[For the Banner of the South.]
A Woman’s Way.
just »3 you wish; /rum, jxis id,
•Twas here yon plueked the mignonette,
And made that pretty speech to me,
I have the withered blossom yet;
Now, you talk loudly of caprice,
And petulance—well, that may be;
I'm willing that this folly cease
Forevermore; mais, pas id.
That night your eyes shone azure blue—
They wear a tinge of green to-day;
fnat night I dreamed one friend vra3 true—
But morning chased the dream away;
You speak of an nuquiet heart,
A dreary future; that may be;
>Tis best, perhaps, we two should part,
And that for aye; mais, pas id.
It must be ? Well, This moment too,
We’ll both forget it in an hour;
Time for the green to shade the blue,
For me to burn my withered flower;
You call me cold, but why dissemble ?
Eh him, what would you have me be ?
This chill twilight makes one tremble,
So let us part; mais, pas ainsi.
Not as friends do, with sobs uprising
For hopes they cannot but recall;
With no hand clasping; half disguising
Truth that must stand for each and all;
Good-by, then, it will not distress you
To know that wc shall meet no more;
(You need not hear my low God bless you;)
Stay! Did you whisper pas encore ?
When, if not now? Friend, not delaying
Can make life other than it is;
Was that a tear ? Their’s no gainsaying
Something unpleasant breathes in this.
The stars shine out. and in their gleaming
Your eyes look softly, brightly, blue;
That pas encore has set me dreaming,
What if we made it pas du tout ?
Fidelia,
LETTER FROM JOHN MARTIN.
Kilbroney, llostrevor, June 3.
Dear Sir : I regard the execution of
Barrett as another experiment in the same
policy as that which dictated the execu
tion of the three Irishmen at Manchester
in November last—the policy of endeav
oring to stamp out Irish disaffection by
ultra-legal, or by arbitrary measures of
violence and vengeance. At London, as
at Manchester, the offence of attempting
to rescue or release prisoners, has been,
for the purpose of that policy, treated by
the English law courts as murder. And
in all the cases, of the three Irishmen
hanged at Manchester in November last,
of the two Irishmen (Thompson and
Melody,) convicted of murder, but not
banged, at Manchester, in March last, as
well as in the case of Michael Barrett, at
London, the convictions have been ob
tained upon evidence, which is consider
ed by me, and by the vast majority of
Irishmen in Ireland and throughout the
world, to be insufficient for conviction on
any charge whatsoever.
It is thus my opinion—and I think it
is the opinion of the vast majority of
Irishmen throughout the world—that the
English, for the purpose of repressing the
discontent entertained against their rule
in Ireland, and of keeping the • Irish
people, with all the resources of Ireland,
in subjection, have deliberately adopted a
policy inconsistent with justice, with con
stitutional rights, and with law. In my
opinion such a policy will prove inconsis
tent also with common sense. If, in
deed all the Irish people were confined to
Ireland, or to land under the English
Dominion, such a policy, steadily and
ruthlessly pursued for a long time, might
succeed in silencing all discontent, and
even in confounding all sentiment of
wrong in the mind of the Irish subjects
of England. But with some millions of
Irish, or Irish and sons and daughters of
Irish, in the United States, it seems to
me gross folly to calculate upon effecting
by such a policy any change in Irish
opinion, that can prove favorable to the
English interest. It has come to this,
that the English acknowledge before the
world that they can no longer keep pos
session of the wealth of Ireland, and abuse
the Irish people for English profit or ca
price, except by the open and constant
employment of brute force. The Eng
isii, as yet, so cling to their money profits
out ot her subjection, as well as to the
gratification of their hatred and pride, in
ruling us against our own consent, that
they refuse to let us alone and live be
dde us as inoffensive, free, friendly
neighbors. They hold on to their rule
i y In uto foice , but tor sake of their con
si ltutional reputation in the civilized
voild, they lcsort to various measures,
tii of coeieion and of persuasion, in the
■ ;O P° reconciling us to remain in uuiet
subjection to their rule. Os all their
measures, this one of violating law for
purposes of making terrible examples of
disaffected Irishmen, seems to me one of
the most ill-judged. It is taken in per
verse ignorance of the instinctive love %:
justice, which is a striking trait in the
Irish character. To mere force, to su
perior force, honestly and manfully em
ployed, the Irish will, after testing it,
readily yield. They will not consent to
■ ol wrong right, or falsehood truth, nor
to worship the devil for God; but they
will submit frankly to the irresistible,
and, if England resolves to hold posses
sion of our money and our persons till the
bitter end, I say that the best policy, by
far, is to keep the habeas corpus perma
nently suspended, to abolish all parliamen
tary representation for Ireland, to with
draw the courts of law, to suppress all
Irish newspapers, and to govern this
country by a sufficient army of soldiers
and police, under command of a respon
sible commander. Lord Strathnairn,
with his Indian experience, will serve for
the purpose as well as any otl er. Under
such a system, Ireland would remain tran
quil—that is, unresisting—so long as
England may be able to avert a war with
America, or with France; and, I am con
fident, w ith far less hatred, and fewer
bloody collisions between the two
peoples than at present, and with far less
of suffering to the Irish, while the profits
of England would not be diminished.
