright, Uplifted to the blackened heavens, while the tempestuous winds Blow fiercely over and round him, and the smiting sleet- shower blinds The hero of Galang to-night! Large, large affliction unto me and mine it is, That one of his majestic bearing, his fair, stately form, Should thus be tortured and o'erborne -- that this unsparing storm Should wreck its wrath on head like his! That his great hand, so oft the avenger of the oppressed, Should this chill, churlish night, perchance, be paralyzed by frost -- While through some icicle-hung thicket -- as one lorn and lost -- He walks and wanders without rest. The tempest-driven torrent deluges the mead, It overflows the low banks of the rivulets and ponds -- The lawns and pasture-grounds lie locked in icy bond, So that the cattle cannot feed. The pale bright margins of the streams are seen by none, Rushes and sweeps along the untamable flood on every side -- It penetrates and fills the cottagers' dwellings far and wide -- Water and land are blent in one. Through some dark woods, 'mid bones of monsters, Hugh now strays, As he confronts the storm with anguished heart, but manly brow -- O! what a sword-wound to the tender heart of his were now A backward glance at peaceful days! But other thoughts are him -- thoughts that can still inspire, With joy and an onward-bounding hope the bosom of Mac- Nee -- Thoughts of his warriors charging like bright billows of the sea, Borne on the wind's wings, flashing fire! And though frost glaze to-night the clear dew of his eyes, And white ice-gauntlets glove his noble fine fair fingers o'er, A warm dress is to him that lightning-garb he ever wore, The lightning of the soul, not skies. Hugh marched forth to the fight -- I grieved to see him so depart; And lo! to-night he wanders frozen, rain-drenched, sad, be- trayed -- But the memory of the limewhite mansions his right hand hath laid In ashes, warms the hero's heart! -- Eochadh O'Hussey (c. 1630), translation, James Clarence Mangan .

Passing this response I received -- > Hello > > Why not try > > http://uk.multimap.com > > > Not only England, but Ireland and Europe as well. > > > > Denise Davies

Wonderful website, you just put in the name of a street or location in England you are researching and up pops a list of locations with that placename. Click on one and up comes a map. Wonder if there is something similiar for Ireland?

