"Diaries of Ireland, An Anthology, 1590-1987," editor Melosina Lenox-Conyngham, was published by the Lilliput Press, Dublin (1998) - a truly fascinating read! May find a copy in your local library. Ms. Lenox-Conyngham has collected and shared excerpts from many diaries, mainly those from well-to-do individuals. Meticulous records and diaries were often kept by individuals from the pivileged "upper classes," as well Quakers; these have contributed greatly to our understanding of Ireland. (Note - there are apparently also many Quaker letters to be found in the Society of Friends Library, Swanbrook House, Donnybrook, Dublin). The editor prefaces each chapter with interesting background material about each diarist, his or her family, personality, occupation and/or interests, and what was going on in Ireland during that period of time. One or two gave first-hand accounts of the famine and their attempts to alleviate suffering. Some of the diaries were kept by impressionable young children.

Check out this interesting website (Trinity College) and other helpful URLs below: For your information -- Eneclann, Unit 1 Trinity College, Enterprise Centre, Pearse St, Dublin 2, IR Website: www.eneclann.ie E-mail: info@eneclann.ie Has launched a new historical CD-ROM which contains some of the most important information about Dublin city and its inhabitants of the mid-19th century. The 1851 Dublin City Census CD-ROM was launched late last year at the 4th Irish Genealogical Congress. The database is compiled by Sean Magee, who is a Dublin-based genealogist and it marks a culmination of over four years of dedicated work. The index and maps are accessed through the web browser on your computer. The database contains over 60,000 name and addresses and, in some cases, occupations of the residents of Dublin during the 1851 census. The CD also contains 33 scanned images of the Ordnance Survey Town Plans of Dublin City from 1847. These maps were provided by Dublin Corporation and are said to contain remarkable detail of all the streets and houses within the city at that time, and will enable you to pinpoint individual house numbers. It documents all the households in the city, whereas previously re! searchers had to rely on published street directories such as Thom's Directory or valuation office records such as Griffith's. These directories only listed the landlord or rate-payer, excluding many of the people who lived in Dublin's tenement housing areas, whereas THIS database lists the head of every household in Dublin at that time -- "Ireland of the Welcomes" Mar-Apr 2002. (Note) - You might also want to see what your local LDS FHC has in the way of microfilmed directories, and what Cyndi's List and a Google search have to offer. Cyndi's List http://www.cyndislist.com/ Free BMD -- http://freebmd.rootsweb.com/

Stained glass is an old and honorable craft, and in a small Co. Cork seaside town, one family business has continued this ancient tradition for several generations. James Watson first came to Youghal in 1888, but the family connection with the craft goes back far further. It is a proudly-maintained tenet of Watson history that their ancestors have been making stained glass since the Middle Ages and indeed worked on the splendid windows of York Minster. Peter, gggson of the original founder, and son of Paul Watson now runs the business. He started as an apprentice when he left school, learning the trade from father and uncles, as they had themselves doen before him. "It's very satisfying. You're creating something beautiful that will last well beyond your own time." Peter is hoping his two small sons, who are allowed to watch their father at work, will want to continue the tradition. James Watson handed the business on to his son, Clement, who in turn handed it on to no less than six of his own sons: Adrian, Cecil, James, John, Paul and Peter. James, however, was invited to do some work in Belfast. As so often happens, he met a local girl up there, married, and set up his own glass business in the North. Meanwhile, the five brothers back in Youghal worked together, carrying on their skills, knowledge and carefully-guarded secrets of this ancient art which had been handed down from one generation to another. Back in the early days, there was a lot more heavy work, as the leading had to be made by a hand-cranked machine, and kilns took days, not hours to fire up. They work from their large detailed artistic drawings called "cartoons." The brilliantly-colored glass used by the Watsons is imported from Europe: traditionally, the best blue, orange and yellow come from France, green from Germany , and red from England. Painting is done with a translucent stain which is applied in different layers to create the effect of light and shade. A complex piece of work demands several firings, and for final tiny details a needle is used. Even small scraps of precious glass are kept to be used for another project. An example of their lovely work can be seen in the the St. Patrick window at Christchurch, Innishannon. The deconsecrated church of Glengarriff is a lovely building which is enjoying a new lease of life as a popular coffee shop, where light floods in through deep-set windows. Signature one a window reads James Watson & Co, Youghal and London. Apparently their Cork studio was originally on Catherine Street, on the quayside, where "Moby Dick" was filmed. Cecil Watson, though now 78 and officially retired, retains the skills perfected throughout his working life. He lives in the old family home which clings to a steep hillside overlooking Youghal Bay. The studio, where he practices his art from time to time, is like an eagle's nest, even further up the cliff, and Cecil nimbly skips up the 40 steps leading to it with its lovely view over town and sea. -- Excerpts, "Ireland of the Welcomes," Mar-Apr 2002

