The following is taken from a book written in 1845. 'Irish Popular Superstitions': W.R. Wilde. --------------------------------------- There is at present a spring tide of emigration from Ireland, and great is the rejoicing of those who imagine we are to be benefited by it; -the Malthusian who feared for the consequences of over-population (although we are inclined to believe the country was not much over-populated as a whole, although it certainly was most unequally populated); the rate-payer, who is now paying twenty-five shillings and sixpence in the pound! and the landlord who is buying up the small holdings for three or five pounds each, from those who "cumber the ground." Every one who can muster three pounds ten by the pledge of his crop, or for the good-will of his holding, or by "making-off" with the rent, or by any means within his power; all the able-bodied among the people, from the snug yeoman and frieze-coated cottier to the top-booted buckeen, are on the move for America, leaving us the idle and ill-conditioned, the weakly, the decrepid, the aged and the orphan, to be supported in our workhouses, or to drag out a miserable existence begging from door to door,-so that it may well be said, the heart of Ireland now beats in America. The sums of money that are returned to this country from the western continent daily, for the purpose of taking out emigrants, are quite astonishing. Not only that, but the feelings with which they leave are becoming altered. There is scarcely an observer of Irish manners, or who has mixed much among the people, that has not witnessed many heart-rending scenes at the parting of emigrants for some years past. It was not amidst the noise and bustle of the crowded quay that these outpourings of the heart could always be seen; but by the canal's banks, when the "whole country side" came to bless and bid adieu to the travellers, and crowded round at every lock and station for miles along the road, raising at times the wild Irish clay, and often forcing their way upon deck to have another last embrace. We remember many such scenes ten or twelve years ago. There was one instance, in. particular, which struck us not only as characteristic of a mother's love, but of the ideas which the Irish peasantry possessed on the subject of the new continent, mid of the complete earthly severing which took place -when friends and relations parted on the Bog of Allen. The Royal Canal packet-boat, dragged by a pair of lazy garrauns at the rate of three miles an hour, had taken in a cargo of emigrants, principally labourers from the county of Longford. Their friends followed for a considerable distance, many, brimful of whisky as well as grief, crowding upon the bridges, and sometimes pulling the boat to the brink by the tow-rope, for the purpose of sending a message to one of their transatlantic friends,-to the great terror and no small danger of the non-emigrating passengers. All gradually fell back, except one very old woman, who, with her grey elf-locks streaming in the wind, her petticoat tucked above the knees, and her old red cloak floating free from her shoulders, still, with unabated energy, ran after the vessel which contained her only son. He was a red-headed freckled-faced codger of about twenty years of age rather diminutive in size, but what is called set in his build, clad in a huge whitish frieze coatha more, corduroy smalls open at the knees, a Killamanka waist-coat, and a grinder round his neck, and with sullen looks, trembling lips, and swollen eyes, sat upon his chist, with his legs hanging over the side of the vessel. Whenever our speed slackened, or we came to a lock, or any impediment stopped our way, the poor woman knelt down and offered up a fervent prayer for the child she was parting with for ever, and occasionally gave him some advice as to his future conduct. At last, having invoked, with all the eloquence of frantic grief, a blessing upon his head, she cried out, "Orah' Thomasseen, don't forget to say your prayers, and never change your voice nor your colour when you go among the blacks." What a difference has ten years made in the feelings of the Irish peasant! He now no longer looks forward to better or happier times in his father-land; seed-time and harvest, the price of pigs or the rise of grain, enter not into his calculations, 'but he turns with a longing eye to his far-dlistant destination in the west, and he starves, and grinds, and toils, not for the good of the land which gave him birth, but to amass and husband the means which are to transport him for ever from his once-loved Erin. The friends who now accompany the band Even In the northern, and more independent and comfortable, because more educated and industrious counties, a certain season, usually in spring, was set apart for emigrating, and it was always one of mourning and lamentation. In the west, during the emigrating season, of late years, the canal company were obliged to employ police to travel with the packet-boat, in order to keep back and preserve order among tae crowds; which rushed on board whenever the vessel approached a landing-place. About five years ago, a frightful accident occurred upon the Royal Canal, near Dublin; the boat was overpowered by numbers both of emigrants and their friends, and sinking with great rapidity, upwards of fourteen persons were drowned. Of emigrants to the railway terminus part as if they were but going into the next County-, "Well, Jim, God be with you, and a safe journey to you; take care of the woman that owns you, and remember me to Biddy Sullivan. Tell her I'll be after you agin Aesther." The bell rings, the shrill whistle of the engine gives the warning note, and the parting is over.