If family historians are lucky enough to have silversmiths or goldmiths among their ancestors they may have a wealth of information availabel in the form of the hallmarks struck on all items of silver or gold produced by those ancestors. The practice of hallmarking silver was introduced in England by an Act of Parliament in the year 1300, since when all silversmiths and goldsmiths have been required to submit their wares for assay. That is a mark struck on silver or gold articles after they have been tested for quality. A few items were exempted from being hallmarked - i .e. in 1739 goods weighing "less than 10 pennyweights" and, in 1790, those weighing "less than 5 pennyweights. : A hallmark usually consists of four or five symbols which represent the marker's mark, quality mark, assay office and date letter; the fifth mark (used between 1784 and 1890) indicated that duty had been paid on the article, as an excise duty had been imposed on all gold and silver wares duri! ng those 106 years. This mark shows the sovereign's head in profile. The maker's mark usually consisted of two or more initials representing the Christian (forename) and surname of the maker, or the firm responsible for the production of the piece, but occasionally the name was struck in full or, as on high quality silver, the first two letters of the surname only were used. All makers of silver and gold wares were obliged to register their mark at an Assay Office, therefore it is possible to identify the maker of any particular piece by referring to the registers of the appropriate Assay Office. The quality mark on English silver, prior to 1821, is the ancient symbol of a Lion Passant Gardant, that is a liion walking to the left with the head turned full face. After 1821 the Lion Passant was used, but with a lion walking left and looking straight ahead. In Scotland, the equivalent quality mark is the thistle, although this did not apply to silver registered in Glasgow which, between 1681 and 1912, used as its assay mark the town coat of arms with the addition of the Scottish Lion Rampant after that date. The Irish equivalent is a crowned harp. The Irish Assay Offices were in Youghal, Cork, Galway, Limerick, Belfast and Dublin. Irish town marks included Galway (anchor); Youghal (a sailing ship with flag). The two Cork town marks, to my view, look like a castle and a Spanish galleon (?), but don't quote me... Books to consult for information on hallmarks, silversmiths and goldsmiths include "Jackson's Silver and Gold Marks," re-edited recently circa 1990s and published by The Antique Collectors Club. For London hallmarks consult "London Goldsmiths 1697-1837: Their Marks and Lives, by Arthur Grimwade, "produced by Faber and Faber. Names and addresses of known silversmiths and goldsmiths are given in "The Directory of Gold and Silversmiths - Jewellers and Allied Trades 1838-1914:" two volumes by John Culme. Another good source of named silversmith is the catalogues produced by the auction houses such as Sotheby's and Christie's. I note that SAMUEL BEERE of Dublin (circa 1823) was listed as a silversmith in Christie's catalogue, 09 January 1990. It should be noted that Dublin may not necessarily be the place where the smith lived, rather it was the location of the Assay Office, although it is most likely that he did. (The Birmingham, England Assay Office, did not open until 1773; prior to that date the Birmingham smiths had to take or send their ware to Chester or London to be struck). The article refers to an Irish sugar basin apparently in that Christie's catalogue hallmarked, EP, Dublin, 1820, engraved: Edna Mary POWER from her grandfather. Another silversmith listed in Christie's catalogue was J. SMYTH, Dublin, 1850. There was a silversmith listed as D. C. RIAT, Glasgow (Scotland), 1826. English silversmiths in the Christie's catalogue are the following: Birmingham: Adey Brothers (1934); Heath & Middleton (1896); Lathan & Morton (1913); Nathaniel Mills (1852); George Unite (1850-1880). Chester: Nathan & Hayes (18th c. to 1905). Newcastle: Isaac Cookson (1st half 18th century). Sheffield: Henry Archer (1898); Thomas Bradbury & Sons (1908); James Creswick (1855); Nathanial Creswick (1855); James Dixon & Sons (1896); Martin Hall & Co . (1878-1898); William Hutton & Sons Ltd. (1926-1927); James Round (1869-1894). London: George Adams ( 1841-1865); Joseph Angell (1825); Asprey & Co. Ltd. (1909); Edward Barnard (1828); Barnard Messrs (1894); Ann Bateman (1793); Hester Bateman (1781-1799); Peter Bateman (1793); William Bateman (1790-1835); Joseph Bell (1902); Moses Brent (1799); Alice Burrows (1807); George Burrows (1807); William Burwash (1813-1849); John Bodman Carrington (1897); Carrington & Co. (1910); William Chawner (1776-1822); Collingwood & Co. (1933); William Comyns (1905-1910); Augustine Courtauld (1733); Richard Crossley (1700); Crossley & Smith (1808-1809); John Emes (1801); Rebecca Emes (1828); Eley & Fearn (1804-1807); Eley, Fearn & Chawner (1812); William Fearn (1790); Charles Fox (1811-1883); William Fountain (1802); Robert Garrard (1843); Gibson & Langman (1878-1898); William Goulde (c. 1755); Charles Stuart Harris (1894-1896); Thomas Hayter (1814); George Heming (1776); David Hennell (1763-1795); Robert Hennell (1763-1795); Samuel Hennell (1794); Francis Higgins (1895! ); Houles & Co. (1850); Hukin & Heath (1883); William Hutton & Sons Ltd (1895-1903); H. & H. Lias (1850); Alfred Pairpoint (1918); Arthur Pairpoint (1918); Francis Pairpoint (1918); William Plummer (1767); Michael Plumber (1792); John Scofield ( 1780-1784); Thomas Tearle (1738); Francis Boone Thomas (1886); Mary Troby (1810); D. & J. Wellby (1913); Lewis Willmott (1902); Thomas Whipham (1762); Samuel Wood (1743-1750); Charles Wright (1762) James Young (1786). Excerpts, "Family Tree Magazine" (pub. England) Feb 1995

THE HEATH Through the purple dusk on this pathless heath Wanders a horse with its rider, Death. The steed like its master is old and grim, And the flame in his eye is burning dim. The crown of the rider is red with gold, For he is lord of the lea and the wold. A-tween his ribs, against the sky Glimmer the stars as he rideth by. A hungry scythe o'er his shoulder bare Glints afar through the darkening air, And the sudden clank of his horse's hoof Frightens the Wanderer aloof. -- Thomas Boyd (1867-1927)

POSTSCRIPT And some time make the time to drive out west Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore, In September or October, when the wind And the light are working off each other So that the ocean on one side is wild With foam and glitter, and inland among stones The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit By the earthed lightning of a flock of swans, Their feathers roughed and ruffling, white on white, Their fully grown headstrong-looking heads Tucked or cresting or busy underwater Useless to think you'll park and capture it More thoroughly. You are neither here or there, A hurry through which known and strange things pass As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways And catch the heart off guard and blow it open. -- Seamus Heaney, born in Derry in 1939, awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1995.