In an excerpt from an open letter to the editor in the March-April 2002 issue of "Ireland Of The Welcomes" magazine, Lilias KELLY, Gosnells, Western Australia wrote this interesting letter with facts which might be of interest: "I have never been to Ireland, but I was taught by Irish nuns and priests in York, Western Australia during the sixties and then in Perth in the seventies. I got a "taste" for their home country through their obvious love for Ireland, especially around St. Patrick's Day each year, I went to St. Patrick's School. When I grew up, my sister got on the family history bandwagon and she discovered that among the many Irish ancestors on both sides of our family, was our mother's grandfather (Edmond CAHILL), who was transported with his brother Joseph from Spike Island, Cobh in County Cork for supposedly stealing a dead cow from a farmer during the famine of the late 1840s. They arrived in Fremantle, Western Australia in 1853 after spending time in Mountj! oy Jail in Dublin and a prison in England. They were transported on a ship called the "Robert Small" and were on the first shipload of Irish convicts to arrive in Western Australia. .I am going to one of the many St. Patrick's Day celebrations planned by the local Irish communities in Perth and Fremantle. Yes, I still celebrate it, even though I teach in a Government school; my kids and I are having a "greenday." The editor replied, "The "Queenstown Story" Centre at Cobh, Co. Cork, should be of interest to you as many emigrants left nearby Spike Island for Australia in the 1840s and 1850s."

I WILL GO WITH MY FATHER A-PLOUGHING I will go with my father a-ploughing To the green field by the sea, And the rooks and the crows and the seagulls Will come flocking after me. I will sing to the patient horses With the lark in the white of the air, And my father will sing the plough-song That blesses the cleaving share. I will go with my father a-sowing To the red field by the sea, And the rooks and the gulls and the starlings Will come flocking after me. I will sing to the striding sowers With the finch on the flowering sloe, And my father will sing the seed-song That only the wise men know. I will go with my father a-reaping To the brown field by the sea, And the geese and the crows and the children Will come flocking after me. I will sing to the weary reapers With the wren in the heat of the sun, And my father will sing the scythe-song That joys for the harvest done. -- Joseph Campbell (1879-1944)

Punchestown Racecourse, Naas, Co. Kildare -- Set in the lush pastures of Co. Kildare, towards the end of April, Punchestown Horse Racing Festival draws large crowds and has been one of Ireland's premier social events for more than 150 years. First held in 1850, it was revived by Henry, third Marquis of Drogheda (Louth) in 1861, when he was instrumental in having a new course laid out over natural countryside. As well as ordinary bush fences, horses had to jump up banks and drop banks. The famous "big double" bank was incorporated in 1862 and a stone wall added in 1863. The meeting was popular from the beginning, but never more so than from the time the young Prince and Princess of Wales, the future King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra of England, visited it on Tuesday, 16th of April, 1868. The Prince and Princess of Wales traveled by train from Kingsbridge (now Heuston) railway station to Sallins and then in open carriages to Punchestown via Naas, which was decorated with a triumphal arch over the main street. Onlookers in their thousands carrying small flags lined the route. The Prince of Wales visited again, on his own, in 1885, and yet again in 1904 when, as King Edward VII, he was accompanied by Queen Alexandra and his daughter Princess Victoria. The Marquis of Drogheda died in 1892, but since his death Punchestown has been fortunate in having adminstrators of the highest calibre. To the present day races take place over this natural countryside, with improvement having been made in 1997-98. Tales of spectacular horses and riders are commonplace down the year. Like "Little Horse" who, at the age of 14 years won the 2-1/2 mile Prince of Wales' Stakes and on the following day won again in the supreme test, the Conyngham Cup, run over four miles. Fearless jockey, Harry Beasley, rode numerous winners towards the end of the 19th century and early part of the 20th. He confounded all by riding his own mare, "Prince of Arras," to victory in the four-mile Maiden Plate, when he was 71 years of age! Tom Dignam, the trumpeter, was still going strong in 1999. Now in his seventies, he has been coming to Punchestown, since he was 4, when his father carried him on his back from his home four miles away. Tom's grandfather rode regularly at the meeting, so the family's association with Punchestown goes back for generations. On "Walking Sunday," held prior to the race, you can stroll around and talk to the locals who are delighted to talk of by-gone days, and the music of the "Wolfe Tone Brass and Reed Band," from nearby Ballymore Eustace, contributes to the carnival atmosphere. -- Excerpt, "Ireland of the Welcomes."

