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[From the Irishman, June 6.]
BY THE GRAVE OF MICHAEL BARRETT.
APTBR THE BATTLE.
This is ft bright day, a bright May dfty
over all England. The evening light falls
fair in many a lane out amidst the fields of
this favored country, where the hedge
rows are white already with the hawthorn
blossoms, and the airs are heavy laden
with the breath of the wild flower and
the blooms of the trees. The rustic is
waiting just about this moment to hear the
strokes of the great bell at the Manor
houses of the land, until he turns home
ward from his labor in mead or plough
land ; and within the huge hives of manu
facture the artisans, far in the labyrinth of
the cities and towns of wealthy Britain,
hold their ears attentive for the first note
from the brazen throat, that ever warns
them to rest, for the day’s wage is won.
IN TUB OLD BAILEY YARD
the light falls as beauteous and as subdued
as where it flecks the forest shadows with
its chastened gleaming. It glints like a
smile upon the hard and grimy coping of
the walls, and pours itself across them and
down here where I stand, as if there were
no hindrance to joy and glory living and
abiding in this place ot pain. The dull
semi-diaphanous panes that are set in the
buildings around—set into casements
whose metallic sternness seems designed to
keep out even the day, if possible, from
the prisoners within the cells, which they
mock with feeble light—appear to have
refused the gleams ot the sun any passage
further than the bars. They flash redly all
the radiance back, and glow as though they
were aflame. I gaze at them across a grave
whose occupant not yet lies within its nar
row precincts. The clay, dank, and min
gled with the old city debris, is thrown up
in heaps upon each side. It is some five
feet deep as I look down into it, and seems
sodden with moisture. A heap of quick
lime has just been brought in, and lies near
the wall, which I see hears upon its sur
face many letters inscribed at different
places. I decipher them but too easily. I
stand in the path where many a murderer
has walked to the gallows. It is the place
of shameful graves, and within this one at
my feet, though I see no shade of shame
upon it, in an hour or less all that was
mortal of
MICHAEL BARRETT
will repose. But, now, I cannot stay here
to muse, for not a hundred paces from me
lies, in his coffin, the strangled Irishman ;
and I wish to look on the clay of which a
proud and gallant man was made, ere it is
returned to the dust from whence alone
the trumpet of the Angel can recall it. I
pass onward, with whom it is not for me
to tell, hut, in a brief space, I stand in the
apartment where the dead shell holds the
inanimate corpse of a human being, this
morning instinct with life, haughty with
mind, fearless with faith.
OYER TIIE SLAIN.
I stand above the dead, and move the
lid of the frail coffin down a little, that I
may see all to be seen of him that the
Government would not spare in life, and
who has suffered, at its command, * the
short shrift of the hangman’s halter.
There is a shadow here, but the face is dis
tinct before my gaze, and never will I for
get it. 1 was prepared to look upon a dis
torted visage, where the ensanguined eyes
glared horribly in death, where the veins
stood swollen out in knotted prominence,
and the blood was to be marked as it start
ed from bursting lips and turgid tissues.
My imagination is mocked by the peace and
calm of this unaltered face. If this man
but slept, no more tranquil expression
could reign above his brow, than that
which places the seal of repose upon it
now. The eyes are closed as if in languor,
the mouth is partially opened, and the
teeth, white and even, show some little
through the moustache that covers the mo
tionless lips. There is no distortion of a
single lineament, no expression of agony
upon any feature. They are still as if
carved out of marble, and they are livid
with the hues of death. The head turns
limply as it is moved, and leans rather to
the left side. There is a depression be
neath the ear, where the fatal noose rested,
anti a dark wale encircles the throat where
the rope tightened with deadly gripe until
jile went out with its pulses of brief agony.
