,- /9% . T H E N I X. Vol. V. No.1. NEW YORK, SATURDAY, JUNE l, 186i. Pines 4 Cams. ‘ CONTENTS EnrroRuL.—-—Return of John O’Mahony—Attitude of Eng- land—Arrival of Daniel O’Sullivan (Agreem)——Exter- mination of the Irish Peasantry-—Civil War in America, a Warning to Young Irishmen still at home, &c. Pmmnx Connnsroxnnxcir.-'1‘o the Editor from James W. Smytb, Blackstone, Mass. Lrrnaanr.-—-Establishment and Growth of the United Irishmen (Henry and John Sheares concluded). MIsCE1.1.AuEous.—Two Letters from John Mitchel—Feel- ing of the British Press and People on the American Crisis-— The American Quarrel and the Duty of the Irish—Irish Reprisals, Respect for the Belligerents-— Meeting of the Fenian Brotherhood—Departure of Meagher’s Irish Zouaves—Ancient Kings of Connuugbt (O’Conor Don continued)——Latest Irish and other Euro- pean News—lrish Marriages and Deaths. &c.. doc. PROSPECTUS WEEKLY IRIFSH JOURNAL, “THE PHOENIX.” Office. 6 Centre street, New York. The proprietors of this enterprise desire to be as brief and explicit as possible, in stating the principles on, and tihej-objects for, which it is undertaken. .r{.;-’‘ The PHCENIX will be entirely difierent from all at 5-: Irish Journals. It will occupy a position of com- pl ' .- independence. It will announce its own doctrines, a 11 enforce its own opinions, independent of prec nceived v.-aw s, interests and prejudices, to none of whic it will e'J.r cater. The name Pncsnux suggests the principles and objects of the Journal that assumes it; being emblematic of a re- surrection and a new existence. Its efforts will be main- ly, if not exclusively, devoted to inculcate the bélief, and elevate it into a conviction, that it is the paramount duty of Irishman 2 I, First.——To disconnect themselves from all English asso- ciations. Secondly.-—To abstain from any participation in the farce of electing members to the English Parliament. _ Thirdly.——To enter into an extensive, sincere and brotherly combination among themselves. Fourthly.—To base that combination’ on a stern resolu- tion; to use all honorable means, and seize on every feasi- ble moi . e.xtirpa4.¢..raot and-; . Ire- land, the Eng ish garrison, English government, English laws, English land tenure, and all the adjuncts of English usurpation; to restore the soil of the Island to the Irish people ; and for this end make immediate and continuous preparation; and regard all legitimate weapons as fair, all aid acceptable, and every chance a pre-ordained op- portunity. In this will consist the first, last and chief object, duty, aim and ambition of the Pncnxrx. With the partizanship of American politics it will notin- terfere. From American factions and cliques, it will keep entirely aloof. It will not hesitate, however, to advocate the principles of genuine Republicanism here as well as at home; and it will be prompt and proud to uphold all good, generous and honorable men, who are true friends to hu- man freedom, without reference to their political con- nection in America. It will especially sustain and en- - courage those whose sympathies are in favor of the liber- tion of Ireland, and expose and oppose the enemies and maligners of the Irish name and race wherever they pre- sent themselves. The policy which the Pnancrx will inculcate, and the principle of action it will recommend, will be under the sole direction and control of JOHN O’MAHON Y. MR. JAMES ROCHE, late of the Irish News, will be the Acting Editor, and to him all communications on literary subjects must be addressed. - Nsw Yonx, June 4, 1859. ESTABLISHMENT AND GROWTH OF THE “UNITED IRISHMEN.” Henry and John Sheares. Btrr vengeance was not satisfied by the cold formality of the gallows scene. It followed the dead brothers beyond these portals of doom, and belied their character and robbed them of their fair fame, as it had robbed them oflife. They were represented as not alone cowardly but ill- conducted on the steps of the gallows, and on the gallows itself. And yet so shamelessly was the whole proceeding conducted that the most audacious satellites could not so screen the con- duct of the government as not to let in some glimpses of light on its hideousness. Accordingly a London bookseller, Mr. John Stockdale, was employed to publish an improved account of the trial of the Sheares, under the direction of Lord Castlereagh, for which he was paid the sum of £46 lls. 1-§d., a moderate and measured amount for the country to pay, considering the service the lie could be to civilization and the other , et ceteras, which were then fast coming into vogue. .VVe now proceed to give John Shearcs three letto:-rs———one to his sister Julia, two days before his trial; one to his cousin, Mr. Fleming", on the day of his trial ; one to liis mother, written the night before his execution. When he wrote the first he had not the rcmotest apprehension that his brother would be convicted. Al‘. “ To JULIA Snsmss. " Kilmainham Prison, July 10th, ’98. “ The troublesome scene oflife, my ever dear Julia, is near closed, and the hand that now. traces these lines, will, in a day or two, be no longer capable of communicating to a beloved family, the sentiments of his heart.