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[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