There is no horror in this sight. There is
no testimony of a struggle, of torture pro
longed until death was a mercy. No dis
tortion appals the gazer with its evidence
of more than mortal pangs. This victim
of the vengeance of the law died in the
lirst shock ot his tall. His neck was dislo
cated by its force, and the vital play of
the fine nervous organism with which he
was endued ceased ere the sullen thud
which announced his precipitation from
nte, fell upon the ear of the congregated
v i o\\ ds that gathered to witness his immo
iation. I replace the lid upon the shell,
and cover up his face. No decent winding
sheet is to enclose the body from which
c.ie soul was so lately riven. There are no
cerements of death to give it the appear
ance of human care; the hangman alone
18 to do the last offices to this fine human
day ; and lie has done it, so far, with a
' angman’s tenderness-no less and no more.
TEACE TO THE DEAD.
So l>e it. Little it matters to the noblest
must ot the dead, now, what indignity is
none it. Here I shall wait to see it con
sJgned in the murderer’s path, to this clay,
u ;th which it is not kindred, and in the
,! '- I;m! fine, there will he those far and near
w.io will think over
THE CAREER
that is here closed. Those who knew him
best prized Michael Barrett most. Gifted
with an acute mind, clear and logical, the
hours he could spare for its culture were
employed in it. No one ever expected
the melancholy evidence of that care and
that culture which he afforded upon the
occasion of his reply to the question “why
sentence of death should not be passed
upon him ?” but there could be no more
forcible testimony to it than that given
when, in his own language, “he stood
looking into his grave,” and separated
from living men by the inexorable guar
dians of the dock.
HE DIED IN TUB FLUBII OB YOUTH,
Twenty-seven years had hardly sped across
his brow since, amid the mountains of
what was once the territory of the Ma
guire, his eyes first saw the light. In the
little town of Kesh, close by the bright
waters of the Erne Lakes, Michael Bar
rett was born, in the year 1841, of humble
parentage. The great heart of the coun
try was beginning to throb high with the
inspirations of nationalty, and, as yet, it
was unshadowed by famine or fear, for
there were nine millions of people in the
land. The child grew into a fair and
comely hoy, with the keen wit and cool
calculation of that Northern province,
amongst whom he lived, tempering the
warm impulses of his generous and im
petuous Celtic nature. Gentle and re
served, the characteristics of these quali
ties could be read in his open brow, fine
sparkling eyes, and pleasing symmetrical
features—features that, in the mournful
gloom of the day when he was sentenced
to die by the hanging’s gripe, extorted
from one who looked upon him with no
sympathy, the exclamation that he never
beheld “a more prepossessing face.” Poor
though his parents were, they had that
appreciation for learning, which is a trait
of Irish character, and the hoy, Michael
Barrett, evinced his own desire for mental
progress by the assiduity with which he
sought such teaching as the village school
could afford. So long as he could remain
at the task of acquiring knowledge the boy
gladly availed himself of it* opportunities;
but the time, at last, came, when the little
household needed his strong arm and his
hearty will, to aid in keeping the wolf from
the door. His school days were over, and
the stern work of the world, wherein his
life was to be so brief, began. Little re
cord is to he had of the days of one so
lowly, beyond that which tells the world
that none impeached his fair fame amidst all
the exigencies of his humble lot; hut his
struggles must have been hard, for the next
incident of note in his memory is, that he
enlisted in the County Donegal Artillery
Militia, and gained the same respect and
regard amongst his comrades in the ranks,
which appear to have followed him even
to his unconsecrated grave in the Acelda
ma, behind the gallows. Like many an
other Irishman he found that he too should
quit the shores he loved and to live should
emigrate.