"The following afternoon we went riding. I had never been on a horse before. To me the animal smelt of the leather trade. I was surprised to find that horses are warm. I gripped the reins as if they were a life line; I was jellied and bumped by its extraordinary movement. The party began to canter and I was tossed in the air and I got a fixed smile on my face. We arrived in a field to try some jumps. A wicked old trainer shouted bits of advice. I went over one or two gaps and arrived, surprised and askew, but still up. So they tried some more difficult jumps. The party hung about waiting for the slaughter. The animal rose, I fell on its neck, but I did not come off. The stakes were raised; at the next jump the horse and I went to different parts of the sky. I was in the mud. I got up and apologized to the horse, which turned its head away. Afterwards we walked and trotted home; it seemed to take hours. Back in the house, I felt someone had put planks on my le! gs and turned my buttocks into wooden boxes. So my life as an Irish sportsman and country gentleman came to an end. Still, I had stayed with a baronet. I was snobbish enough to be pleased by that. I like curious clothes. Back in Dublin, I stayed in my riding breeches, bought at a cheap shop in Dublin, and wore them for weeks after, as an enjoyable symbol of the Irish habit of life, until someone tactfully suggested I looked like a stable boy." -- Englishman V. S. Pritchett, "Midnight Oil," 1971. Robert Kiely, "The New York Times Book Review said of this knighted literary great, "Pritchett's stories invite and merit reading, and, what is more important, they encourage us to look again at those parts of life we like to think are settled...He shows us, and, furthermore, delights us by making us believe in, the human capacity to change and, particularly, to love."

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In Frank McCourt's touching Pulitzer- prize winning autobiography, he sees Ireland through the eyes of a child: "On Sunday mornings in Limerick I watch them go to the church, the Protestants, and I feel sorry for them, especially the girls, who are so lovely, they have such beautiful white teeth. I feel sorry for the beautiful Protestant girls, they're doomed. That's what the priests tell us. Outside the Catholic Church there is nothing but doom. And I want to save them. Protestant girl, come with me to the True Church. You'll be saved and you won't have the doom. After Mass on Sunday I go with my friend Billy Campbell to watch them play croquet on the lovely lawn on Barrington Street. Croquet is a Protestant game. They hit the ball with the mallet, pock and pock again, and laugh. I wonder how they can laugh or don't they even know they're doomed? I feel sorry for them and I say, "Billy what's the use of playing croquet when you're doomed?" He says, "Frankie, what's the use of not playing croquet when you're doomed?" "Angela's Ashes, A Memoir" (1996)

THE LAMENTATION OF THE OLD PENSIONER Although I shelter from the rain Under a broken tree, My chair was nearest to the fire In every company That talked of love or politics, Ere Time transfigured me. Though lads are making pikes again For some conspiracy, And crazy rascals rage their fill At human tyranny; My contemplantions are of Time That has transfigured me. There's not a woman turns her face Upon a broken tree, And yet the beauties that I loved Are in my memory; I spit into the face of Time That has transfigured me. -- William Butler Yeats (1893)