‘ A painful. task yet awaits mc—I do not allude to my trial, nor to my execution. These, were it not for the consciousness I feel of the misery you all sufl'er on my account, would be trivial, in comparison with the pain I endure at addressing you for the last time. You have been kind to me, Julia, beyond example; your solicitude for my well-ii fare has been unremitting, nor did it leave you a moment’s happiness, as a wayward fate seems, from the earliest moment of my life, to have presided over my days. I will not now recapi-, tulate the instances of a perverse destiny, that,., seems to have marked me out as the instrument of destruction to all I loved. “Robert and Christopher, dear valued bro- thers! if it be true that the human mind sur-" vives the body, I shall shortly join you, and learn for what wise purpose Heaven thought fit to select me as your destroyer. My mother too i O God ! my tender, my revered mother I I see her torn locks-—her broken heart-—he,r corpse l Heavenly Author of the universe?‘ what have I done to deserve this misery? “ I must forbear these thoughts as much as possible, or I must forbear to write. My times comes on the day after to-morrow, and the event is unequivocal. You must summon up all the resolution of your soul, my dear, dear Julia —if there be a chance of snatching my afflicted mother from the grave, that chance must arise from your exertions——my darling Sally, too, will aid you—sl1e will for a while suspend her joyat the restoration of her. husband toher arms ;’fs3-‘ of his escape, I have no more doubt, than I have of my own conviction and its consequences. All, all of you, forget your individual griefs and joys, and unite to save that best of parents from the gravc.—Stand between her and de- spair,—if she will speak of me, sooth her with every assurance calculated to carry consolation to her heart. Tell her that my death, though nominally ignominious, should not light up a. blush in her face ; that she knew me incapable of a dishonorable action, or thought ; that I died in full possession of the esteem of all those who knew me intimately; that justice will yet be done to my memory, and my fate be mentioned rather with pride, than shame, by my friends and relations. Yes, my dear sister, if I did not ex- pect the arrival of this justice to my memory, I should indeed be afflicted at the nominal igno- miny of my death, lest" it may injure your welfare and wound the feelings of my family. But above all things, tell her that at my own request, I" was attended in my latest moments, by that ex- cellent and pious man, Dr. Dobbin, and that my last prayer was offered up for her. While I feared ftp‘ Harry’s life, hell itself could have no tortures for the guilty, beyond what I endured, “I picture you all, a. helpless, unprotected group of females, left to the miseries of your own feelings, and to the insult of a callous insensiblo world. Sally, too, stript of a hus- band, on whom she so tenderly (loats, and his children of their father, and all by my cursed intervention, by my residence with them. Yet,‘ Heaven is my witness, how assiduously I sought.‘ ‘ cease. You remember, I am sure you do, your kind promise of protection to my unfortunate ’ little Louisa? I make no doubt but her mother will give her up to your care without reluctance, yet how to impose this new anxiety on you, I know not. But of this I say nothing; I know your heart, and never could resist the goodness "with which it insisted on easing mine, by burdening itself. What to recommend relative to‘ her, I cannot resolve. H arry did once desire me to take her into his house, but I had a thou- sand objcctions to that plan then, some of which still remain ; one material one is, that she would soon learn from servants and others, how differ- ent her situation there was, from that on the other