' FIVE OR SIX YEARS SINCE
the young Irishman arrived in Glasgow,
and was occupied in various employments
from time to time, always with credit to
himself. His appearance and his manner
were eminently favorable to himself. Al
ways dressed with scrupulous care and
neatness, his figure, although rather below
the middle height, always appeared to
great advantage. Powerful in chest and
limb, although stongly, lie was not coarsely
formed, and lithe and supple, his move
ments were as graceful as those of an ath
lete. As lie walk to or from his work, with
the frank smile he always bore for his
friends, there were few whose presence
was so manly and striking. Beyond his
duties he was not much known in public,
and in politics, except upon some occasion
when he considered he w’as hound to speak
the ‘faith that was in him,” his voice was
heard less often than his presence might he
noted.
now HE SPOKE.
When, upon those occasions, he felt
himself compelled to utter his creed, his
language grew warm, his eyes lit up, and
his whole appearance became enthusiastic
with his thought. Always professing the
utmost devotion to his country, always
moved to pathos when he spoke of her
sufferings and her wrongs, loving Ireland
as his motherland, an unutterable firmness
of demeanor joined itself always to his
spoken sentiments. He ever field that
there were occasions when the name and
cause of country would render necessary,
not only the most ultimate, hut even the
most hopeless sacrifices for their sake, and
that however men might reck of them, it
was upon such au occasion a glory and a
joy to die. Such a man could not be fully
appreciated. His sincerity was as deep as
heroism and the great promptings of self
sacrifice could make it. Those who beheld
the clear and quiet surface of his life could
not imagine the intensity of his pat riotism.
The spring was too deep to brawl like
shallower streams. Only a hero could com
prehend the Irish patriot, poor and proud
as that Roman of old who followed his
plough and refused the gold and honors of
the stranger to win his heart from father
land. Whilst in Glasgow, one of his favor
ite amusements was to attend the sittings
fit the Democratic Hall, which is a sort of
institute used by a debating club composed
of the public who go there. Questions
of all descriptions, mostly political, some
times polemical, are discussed by that class
of persons who are anxious to hear them
seWes speaking. Sometimes a great deal
or ability is displayed by the debaters in the
Hall. Sometimes a great deal of platitude
l MMIBB 11l MM3L ii
and tongued absurdity is uttered therein to
the great satisfaction of the utterers. In
these debates the forms of the Irish Ques
tion “turned up” now and then, and
Michael Barrett sate, with all his keen,
logical perception, and ready grasp of
reasoning, to hear it mangled. Yet with
all his love of Ireland nestling so deep at
his heart, and with all his power of ex
pression resting on his tongue, he spoke
not above twice amongst the pretentious
debaters, and then with crushing effect
and pre-eminent talent. His was, in most
things, a life of silent loyalty to his native
land, a loyalty exalted by exhaustless love
for Ireland. There are no public memories
of the man to he chronicled by me beyond
those, and the prominent part he took in
the torchlight demonstration for the Man
chester victims. Others have told the rest.
They have told the mournful story of hi 9
accusation and of his trial. They have
told of that marvellous firmness with which
he confronted the sentence of his doom.
They have told how not a limb quivered,
not a nerve wa9 false to the gallant man
hood which was Michael Barrett.
IN THE CONDEMNED HOLD.
After the episode which forms that
record of his days, there came the hours
which he was to pass in prison, and of
which the tale is brief and pithy; from the
moment in which he entered the condemn
ed cell, to those on that last supreme
morning when he left it, his time, his
thoughts, his being, seemed devoted but to
the one purpose, of preparing himself for
the solemn advent of Eternity. He had
cast mortality, its pangs, its hopes, and
fears from him, and rose beyond the
thought of agony and death. “I long to
be free once more,” he said to one who
spoke with him. He continued—“ What is
life, at best, but a prison, and if it has
been spent in duty, a man can face the
opening of its gates with immortal freedom
to bid him welcome it.”
ALONE.