The Poor Clare Sisters' way of life, nestled in the beautiful Leitrim hills above Drumshanbo, is one of total love, prayer and service to God, one another and his people. Care of the sick members of the community is carried out with love and patience and visitors are welcome at certain hours for petitions for prayer and chats with the sisters in a nearby parlour. The Poor Clare Community harmonises prayer, work and recreation in the service of Christ who is said to have called each one personally to leave all and follow him. In the Adoration Chapel there is a sense of warmth everywhere, the brown polished wooden floor and benches, the brown habits of the sisters who come and go quietly in soft brown sandals contribute to the harmony of the atmosphere. The santuary is uncluttered. Floral arrangements are simple and beautiful. The Prayer of the Church and the celebration of the Eucharist are high points in the day. Meals are taken in silence except for special days. Ho! usehold chores are shared. Recreation time is for sisterly chats, music and crafts. Creative talents are nurtured and used for the benefit of the community. Walled gardens display flowers; fruit trees, blackcurrant and gooseberry bushes are laden with fruit in season. A special corner of the garden produces organically grown vegetables. The Leitrim hills are surely alive with the sound of music. LOVE-STORY Poor Clares. Poor Clares: cloistered for centuries from our eyes they nurtured the flowerhead of affliction; our boisterous age has foisted new economies on them and we bring our coughs and raincoats, our tousled nights into their morning. they have admitted us into their forecourt; see how they move soft-shoed across perfect floors as if they have already died and are waiting... their high-pitched, sweet old-woman voices tremble like doves under the ceiling; here the body comfortable, the mind at ease, they have been caught in the quicklime and erosion of their Christ; what a fine old love-story it has been, drawing to its close now, into its consummation. We have located ourselves a moment in their space; the day is ahead of us, the cars waiting; soon we will move, congratulating one another, back to our own affairs. Excerpts, "The Leitrim Guardian."

BIO: At her funeral at Mount Olive, IL, it was said of Mary Harris ("Mother Jones"), "She had a small frail body but a great and indomnitable spirit. She was relatively uneducated, but she had a flaming tongue. She was poor, but she had a great blazing love for the poor, the down-trodden, and the oppressed. She was without influence but she had a mother's heart, great enough to embrace the weak and defenseless babes of the world." Mary was born in the city of Cork. Her people were poor. For generations they had fought for Ireland's freedom and many died in that struggle. Her parents, Richard Harris and Ellen Cotter married in Inchigeelagh, Co. Cork on 9 Feb 1834. At that time, per Mary, it was customary for weddings to take place in the bride's home parish. Inchigeelagh was a poor, small village consisting of about a dozen buildings; her father had kin in that parish, but he was from the city of Cork, about 30 miles to the east. Richard and Mary baptized their second-born child, Mary, at St. Mary's Cathedral in Cork on 01 Aug 1837. Mary's older brother, Richard (born 1835) was baptized in Inchigeelagh, but her siblings all began life in the city - Catherine in 1840, Ellen in 1845, and William in 1846. So for more than a generation, the Harrises and the Cotters moved between Cork and Inchigeelagh. Clearly, their roots ran deep in rural soil, but by the time Mary was born in 1837, the family ha! d moved to the city. The river Lee and a good carriage road connected Cork to Inchigeelagh. Her father was to emigrate to America, and as soon as he had become a citizen he sent for his family. Per Mary, 6,000 people, almost all Roman Catholic, had lived in the remote, 6 x 9 mile parish back in Co. Cork. Folk memory recalled great families like the O'Learys, who in better times built imposing castles. But ownership of most of the land had long since passed into English and Protestant hands. Those Cotters and Harrises of Inchigeelagh who retained enough land to be assessed held modest, mostly rented plots. In the U.S. Mary was to become a dressmaker and a teacher. She lived in places to include Monroe MI, Chicago, IL and Memphis, TN. She was married to George E. Jones, in Memphis, I believe, in 1861. George worked in a factory, Union Iron Works and Machine Shop, and was a member of the Iron Molders Union. Her nickname, "Mother Jones," was to become a "household word" in the United States. Mary was extremely outspoken on the rights of workers and poor people, and many fine biographies have been written about her including the recent "Mother Jones, The Most Dangerous Woman In America," by Elliott J. Gorn. Mary died in Prince George's Co., MD, at an advanced age. In the weeks prior, when Lillie May Burgess had attempted to pin a corsage on her, Mother Jones snapped, "Hell, I never have worn those and I don't want one now." She was delighted with her party but it was to be her last public appearance. She said, "I've done the best I could to make the world a better place for poor, hardworking people." On that occasion she recalled that one of her goals had been to help "defend miners against leaders who are thinking more of themselves than they are of my boys."