children, and her young mind would very early feel that chilling inferiority and degrada- tion, that lead to a debasement of principle, and ultimately to mean and unworthy actions. No-—- 29. great many reasons concur, to decide me against that measure. She should be put to some school, where more care is taken of health ,,than education, and where the only attention to ‘morals, consists in good honest example. Apro- pos—shc was at a Mrs. Duggan’s, at Bray, to whom I yet owe ten guincas for her, and which I request of my dear mother to pay for me, when convenient ; I do not owe any more on her ac- Lconnt, to any one whatever. I likewise owe a note of hand for about thirteen pounds or gui- neas, to a man in Capel Street, whom the Flem- ings know. I cannot mention the name of these friends without emotions of gratitude and tenderness, not to be expressed ; never cease to assure them, that I preserve the recollection of their goodness, though the instances of it are so many, and I shall feel it to the last moment; this debt they will be obliged to pay, if not dis- charged by my mother, as they passed their W¢l1‘_l;,,afOl“__l’.’.--y0,1_1 will therefore mentiorrit to my fiiijctcd mother. -Great God i ‘how have I stripped her and you ; but I have stripped you of happiness, and should not talk of money. owe it few guineas to the worthy Charles Coghlan, of Cork, and about two, to Cole, the shoemaker, on Ormond Quay ; to H. Flem- ing's tailor, also, for a suit of black clothes, and I believe some small balance of an account to H. Fleming himself. This is all at present I recol- lect. Good night, Julia, I am going to rest, with a heart, thank God ! free from the consci- ousness of intentional offence, and from any wish tainted with personal resentment. I seek my bed with pleasure, because in it, I often fancy myself in the full possession of that domestic happiness, which I always regarded as the first of human enjoyments. Pray Heaven, I dream of you all night. ’ Wednesday night, July 11th, 1798. “ It is now eleven o’clock, and I have only time to address my beloved Julia, in a short eternal farewell. ‘-‘ Thou sacred Power, whatever be thy name and nature, who hast created us the frail and imperfect beings we are, hear the ardent prayer ofa creature, about to enter on an awful un- known’ charge. If Thy divine Providence can be effected by mortal supplications, hear and grant, I beseech Thee, the last wishes of a heart, that has ever adored Thy goodness. Let peace and happiness, once more visit the bosoms of my beloved family ; let a mild grief succeed the miseries they ll.f1V(3 endured, and when this debt he paid to the dust of him, who has caused to keep aloof in any of my political concerns from him,..and would have entirely succeeded in doin so, if it had not been for the art of that villain Armstrong, and Harry’s own incaution. My efibrts, however, have kept him clear of any of- those matters, that have involved me in destruc- tion. When Sally, has got him back to her’ arms, and that I (who caused his danger and her unhappiness) shall be no more, she will cease to think of me with reproach.—ThisI trust she will do—she ought—for she herself could never have done more for his salva- tion, than I endeavored to do. But the scene is changed, I am no longer that frantic thing‘I was, while his danger appeared imminent. A calm sorrow for the sufferings that await you on my account, and a heartfelt regret at being obliged to quit'your loved society for ever, hits succeeded. Yet, all this will soon have an end, and with comfort I already anticipate the "mo- ment, when your subsiding grief gives you back to the enjoyment of each other.—Still, my dearest Julia, etien when I shall be no more, ‘it, let all their ensuing days glide on, in union nd domestic harmony. Enlighten my beloved brother; to him and his invaluable wife, grant the undisturbed enjoyment of their mutual love, and as they advance, let their means of provid- ing for the sweet pledges of their attachment increase. Let my Julia, my feeling, too-feeling J ulia, feel the consolation she so often sought for others. Let her soul reposcat length and in the consummation of all the wishes of her excellent heart, let her taste that happiness, her rgirtues have so well iner'E%c<‘.. For my other ‘. 