The lingering days, intervening between
his condemnation, were rarely interrupted
by any other visitors save Dr. Hussey, who
let not one day pass over his head without
bearing the blessings of his ministry of
peace to the doomed Irishman. Hours
passed in their converses of the world
to which he was hastening so rapidly. No
relatives pressed at the prison gate for
the poor favor of grasping his hand or
bidding him farewell for ever. Barrett
has hut one near relative living, who is
now’ in India, and who is not yet aw r ar© of
the doom of the friend who shared his
youthful sports, and who lay dow r n to rest
in the innocence and joy of youth beside
him. This was almost as well. The
bravest feel a pang in parting w ith those
whose names are entwined w’ith the tender
memories of childhood. The stoutest
hearts are often the most tender, and it
w r as better that this should he spared the
slightest touch of sorrow or yearning be
yond its own brave bearing. He desired
to face his doom unshrinking, and looked
at death as though it had no fear for him.
* NO QUAILING.
So he seemed to feel all through this
ordeal. The days went by, growing shorter
and shorter in the number of those allotted
to him ; and he sometimes reckoned them
as though he had nothing to care for that
they should he longer. Some of those
with wiiom he was in relation during liis
trial came to see him. His legal advisers
did not forget him, but visited him in his
cell. The same quiet, self-possessed man
ner welcomed them upon those occasions
that was his characteristic when hope of
life w r as not shut out by the iron bars and
iron doors of the dungeon of the doomed.
Upon one of those instances his speech w r as
spoken of tor its force, power, and patriot
fervor. Barrett smiled calmly. “lie only
said that which he felt,” he answered.
“He had hut one life, and that was too
little
FOR HIS COUNTRY.”
He showed that on the morning of his
doom. During the previous night he slept
soundly and undisturbed by the presence
of the Warders. A child at the bosom of
its mother could not rest more tranquil.
But at length his last sleep w r as over, and
Michael Barrett rose to make his toilet for
the scaffold. This is soon over, and he
asks the w’arders if the Rev. Dr. Hussey
has come. He is told that he has not yet
arrived, hut is expected immediately. He
is then asked w’ill he take breakfast?
“No! he must w r ait for Dr. Hussey !”
NEAR TIIB HOUR.
He has not long to w r ait, for the hours
are few, and hut a little time passes ere his
Confessor is with him. Barrett smiles as
welcomes his assiduous Chaplain, and after
a warm and kindly greeting he enters upon
prayer with the zealous Priest. A brief
period of privacy is given the dying man
and his spiritual father, and the warders re
tire. When they comeback preparations are
made for the administration of the Blessed
Sacrament to this child of Catholic Ireland,
and from his Pastor he receives the Holy
Eucharist. He remains kneeling in prayer
for a short time, and then the great hell
of St. Sepulchre booms out the first strokes
of his death-knell. The sullen warning
enters with unholy omen into the crypts of
the jail, and clings in resonance to its walls.
Barrett knows what it means, hut his eye
is as bright, ljis cheek as instinct with life
as though it were a day of festival for him,
and not of death.
“ I must get ready,” he says, and as if to
echo his words the Sheriffs enter with the
Warders. There is a brief conversation,
hut it means much. They are about to
hand him over to the executioner, can they
co anything for him l No! they cannot
He is grateful to the officers of the prison*
they were kind to him each and all. The
Sheriffs retire, and Michael Barrett
18 WAITING FOR THE HANGMAN.
The Rev. Dr. llus9ey comes in, for lie
had left the cell, and Calcraft follows him
with the Warders in charge and some of
the other officials. Barrett’s quick eye
lights up as he sees him. With fawning
manner, the hoary-headed man of blood,
after a few words, proceeds to pinion his
arms, and all eyes are turned to the man
who Las to endure the hangman as he
comes to the preliminary of his office of
slaughter. As if fearing those around him
are discomposed at such a scene, Barrett
smiles quietly and almost radiantly. The
first act in the tragedy is done. He is hade
walk forth out of his cell. A procession is
formed, Dr. Hussey side by side with the
doomed but dauntless man, who treads as
lightly on the prison pathway as he did
in the meadows by Erne’s shores. With
Crucifix held before him, the Priest begins
the Litany for the Soul Departing. Quietly,
firmly, with heart full of courage and soul
full of faith, the responses rise from
Michael Barrett’s lips. His voice is clear
as a bell, and his bearing steady as that of
a martyr.