But this mixed system of war and law—
of war under a thin masque, and law not
real but travestied—is far worse, for both
the Irish interest and the English interest,
than would be the rule of the naked
sword, We may take it for granted that,
except by the help of the sword, (and
the spy), English rule can no longer
maintain itself in Ireland. Mr. Glad
stone and his party on the one hand, and
Mr. Disraeli and his party on the other,
are, indeed, busied with non-military
schemes for enabling England to hold our
country without open coercion; but they
will fail, both of them. The Irish can never,
by any amelioration of English legisla
tion, by any elimination of the youth,
strength, spirit, intelligence of Ireland,
through emigration or imprisonment, by
any processes of emasculation, corrup
tion, delusion, possible for England to ap
ply, be rendered contented subjects to the
English. The Union must be repealed,
or else revolution, with all its bloodshed
and confusion, will surely be upon us—
and upon the English too —upon the first
outbreak of war with the United States
or with France. Till the outbreak of that
war there will be time for us and for the
English to make a peaceful settlement of
our paternal relations. Repeal will end
all our quarrel, and will make the two
peoples good neighbors, friendly and help
ful to each other, if the English will be
content to have their own property, and
to let us have ours. But, if Repeal do
not come, then Revolution is our inevita
ble late—and Revolution which will
make a horror of anarchy in England,
such as the French Reign of Terror was
but a faint premonitory shadow of.
It is with such speculations in my
mind that I lament the impolicy of con
victing Michael Barrett, upon evidence
that I deem insufficient, and of hanging
him for murder, when the offence alleged
against him was really but constructive
manslaughter. He was convicted upon
insufficient evidence, in my opinion, be
cause he was an Irishman, and he was
hanged because he was an Irishman; and
his execution was, in my opinion, apoliti
cal murder.
If such were my opinions only, the
English need not care ; but they are the
opinions, not only of me, but of the vast
majority of the Irish throughout the
world.
I am, dear sir, sincerely yours,
John Martin.
[lrishman, June 0.
From the “Irishman.”
A STARTLING PICTURE.
“again dead in her cell.”
There cannot be too much known con
cerning the treatment of the political pris
oners who lie in durance under the warrant
of the Lord Lieutenant in Irish jails. A
cloud of secrecy is raised around them by
the iron rule of officialism. They are
bolted and barred out from society, they
are restricted in communication with their
friends. The nearest relatives only are
permitted to see them, and then at inter
vals of a week. Most of their relatives,
and all who are not relatives, are debarred
from seeing them at all.
The whole system is a system of secrecy.
The jargon of the French Revolution de
nominated the denizens of the Bastile
“suspects,” but it made no secret about
how these suspects were treated. There
was no care taken to hide their misery ro
the indignity under which they suffered
from observation, and the prisoners in the
Bastile never endured what the prisoners
of the Irish lettres de cachet suffer, because
an impenetrable gloom is lifted between
them and the public eye, and within its
darkness the autocrats of the dungeon ex
ercise their power of punishment with a
will which bears no gainsaying to its pur
poses.
It is worth public question, therefore,
whether a prisoner died within Mountjoy
gates at some date within a fortnight past
—whether the prisoner died suddenly and
at night, and that no inquest was held
upon the remains, as is usual in such cases?
It this be answered in the affirmative,
we believe the matter will not stop here.
M e shall take care that it will go farther,
BMflgß ©I TEB MMUR.
and that the cause will be made clear why
there was no inquest.
As it stands, it will be suspected that
this secrecy is carried on with a view. It
will he said that the authorities are timid
in any manner to let the light of public
knowledge gain a ray from Mountjoy—
that they are fearful of investigation "ap
proaching at all near its precincts—that
they dread its touch upon its Avails as
though it were dangerous to the continu
ance of the system which it cherishes so
dearly.