Frank McCourt was born in NY, where his parents met and married and had several children, but the family returned to Ireland when he was four. Frank later returned to America when he was 19. For many years, he was an English teacher at Stuyvesant High School in New York City. After losing siblings to starvation in Limerick, he said that upon being "assigned to cafeteria duty," patrolling the students' lunchroom, watching them complain about the food, dump untouched food into the garbage only to sneak out of school to various fast-food joints in the neighborhood, I wanted to yell, 'Shut up, Eat your goddamn food. There are millions starving elsewhere this very minute.' He wanted to ransack the garbage, retrieve discarded food, warp it, ship it to Africa, India, Mexico. Frank wrote, "My mother (formerly a Sheehan) in our Limerick City slum, had neither food nor dishes. We lived mostly on bread and tea, a solid and a liquid, a balanced diet, and what more do you want?" Although his father professed to love his family, he was often out of work and irresponsibly squandered his money at the neighborhood pub. Being "from the north" (Co. Antrim) Frank's father was looked upon with suspicion, suffering great prejudice in his attempts to find employment, help for his family. Frank went on to say, "I recently wrote a book ("Angela's Ashes") in which hunger of the physical type is a major theme but I wanted to show the psychological effects of hunger, how it breaks you, how it hinders any kind of emotional development. You can think of nothing but your belly. You're an animal. When I was nine my mother got a job in Limerick cleaning a Judge's house. That Sunday we had boiled bacon, cabbage, boiled potatoes, and for dessert, jelly and custard. For the next day she saved three boiled potatoes and some jelly and custard and placed them on a window sill which served as the larder. Next day I was the first one home. I thought I'd taste the jelly and maybe the custard. I did. I thought I'd have half a potato. You can imagine the rest. I didn't stop till everything was gone. I ran away and slept in a hayloft outside Limerick. I could hardly sleep with the worry and the guilt and knew I had to go home." At the time Frank wrote his Pulitzer prize-winning "Angela's Ashes" (1996) he was living in CT. Frank wrote his autobiography from the perspective of a child - per a reviewer, "It is a chronicle of grown-ups at the mercy of life and children at the mercy of grown-ups, and it is such a marriage of pathos and humor that you never know whether to weep or roar, and find yourself doing both at one." Frank describes many places in Limerick - Leamy's National School, various buildings - in fact there is a photo of him on the school playground with his friends circa 1938. "Angela's Ashes" begins -- "Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick. The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year's Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest. From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried; tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. The rain drove us into the church--our refuge, our strength - our only dry place At Mass, Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles. Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain."

THE WOMAN WITH CHILD How I am held within a tranquil shell, As if I too were close within a womb. I too enfolded as I fold the child. As the tight bud enwraps the pleated leaf, The blossom furled like an enfolded fan, So life enfold me as I fold my flower. As water lies within a lovely bowl, I lie within my life, and life again Lies folded fast within my living cell. The apple waxes at the blossom's root, And like the moon I mellow to the round Full circle of my being, till I too Am ripe with living and my fruit is grown, Then break the shell of life. We shall be born, My child and I, together, to the sun. -- Freda Laughton (born 1907)

MONAGHAN Monaghan, mother of a thousand Little moulded hills, Set about with little rivers Chained to little mills. Rich and many-pastured Monaghan, Mild thy meadows lie, Melting to the distant mountains On the mirrored sky. Lovely, lowly-lying Monaghan, On they little lakes Float and tremble lordly lilies Hoed by fairies' rakes. Silvered o'er with sunshine, or by Night with shimmering fog, Where thy sloping cornland meets Beauteous fields of bog. Humbly hid with heath and lichen Waits thy turf of old, While the hasty bees come hiding Honey thro' thy mould. Thro' and thro' thy restless rushes Runs a thousand rills, Lisping long-forgotten little Songs of Ireland's ills. For thy mingled chaplet, oak and Beechwood thou dost bind Green in summer, and in winter Musical with wind. -- Shane Leslie (born 1885)

GIRL OF THE RED MOUTH Girl of the red mouth, Love me! Love me! Girl of the red mouth, Love me! 'Tis by its curve, I know, Love fashioneth his bow, And bends it -- ah, even so! Oh, girl of the red mouth, love me! Girl of the blue eye, Love me! Love me! Girl of the dew eye, Love me! Worlds hang for lamps on high; And thought's world lives in thy Lustrous and tender eye -- Oh, girl of the blue eye, love me! Girl of the swan's neck, Love me! Love me! Girl of the swan's neck, Love me! As a marble Greek doth grow To his steed's back of snow, Thy white neck sits thy shoulder so -- Oh, girl of the swan's neck, love me! Girl of the low voice, Love me! Love me! Girl of the sweet voice, Love me! Like the echo of a bell -- Like the bubbling of a well -- Sweeter! Love within doth dwell -- Oh, girl of the low voice, love me! -- Martin MacDermott (1823-1905)