“ THE MIDDLE PASSAGE.”
He passes along the dolorous way to exe
cution, and those that follow him wonder
with a great wonder that, with their own
hearts shaken, Michael Barrett quails not,
quivers not, shakes not. They wonder
that no muscle is moved, no nerve
jarred in this living being given up to
death. They do not comprehend the
secret of his courage. It is the spirit of
his sacrifice. It is not in Death to he
of horror for him so that it may serve
Ireland. The grave has no sting, the
gallows no victory. Where could these
learn such a lesson ?
TWELVE HOURS HAVE PASSED
sine© that scene, and the last now is closing
on the lifeless body that then breathed,
moved and thought. A few officials enter
this temporary channel. They look at the
placid face, and one points out that the
beard of Barrett has changed since his exe
cution from its chesnut shade to deepest
black. It is hut an incident of prison
memory. The rough battens nail down
the coffin lid. In the hands of a few of
the officers it is borne forth to its last rest
ing place and plunged roughly into the
black gulf that yawns for its reception.
IN THE CHARNEL.
The quick-lime against the wall is flung
over thickly until it covers the coffin with
its burning mass. The heaps of clay are
shovelled in soon. The grave is rapidly
filled up, and the slabs of flag in the prison
yard laid over it. The deed is done, the
dust is returned to the dust, and the spirit
alone lives with an immortality that no
cruelty could conquer, no law render futile.
A Warder walks across the spot where this
political victim lies amidst the felon crew
of the Old Bailey yard. No prayer is said
above the dead—no emblem of faith will
mark the spot where the strangled body
lies. Days will come and days will go,
hut no pilgrim filled with admiration for
the courage of this man, filled with admi
ration for his talents and devotion, will
he attracted from afar to kneel by the spot
where all that was mortal of the Irishman
awaits the summons to the awful tribunal
in Jehosaphat.
IRISH EMIGRANTS WANTED SOUTH
We are indebted to our friend, John
Dowling, Esq., of Washington city, for the
following extracts of a letter from a
member of the Dowling family, of
Barnwell District. S. C., earnestly invit
ing immigration of Irish settlers to that
neighborhood. We are assured that the
writer is highly educated and perfectly
reliable; and that the family, although
long-settled in the South, are strongly at
tached to the people of their ancestral
land, and would afford every possible fa
cility and aid to such of them as desired
to make that portion of the “Sunny
South” their future homes :— Pilot.
Graham’s Turn-out, S. C„ May—.
“When I had nothing to do but com
mand, and indeed very little of that, and
knew nothing about my keys, or what
was coming on my table, iny indisposi
tions were legion. When I heard the
Negroes were free, I determined to live
as independently as possible. Now, every
hour has some useful occupation, and I
have been sick but three days iu as many
years. 1 have not had a Negro cook since
I left, the year after the war closed, and
I attend, with occasional assistance, to all
mv household affairs.
“The Negro has become our deadly
enemy, solely through the instrumentali
ty and malign influence of the Radicals.
But, notwithstanding, we are compelled
to employ them on our farms, because we
have not the white laborers. One white
man will do as much as three blacks.
The negro, however, like the Indians, is
doomed gradually to pass away. Few of
them are honest, and a great man}’ live
entirely by stealing. Our only hope is
in immigration. The whites throughout
the State generally favor it, since the free
Negro has proved a failure and a nui
sance. We want a leader —someone to
get the thing fairly started—and 1 am
convinced the first comers would be so
well pleased that they would encourage
their friends to follow. The industrious
white man is everywhere sought for. If
you know of industrious persons from or
m Ireland, in quest of good locations
among a sympathising people, let them
know we have plenty of houses and
lands, and would most gladly receive
them. By this means, you would and
might benefit them as well as us. The
Negro will no longer be in their way*
The whites, from their superior industry,
get higher wages than the blacks. I can
assure twenty families they can here find
homes within five miles of each other,
upon the best land in the country. The
poorest lands generally belong to the al
ways poor people, where the ntgro is al
lowed to build his shanty, and plunder
his more fortunate neighbor. The Irish
immigrants will be favored and encour
aged by all the respectable whites. If
you know any willing to come, let me
know, when (Autumn and Winter of
course,)conveyances will be at the rail
road depot to take them to the country.