It does not at all weaken the point we
desire to press that this prisoner was not
a political “suspect,” that this prisoner
was not one of the “untried,” but was a
convict and a woman. The chiefs of jail
rule in Ireland did much to cloak jail
treatment in the case of the convict
Lynagh, who died in Mountjoy, upon whom
an inquest was held, and whose treatment
awoke the thunders of Parliament and the
attention of Ireland.
The interests of the untried prisoners are
not far away from that public vigilance
which watches the welfare of those who
are convicted, and watchfulness in the one
case may save many an injustice from being
perpetrated in the other.
Ilere a female prisoner is alleged to have
died in the jail under peculiar circum
stances. It our information be correct, she
had been ailing and was directed by the
matron to be removed to Hospital. From
the Hospital she was again, by orders of
the medical officer, transferred to her cell,
and in her cell she died in the night.
There was much noise over the fate of
Lynagh. Why is there none over that of
this unknown? Why was there not an
inquest held upon her body ? Lynagh
died of a disease that was clear and slow r
in its ravages of destruction. Os what
disease did the girl perish who died in the
night, who was returned from the Hospital
to her cell, and there gave up the ghost?
There is more addition still to this event
of darkness, it our information be correct.
She died at night, she died in her cell, it is
true, but it was even rumored that it was
the prisoner in the cell above hers that
first became aware that she was in the
throes of mortal agony. Terrible at all
times, what a terrible form death assumed
here ! If no human aid came with sign of
human tenderness to smooth the painful
passage from life to eternity, or to calm
the convulsive quiverings amid whose tor
ture she perished. If all be true we have
heard, no such mercy was vouchsafed her,
and when her cell door was unbarred, she
was a corpse.
Why was there no inquest here ? Too
much clearness cannot be insisted upon in
such a case as this. The country for
which they suffer is bound to see that no
case can arise which may form a precedent
for the treatment of political prisoners liv
ing in the cells of Government jails. If
one of these men were to die to-morrow,
if the death of this woman can he shrouded
within the lines of official expediency, who
could force inquiry into the other case?
This is no case to be lightly passed over.
It is not one to he forgotten or let die un
noticed. The Greeks had a proverb that
it was not safe to disturb the Lake Cama
rilla—have the authorities an axiom cur
rent in their minds that it is dangerous to
permit a meddlesome public to disturb the
stagnant airs which have settled down
over Mountjoy ?
POLITICAL SLANDER,
The British public have now* before
them the full and authentic account of the
trial of O’Farrell, for the attempt to assas
sinate the Duke of Edinburg. The im
pression which that account is calculated
to produce is, that the wretched man has
been sacrificed to an outburst of public
fury, like that to which Bellingham, the
assassin of Mr. Percival, fell a victim in
1811. Bellingham, it will be recollected,
shot Mr. Percival, the then Prime Minis
ter, in the lobby of the House of Com
mons. In the very midst of the fever of
public indignation, excited by his crime,
the assassin was hurried to his trial and
his doom. The defence of insanity was
set up for him, but rejected by a jury,
who, too faithfully reflected the public
passions. All jurists who have since writ
ten on the subject have condemned the
conviction and execution of Bellingham,
as an act of haste and of passion. No one
will read the proceedings of O’Farrell’s
trial, who will not feel that the same judg
ment must be pronounced upon the ver
dict that consigned O’Farrell to his doom.
The line that separates criminal responsi
bility from the state of mind that exempts
a man from guilt, is not and cannot be very
well defined. Without throwing any blame
upon the Australian jury who tried O’Far
rell, we may safely say that if it had been
an ordinary case, in which the public feel
ing was not strongly stirred against the
perpetration of the crime, the jury would
have accepted the plea which excused
O’Farrell on the ground of mental aber
ration.
We do not recur to the subject with any
view of discussing the propriety of the
verdict. There is a point of view in
which it is of some importance to advert
to the admitted facts of the case. It is
now porfecily plain that O'Farrell comrnit
the act under the influence of a perverted
condition of intellect which amounted to
a murderous propensity. Whether or not
that propensity reached the point which
exempted him from criminal responsibility
for yielding to it, is a question beside our
present purpose. It is indisputable that,
like Hatfield, who attempted the life of
George the Third, or Oxford who fired a
pistol at Queen Victoria, O'Farrell acted
under an unreasonable impulse, which
prompted him to kill a royal personage.