--part1_19d.65f4429.2a7dcc72_boundary Content-Type: text/plain; charset="US-ASCII" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit --part1_19d.65f4429.2a7dcc72_boundary Content-Type: message/rfc822 Content-Disposition: inline Return-Path: <CoTipperary-L-request@rootsweb.com> Received: from rly-xb05.mx.aol.com (rly-xb05.mail.aol.com [172.20.105.106]) by air-xb01.mail.aol.com (v86_r1.16) with ESMTP id MAILINXB13-0729220917; Mon, 29 Jul 2002 22:09:17 -0400 Received: from lists2.rootsweb.com (lists7.rootsweb.com [207.40.200.39]) by rly-xb05.mx.aol.com (v86_r1.15) with ESMTP id MAILRELAYINXB59-0729220852; Mon, 29 Jul 2002 22:08:52 -0400 Received: (from slist@localhost) by lists2.rootsweb.com (8.12.4/8.12.4) id g6U28Lwe017111; Mon, 29 Jul 2002 20:08:21 -0600 Resent-Date: Mon, 29 Jul 2002 20:08:21 -0600 X-Original-Sender: T2quirke@aol.com Mon Jul 29 20:08:20 2002 From: T2quirke@aol.com Message-ID: <b8.2b28d954.2a774f16@aol.com> Date: Mon, 29 Jul 2002 22:08:22 EDT Subject: Dual Citizenship: US & Republic of Ireland Old-To: CoTipperary-l@rootsweb.com MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="US-ASCII" X-Mailer: AOL 7.0 for Windows US sub 259 Resent-Message-ID: <aLaE9B.A.KLE.VUfR9@lists2.rootsweb.com> To: CoTipperary-L@rootsweb.com Resent-From: CoTipperary-L@rootsweb.com X-Mailing-List: <CoTipperary-L@rootsweb.com> archive/latest/3764 X-Loop: CoTipperary-L@rootsweb.com Precedence: list Resent-Sender: CoTipperary-L-request@rootsweb.com Several months ago I seemed to have instigated a controversial 'discussion' on whether it was legal for a U.S. citizen to have dual citizenship, namely: the U.S. and the Republic of Ireland. I wrote that I would contact the U.S. Department of State again to confirm that dual (or even multiple) citizenship was legal and feasible. I have now received a letter in reply to my inquiry. My letter was dated 26 May 2002 and the reply is dated 24 July 2002. There is a two sentence first paragraph confirming our correspondence and then the second paragraph is as follows: "In response to your question, the United States does recognize the existence of dual citizenship, but does not encourage it. According to the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1952, which governs all aspects of Immigration and determination of Nationality in the United States, a person may potentially lose U.S. citizenship by voluntarily applying for naturalization in a foreign state with the intent to relinquish U.S. citizenship [emphasis theirs]. Thus, U.S. citizenship cannot be divested unless the person so intends. In addition to this brief explanation, please refer to the enclosed flyers for more detailed information." This is not signed, but the 'bottom line' is "Sincerely, Office of Policy Review and Interagency Liaison, Bureau of Consular Affairs." So the situation is as previously described. Note that THE INTENTION is all important. One cannot lose U.S. citizenship without expressly stating the intention of doing so. Therefore, one may legally and without harm have both Irish and U.S. citizenship as long as one INTENDS to remain a U.S. citizen. Note that "flyers" were included in the letter to me. If anyone wishes to receive copies of such (6 pages), please contact me directly and I will have the pages scanned and send them to you as attachement(s). Terence ==== CoTipperary Mailing List ==== Having Problems with the Mailing List? Contact List Owner, Terry Ryan, at: trakker@nettally.com --part1_19d.65f4429.2a7dcc72_boundary--