All my neighbors want them, and I want
my husband’s lands occupied exclusively
by whites. I can then rest in ease and
happiness. When the settlers become
able, by the savings of their industry,
they can buy, on easy terms, the other
wise vacant land. So anxious are they
to have them, that some few express a
willingness to donate land.
“To show you the extent of the steal
ing going on, I will give you an instance:
my neighbors, who had anything, suffered
in an equal proportion. My kitchen has
been broken open four times, rye house
once, and corn crib five times within
one month.
“This will account for our anxiety to
get white settlers.
“Yours, &c., E. M. D ”
Address E. M. D., Graham’s Turn-out,
S. C.
GENERAL FORREST.
The Conservatives of Memphis and
Shelby county, Teun., held a mass meeting
in Memphis on the Ist June. The Ledger
reports Gen. Forrest’s speech as follows:
Gen. Forrest also addressed the conven
tion briefly, and was listened to with much
interest. He hoped to pass the evening
without being called before the meeting.
As he had been called out, however, he
would say something. He felt that the
meeting had passed off most harmoniously,
and he was pleased to see it. He hoped it
was an earnest of the spirit which will
characterize the Democracy everywhere
throughout the pending Presidential con
test. He saw before him the faces of
many who, during the war, were on the
Federal side. To such he was now pre
pared to extend the hand of fellowship, and
put shoulder to shoulder, in advancing the
cause of conservatism. He had long
sheathed the sword and buried the hatchet.
He only regretted that there were those
who had not done so. lie did not blame
the North for the existing condition of
things in the South, hut the Radical party,
who were in power wdien the war closed,
and might have restored peace, and har
mony, and prosperity to the country. He
was willing to join the Northern Democra
cy in the struggle to put Radicalism under
foot. He wished to see the Union and
the Constitution restored. There was no
time during the war when he would
not have been glad to have taken the old
flag in one hand and the Constitution in
the other, and defended them even unto
death. He was then fighting fanaticism,
and he was ready to fight it still. He then
briefly alluded to some remark which had
been made by a previous speaker relative
to the Federal dead in the National Ceme
tery ; and there was not a soldier, Fede
ral or Confederate, whose grave he was
not ready to protect and honor. There
were those on both sides during the war
who shirked all responsibility and kept
out of danger. There were others who,
on both sides, fought the battle through to
the end, and such he saw’ around him to
night. He wanted such sent to the Na
tional Convention. He wanted true men
put forward, such us were true on both
sides during the war and can he trusted
yet. He wished to see all prejudices laid
aside, as he hoped to see the South support
the nominee of the New York Convention,
whoever he may be, so that he is the
standard bearer of Conservatism.
Some very appropriate remarks, in re
sponse to the General s remarks were made
by Capt. T. B. Edgington, a Northern man
by birtli and an ex-Federal soldier.
Lecture by Father Ryan. —Last even
ing Father A. J. Ryan delivered a lecture
at the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist,
the subject of which was the disputed
doctrines of the Roman Catholic Church.
There was a very large attendance, and
the eloquent speaker was listened to with
marked attention.
[Sav. Eepublicaji , June 19.
Nothing is more common than to talk of
a Iriend ; nothing is more difficult than to
find one; nothing is more rare than to im
prove one as we ought.
You may joke when you please, if
you are careful to please when you joke.
7