The jury found in his case that the impulse
was not so overpowering as to destroy all
perception of right or wrong. They did
so after long deliberation. That the un
reasonable impulse existed, there was no
doubt. The only question was, whether it
was strong enough to overpower all reason
and all moral sense.
The publication of the trial refutes all
pretence for saying that the offence was a
political one. That the assassin had any
accomplices; is disproved. The act is now
admitted to have been that of a solitary
and isolated individual, prompted by mo
tives or impulses which it is not easy to
bring within the range of rational intelli
gence. No one at the trial attempted to
give to the act any other character than
that of an outrageous act of an individual
whose sanity was the proper subject of in
quiry.
Let us recall to the memory of our
readers the use which was made of the in
telligence when the electric telegraph
flashed it to our shores. The Colonial
Government did not hesitate to telegraph
information that “the assassin had con
fessed himself a Fenian.” implying that the
assassination was of Fenian origin. The
lie was more circumstantially stated in
Government journals, which positively an
nounced that the crime had been attempted
in consequence of orders issued from Ire
land. All these statements are now proved
to be absolute and unmitigated falsehoods.
The attempted assassination of the Prince
had just as much connection with Fenian
ism as the attempt of Oxford on the Queen's
life had with the English Chartists, or with
the English Corn Law League. AVe can
remember, indeed, the time when Mr.
Drummond, the Secretary of Sir Robert
Peel, was assassinated in the streets by a
maniac who mistook him for Sir Robert.
The attempt was charged upon Mr. Cobdeu
and Mr. Bright.
It was a strange thing that it was re
served for an Orange member of the House
of Commons to call attention to the dis
honest and anti-Irish use which has been
made of this maniacal attempt upon the
life of the Queen’s son. Mr. Verner, the
member for Lisburn, very properly asked
of the Government whether they would
not take steps to refute the slanders which
have been uttered against the Irish nation.
The truth is, that this system of slandering
“Fenianism,” is one against which all
Irishmen, of all political opinions, should
protest. The charges against “Fenianism”
are used to blacken Ireland. There is no
one who joins in the falsehood, absurd as
it is, which imputes assassination to the
Fenians, who is not lending himself to the
slander that fastens the crime on the Irish
people. None can complain if Fenians are
denounced for the thing for which they
are really responsible. All Irishmen have
a right to complain when they are held up
to public odium by the slanderous imputa
tion of imaginary crimes.
An association, or conspiracy, exists
among Irishmen, which contemplates the
achievement of Irish independence by
force of arms. No one, in his right
senses, can deny, that men, contemplating
such an object, are criminals, of a very
grievous character, in the eye of the law.
It is perfectly fair to charge upon them
all the criminality which belongs to legal
guilt. It is fair to impute to
them all the responsibility which belongs
to those who attempt to subvert existing
Government by force. Os all that is in
volved in these imputations, tine Fenians
are, in fact, convicted by their own con
fession. They must be judged as men,
think of the Government they are endeav
oring to subvert as they estimate the pro
priety of resistance to constituted authori
ty, and as they calculate the provocation
to revolt which Ireland has received.
But no matter what opinions may be
formed upon all or any of these questions,
all Irishmen are interested in refuting and
denouncing slanders such as those to
which we have adverted. Every man who
regards impartially the present condition
of Ireland must admit that it is one under
which high-minded and honorable men
may be drawn into projects which seek
redress for our grievances by revolt. Such
an admission is perfectly consistent with a
sincere condemnation of those projects,’
and is, in fact, made by many who do
most sincerely condemn them. It is ob
viously the interest of the English Govern
ment to represent to the world that no
persons can possibly be banded against
their domination, except those who are
miscreants and assassins. It is equally the
interest and the duty of those who are ene
mies to that domination, to state the truth,
that it drives many of the best Irishmen
into efforts deemed criminal by the law.
But there is more, even, than this.
Rightly, or wrongly, a large number of our
countrymen have, more or less, engaged
themselves in Fenianism. To impute to
Fenians the crimes of assassination and
murder, is to say that a considerable por
tion of the Irish people are implicated in
these crimes. Beyond the circle of those
engaged in the conspiracy, a far larger
number sympathises with it. To say that
the Fenians are assassins, is to accuse the
Irish people of sympathising with assassi
nation. The charge is utterly and entirely
false. — Dublin, Irishman, June 13.