'sters, provide those comforts their situation requires. To my mother,—‘-Oh ! eternal Power ! what gift shall I ask for my mntchless parent‘? —-restore her to that peace, which I have torn from her. Let her forget me, in the ceaseless nffections of her remaining children, and in their growing prosperity, let her taste that liappiness, which is best suited to her aifectioriate heart ; and when at length she‘ is called hence, let her find in everlasting bliss, the due reward of a life of suflhring virtue. your plagues on my account are not likelyto "Adieu, Julia, my light is just out; the (if- proach of darkness is like that of death, since both alike require I should say farewell for ever. 0 my dear family, farewell for ever I J. S.” "' To Mn. HENRY FLEMING. “ Newgate, July 12th. “My dear Harry,—-As I shall know to-day what will be my fate, I enclose you a. letter for my dear sister Julia, which I request you will give her as soon after my execution as you shall think prudent. To such dear friends as you and William, I know itis unnecessary to recom- mend my afilicted family—and particularly my ever-revered mother. I will require the perfor- mancc of Dr. Dobbin’s kind promise, as soon as I feel myself fit to receive him. I did intend giving into your hands a short defence of my- self, relative to some points in which I know I shall be vilely calumniated ; but I have not had time, as I prepared every syllable of our defence, and wrote letters, the. One of you ought to be present at my execution ; yet this is too much to ask. No : I must endure mis- representation—-the hearts of my friends will justify me. Farewell, my ever kind, ever valued friends ; I am called to court——-farewell for ever! “ J. S.” The preceding letter was enclosed in one ad- dressed to the Messrs. Fleming, in the following words :- “ Newgate, 13th July. “ God bless you both, my excellent friends : give the enclosed to Julia, for my afllicted mother, when their griefs have sufliciently sub- sided.-—Farewell, f ever. “J. S.” The following lettliar—the night before his exe- cution—was written to his mother. That letter, short as it is, to “his dear, dear, his injured, his beloved mother,3".mighkhave satisfied‘ the vindictive feelings of his most obdnrate enemy, had be known the mortal pangs that must have exceeded all former agonies of mind of his un- fortunate adversary, which that last farewell to a.fond mother from a favorite child must have cost the writer. This letter bears the simple superscription—“ My Mother.” “ My dear, injured, perhaps expiring, mother, hear ason’s—an unworthy son’s last request; grant to my beloved sister Sally, that portion of your generosity bestowed on me, else she is penuiless ; but why urge this ?——you know her worth, tnd are generosity itself. Farewell, my dear, dear [mother], my injured, my adored mother. Ob-l Sally, I hear your curses ; they are just! Julia, beloved Julia farewell for ever. “ J our: Snssnss.” “ Send your little J ane* to the Swetes, with her dying father’s request that they will let her be partaker with her sister of their bounty, from which alone she can hope for support. If they should be enough to reject her, need I sug- gest to my adored mother the appropriation of whatever fragment, however small, may by chance be within her gift. But I know that my harpy talons have seized on all. Once more, and for ever, adieu! thou best and most beloved of parents.” I In closing this ever memorable and mournful scene, it may not be out of place here to record the singular circumstitnce, that the bodies which were deposited in the vaults of St. Michan’s Church, continue in a state of perfect preservation for a space of 38 years. The features remain unchanged, and would be recognized as in life at that time. ‘his preservation was attributable to some peculiar quality of the air confined‘ in these vaults, for other bodies were there pre- served a whole century. They were removed from the vaults about that time, when exposure to the air caused them to crumble. Doctor Mad- den, who.bad frequently seen the bodies twenty years before, visited the place and discovered that the head in John Sheares’ coffin was not his head. On thisifirst being made known, a gentleman sent for the doctor and produced to him the veritable head which he llitfl stolen from the vault 20 years before, and religiously kept all the time. , It was still in perfect preservation, and a cast of it was taken. In January, 1842, it was placed with the body in a loader: coflin,inclosed in an oaken one ; and Hcnry’s remains were deposited in 3. Sllllilitl‘ coliiu, and both were laid side by side in 2:. molt, where tliey await the resurrec- tion. * Ow of Henry’s daughters‘. by his second marriage.