Belfast became a major shipbuilding centre in the 1850s, which in turn led to the development of engineering and ropeworks. By 1900 it was a city of 400,000, from a town of 19,000 a century before. As the number of Catholic immigrants grew, especially after the Famine, sectarian riots periodically erupted (in 1857, 1864, and 1886) over the question of employment and related issues. In 1911, Belfast had the largest shipyards in the world - testament to resourceful entrepreneurs and cheap labour, since all coal and iron had to be imported. Workers in the shipyards were almost exclusively Protestants, per "The Irish Century," M. M. Morrogh. The other great industry in the north was linen. The Huguenots, Protestant religious refugees from France, had developed this textile manufacture in the Lagan valley in the late 17th century. Linen remained the bedrock of Ulster's prosperity until the early 20th century. The "unsinkable" British steamer (White Star Line) built in Belfast, said to be the safest ship afloat, sank on its first voyage across the Atlantic (night of April 14-15, 1912) after striking an iceberg. The lifeboats had room for less than half of the approximately 2,200 persons on board and took on mostly women and children from first class. The ship sank in about 2-1/2 hours. The liner "Carpathia" picked up 705 survivors. The "Titanic" had been the largest ship in the world, 882.5 feet long, with a gross tonnage of 46,328. Per "World Book" encyclopedia, the British inquiry reported 1,490 dead, while the British Board of Trade stated 1,503, and the United States, 1,517. "The Irish Aboard The Titanic," by S. Molony was published in late year 2000 by "Wolfhound Press," (ISBN 0-86327-805-1) Per review, it is said to be one of the most absorbing, fascinating books ever produced about the "Titanic," with emphasis on the fate of the Irish passengers. An excellent resource is the website Encyclopedia Titanica, with its many interesting stories about the survivors, etc.

Englishman Richard Lovett's observations of his trip throughout Ireland was first published in 1888 by the Religious Tract Society. Some of his comments: "As in the case of Liverpool, Glasgow and other great ports, the growth of Belfast has been both recent and rapid. The references to it in the early records are brief and slight; in fact, its history is said to begin about 1612, when Sir Arthur Chichester, ancestor of the present Donegal family, received from Charles I a charter for the colony from Devonshire which he had planted on the shores of the lough. At the beginning of this century it numbered about 20,000 inhabitants, and at the last census considerably over 200,000! The day seems not far distant when it will outstrip Dublin in population. It is admirably situated for the purposes of a great shipping centre, standing on the River Lagan, at the head of the Belfast Lough. Much of the older part of the town occupies ground only a few feet above the level of the lough; and in earlier days floods were frequent, and epidemics were far too common. But improved drainage and attention to modern sanitary requirements have greatly improved this state of affairs. Like Dublin, Belfast is rich in suburban beauty. In the eastern part of the town, and along the north shore of the lough the land slopes up from the water, reaching in the Cave Hill, which forms a very prominent object in the landscape, an elevation of over 1,100 feet. In this direction are many of the splendid houses of the rich Belfast merchants; and not in this direction only but wherever around the city suitable sites exist, they are occupied by the men who have at once enriched themselves and built up the business prosperity of the capital of the north. Belfast is clean and free from smoke; the streets are well laid out, and contain handsome municipal buildings, churches, colleges, shops and private houses. The chief thoroughfares are Donegal Place, Castle Street, Donegal Street, High Street, and the most recent and finest of all, Royal Avenue. In both public and private buildings Belfast can hold her own with her great commercial rivals in the United Kingdom. Such buildings as the Custom House, the Town Hall, the new Post Office, the Belfast, the Ulster and the Northern Banks, and the Albert Memorial are an ornament to any city. Handsome bridges cross the Lagan. Religion and education are zealously cared for in the city. The stranger cannot fail to be struck by the number and the excellence of the churches and colleges. Carlisle Circus is adorned with two splendid buildings; St. Enoch's Church, the finest and most imposing building belong to the Presbyterians, and the Carlisle Memorial Church, a handsome Methodist Church, built by a wealthy merchant in commemoration of his son, who died young. On every hand Presbyterian churches are to be met with. The chief Protestant Episcopal buildings are St. George's Church in High Street, St. Ann's Church in Donegal Street, and Christ Church in College Square North. Roman Catholicism is represented by St. Malachi's in Alfred Street, and St. Patrick's in Donegal Street."