A German in New York has invented
a watch which runs a without wind
ing. Convenient for gentlemen who are
prone to substitute a candlestick for a
watch-key.
A GEM.
The maid who binds her warrior’s sash,
And smiling, all her pain dissembles,
The while beneath the drooping lash
One starry tear drop hangs and trembles—
Thotigh Heaven alone records the tear,
And fame shall never know her story,
Her heart has shed a drop as dear
As ever dewed the field of glory!
The wife who girds her husband’s sword,
Mid little ones who weep and wonder,
And bra , \ ely speaks the cheering word,
W hat though her heart be rent asunder—
Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear
The bolts of war around him rattle,
Has shed as sacred blood as e’er
Was poured upon the plain of battle.
The mother who conceals her grief,
While to her breast her son she presses.
Then breathes a few brave words and brief,
Kissing the patriot brow she blesses,
With no one but her secret God
To know the pain that weighs upon her;
Sheds holy blood as e’er the God
Received on Freedom’s field of honor.
An Interview with Pius IX—Ap
pearance of the Holy Father—lnter,
esting Details. —A correspondent of the
“Evenement lllustre ,” who was admitted
some days since to an audience of the
Pope, gives, in a letter from Rome, to that
journal, some interesting details about
the Holy Father. He says :
The Pope is pretty tall and stout,
without being obese. The furniture of
his private room is a square table, with
two chairs and an armchair for himself.
The room is very small, with a low ceil
ing, no curtains, and the walls covered
with paper of the cheapest sort. Those of
the grand official saloon are covered with
silk. Ilis bedroom has yellow curtains,
no carpet, and a brick floor, with a little
bedstead of iron, without curtains. He
is very neat in his person ; his hands,
which are half covered with white mittens,
are particularly attended to. He rises
at six o'clock, shaves himself, and says
his Mass in a little private chapel, and
then hears another. At eight o’clock he
takes a small cup of chocolate, and at
8:30 he receives his Ministers. Cardinal
Antonelli comes every day to the Vatican,
and, when prevented from doing so, the
Under Secretary of State, Monsignor
Marini, takes his place. The other days
of the week the other functionaries, in
their turn, transact business with him.
At 10:30 the Ministers withdraw. The
audiences then begin, and are not over
till one. At two o’clock the Pope dines
in his private apartment. His repast is
of the most modest kind, and it always
ends with a sweetmeat, of which all
Italians are fond. From -:30 to 3 he
takes his siesta, at 3 he reads his Brevi
ary, and at 5:30 he goes out for a drive
in a carriage with four horses, accompa
nied only by two young Priests. If the
weather permits, he alights, and walks in
the most retired parts of the city; never
theless, he is followed by upwards of two
thousand persons, who walk after him in
silence. When it rains, His Holiness
proceeds to the galleries of the Vatican,
when the visitors have retired. He is a
great lover of antiques, as proved by the
researches and restorations he is continu
ally making. On his return home, at six
o’clock, the audiences recommence, and
last till ten at night, when he retires to
sup. He goes to bed at eleven, and the
next day goes through the same routine.
Though advanced in years, he sings very
well, and what is quite unknown, even to
many Romans, plays well on the violon
cello. When I was received, with my
companion, the Chamberlain plucked me
by the sleeve to make me kneel. The
Pope, perceiving the movement, spared
us the genuflexion, and made us approach
the table at which he was sitting. “So,
then,’’ his Holiness said, “you are two
journalists, friends, going together to
Naples ?” He spoke about Naples, and
asked us how we liked Rome, adding that
people found themselves very free during
their stay. He then took two photo
graphic likenesses of himself, one for each
of us, and, with a sly smile, said, “I am
going to write something for the journal
ists,” and, in a firm hand, traced these
words :
Diligite veritatem, fxliaxn Dei;’
after which he held out his hand to us.
His affability is extreme. He speaks
French with as much accent as Rossini,
and the impression he produced on me
was that of a pleasant and tranquil old
man, who appears to be but little occu
pied with external matters.
Ingrowing Toe Nail. —Make a bridge
of muslin from the big toe to the next
toe but one, and allow this middle toe to
rest on the muslin bridge ; this effectu
ally removes the pressure against the big
toe, and the parts eventually get well.
A negro preacher, whose text was in
chapter 11. of the I. Book of John, gave it
out as from “de two eyed chapter of de
one-eyed John."
7