Englishman Richard Lovett traveled the length and breadth of Ireland and his notes were first published in 1888 by the Religious Tract Society. "The Giant's Causeway is the only part of Ireland which rivals Killarney in widespread fame and in general popularity. The traveller who has reached Belfast by the rapid and comfortable express train on the Great Northern Railway, or who has come from Fleetwood direct by boat, has two routes open to him; direct by rail, or along what is called the Coast Drive. Should he come by the shortest sea-route, viz., from Stranraer to Larne, at the latter place he is already on one stage on the journey. If time presses, the quickest route is by the Belfast and Northern Counties Railway to Portrush. But if the weather is fine and time no great object, by far the best, and for the lover of the beautiful the most enjoyable route is to follow the Coast Road from Larne to the Causeway. Portrush, only a few miles north of of Coleraine, is a fashionable and popular sea-side resort. It is connected with the Causeway by an electric tramway, the first built in the United Kingdom. This is worked from Bushmills, and has been planned so as to enable visitors to enjoy as much as possible of the fine coast scenery which is passed during the ride. The line begins to ascend very soon after leaving Portrush, and splendid views over the coast and the ocean are obtained. At a distance of three and a half miles, the first "lion" of the district appears, Dunluce Castle, the ancient stronghold of the M'Quillans. It is an extremely picturesque ruin, standing upon the very verge of a cliff which rises high above the sea, and which is connected with the mainland only by an arch forming a path about eighteen inches wide. The cluster of gables, walls, arches and towers, all in a decidedly ruinous condition, is most effective; and it is well to be content with the distant view. Closer inspection adds nothing to the charm as a compensation for the nervous excitement of crossing the narrow arch. Two or three miles further the line strikes inland, and Bushmills, the headquartes of the tramway company is reached. All who are interested in the practical working of the line should stop here long enough to inspect the building where the electricity is generated. That it is generated may be provided, not only by the demonstration of being carried there in a car supplied with no other motive force, but by taking slight shocks from the rail. Bushmills is a neat little place, noted, like Coleraine, for distilling, and also for salmon fishing. The River Bush runs past it into the ocean, and about a mile above the town rushes impetuously on its way through a beautiful little glen, thus forming a salmon leap. The old mills stood there, but they were removed to make room for the appartus by which the electricity is generated... >From Bushmills is a short run takes the car to thte terminus, which is only a stone's throw from the Causeway Hotel. Since the opening of the tramway, this has been greatly improved.The writer recalls a visit some years ago, when after a long day's drive, the latter part through mist and rain, he arrived damp and weary, and found the appearance of hotel and rooms extremely depressing, and the lack of creature comforts very considerable. He recently spent a night there, and although it rained a deluge and blew a hurricane, the snugness was all that could be desired. The whole place has been refurnished, new reception rooms added, and the cheerful electric light, supplied from Bushmills, now adds greatly to the comfort of the visitor. The Causeway, like Killarney, suffers from a plague of guides. Escape from them is well-nigh impossible. The best thing is to take one from the hotel, and keep rigidly to the arrangement by which his services are included on the bill. It is a great misfortunate that the visitor should not be able to roam at will about this magnificent piece of coast scenery. There are few places better fitted to arouse wonder at the marvellous works of God in Nature; there are few spots even along the grand west coast that contain so much to delight the eye and the mind. But the horde of guides, and the constant expectation that the next turn of the path will bring you either to a beggar, or a seller of spring water, or to a vendor of the minerals of the neighbourhood, goes far to banish all the higher enjoyments of the place... It ought, in fairness to the guides, be mentioned that when upon the Causeway itself they do enable the visitor who displays any interest in the subject to appreciate the wonderful regularity of formation of the pillars, and the beautiful way in which they are grouped. The best way to get a good idea of the beauty and boldness of the coast about the Causeway is to take a boat and row westwards to Porthcoon and to Dunkerry Caves. To those who like this class of natural phenomena the trip may be recommended; others may be apt to feel that there is in the caves hardly enough to compensate for the boat trip, the damp atmosphere, the rather strong sea-weedy odours, and the persistent way in which the boatmen try to sell you boxes of geological specimens... But fully as wonderful as the Causeway, and much more impressive, are the mightly masses of the Amphitheatre, a superb semicircular cliff, in which the pillars occur in stages; the Chimneys, a cluster of pillars standing on the apex of a bold headland; and the grand cliff, nearly 400 feet high, named Pleaskin Head. All along these cliffs the pillar clusters and masses of richly-coloured rocks, as seen under a bright sky, and washed by a sunlit sea, constitute a gallery of the most delightful and exhiliarating natural pictures."