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that of the body. What is the consequence? The in- tellect, from such perinature and excessu'e exertion, and the body, from an opposite cause—a Want of exertion—— are botlt injured. The mind should never be forced on, but allowed to acquire strength witlt the growth of the body; and the invigoration of the latter, 'above all, ought to be encouraged, as upon it depends most mate- rially the future health of the individual. Education should be made it pastime with children, and not a task. vThe young mind, when forcibly exerted, becomes weak- ened, and a premature decay of its energies takes place. . It is scandalous, as well as absurd, to see the manner In \vhich'children are confined several hours together with- in the walls of a schoolhouse. Some parents declare that they cannot‘b’e‘ar to see their offspring idle: but whenachild is enjoying ‘itselli in the open air, and‘ac- quiring health, it cannot be said to be idle. With health comes strength of body, and ,with strength of body strength of mind. ~ . o O ‘ -x There are some people upon whom it is imposstble to affix a nickname: there is a propriety or force of mind about them. which repels the sobriquet, and makes it recoil with shame upon the contriver. There is an es- se'ntiliIWInrabout a man upon whom a nickname is castly toned; he is either very weak, or has some very ab- iti‘his character. ‘ *Nflel‘ praise or talkof your children to other people, , 'dppend. upon it, no person except yourselfcares .1 ngle birthing about them. -

IRELAND.

’ 5 ant: FACTION noun—a sxs’rcn BY MRS. s. c. HALL.

‘ Ireland is still the one topic ofgeneral discussion, and now that ajury of Irishmen have pronounced Mr. O’Connell and his confederates guilty of sedition, the question, “ What can be done with Ireland ?" becomes additionally important. Every. litre which conveys information enabling Englishmen to fitrm a sound opinion ofthe true character ofour Hibernian brethren—every hint or illustration calculated to assistthose who have hitherto paid little attention to the questioutownrds '3 correct understanding oflrish politics—will hasten the final settlement ofthe painful auddangerous differences whichhave too long made a large body oflrishmen regard the English as their natural enemies, and led a large proportion of English- men to look upon the Emerald Isle as little better than a hotbed ofseditious discontent. In the present instance we select for illustration an occurrence happily less frequent than ofold- -.‘l Faction Fight—nod we turn to the work up. ‘00 Ireland, by Mrs. Hall, for the best description hitherto

given of'those fierce, and too often' fatal, .mauifestations of “1

national feeling :~-

“ Quarrels (says Mrs. Hall) descended from father to son. '- There was scarcely a district in Ireland that did not recog- nizo some hereditary dispute ; and it became a sort of duty for a member ol'one family to insult the member ofanotlier qu’tily, whenever they chanced to meet. Every relation of ~ chili, no matter how distant, was expected to “stand by his fiction? and times and places were regularly appointed where they mtght~meet to “fight it out ;” the majority ofthe combatants, in nine cases out of ten, being utterly ignorant what they were fighting for, and the leaders being very sel- dom acquainted with the original cause of the quarrel. Many years have passed since we witnessed one of those disgusting scenes. Unhappily, with their brutality and cruelty wds frequently inixod up so much fun and humour, and physical courage, that their revolting character was not immediately perceptible, although generosity was a rare in- gredient in a fight, and women too frequently mingled in it. We must observe, however, that, in the most ferocious eu- counter, a woman was seldom struck—we might almost go the length of saying, never—except by accident. We recol- ' lect seeing one of“the gentler sex” striking right and left _ with, a terrific weapon-—a huge stone in a stocking-loot— ‘ hodtig‘several men knocked down by her blows with- ..oiu't'oi‘th‘er oPtltern aiming at her a single one in return. It .ssédto amaze us that more lives were not lost in such con- mt'butu man was frequently saved in consequence of flu‘qumberofhis adversaries, all heating at him with their sti which generally interfered so much with each other, ~tlm't' til ofthe blows reached him. We call to mind one ‘litir In particular ; it took place iii the vicinity of llnllydehob, about thirty miles west ofthe county of Cork, and at a time Ithen‘ there Was little dread ofinterruption. \Ve shall on- dea'vour .to describe it—briefiy, however. for the subject is not plenum. and, now, cannot be useful—with the “intro- .ductory scene” ‘which the artist has pictured front ntir de— ,siiription.‘ Towards the afternoon of it fine spring day, the . rival factions began to assemble—each armed with his stunt it-ibillahih. .The leaders parleycd somewhat before they be- gan—not a very frequent course ; they were surrounded by women and children; andan old hag seemed determined there should be no chance ofpeace, for she rated one ofthcm with the term “coward.” Actual hostilities were, however, corn- menced by a huge fellow running through the crowd and stopping before each mart of the opposite party, whom be greeted with the fottl phrase “ liar ;" his purpose was soon answered ; one, less patient than the rest, struck him a blow; their sticks were crossed, and in a moment hundreds had join- ed the mélce. 'I‘hey fought for above an hour—and, at length, one party was beaten off the field. But, in truth, we can do little good by entering into minute explanations ofit scene so revolting;-and we shall prefer leaving them to the reu- ‘der’s.funcy; communicating the attendant consequences iii "the less disagreeable form of u story; telling it, however, as nearly as we can call them to mind, in the Very words in which we heard it; and so carrying out our plan ol'vnryittg

dry details by the introduction of nuttter more attractive. ‘ “The faction fights. plaze your honours,” said an intelli- zgont countryman to Mrs. “all, when spoken to on the sub- ect, “ the faction fights are it’most, and maybe more than almost, gone off the face of the country. The boys are be- ginning to talk abont them as things 'thcy have seen—like It show or a giant. We ask each other how We Were ever drawn into them, what brought them about; and the one ‘ausWer‘to that is—whiskey! No gun will go ofi‘until it is printed, and sure whiskey was the priming. That made more orphans and widows than the fever or starvation. Thanks he to God, if death come upon us now, it is bv the Lord’s will, and not our own net.” It was encouraging to hear such a remark from one of “the people ;” and this was by no moans a solitary instance. , The man had, be con- fesaed, many a time, when a ntere child, incited by the ex- ample ofthe factionto whom his parents belonged, nerved _ his little arms to cast heavy stories into the mélée, tint cur- ing how, or where they fell. “ We usen’t to mind a bit ofa shmdy in those times: if'ii boy was killed, why we said iths ‘ his luck,’ and that it couldn't be helped ; ifa fellow trailed his coat over the fair green and dared any one to stand a foot . on it, we enjoyed the .fight that was sure to follow, and never thought or cared lioyv it would end. Sure I remember my own brotheryand now since he’s been a 'I‘etnperanse man he hasn’t rinsed a finger in anger to any living creature— sureI mind him well, feeling the lenlsforvheads‘, and when he’d getgone to his liking, giving it first a good rap, and then culling on the owner to come out and fight him; sttre he’d never have done that but for the whiskey.” “ Ah,” he cott- tinued, “ that was a foolish divarshin, bitt there was no heart bitterness with it; nothing to lay heavy to the end of one’s days. But thefactiou fights war the bitterest of all—black . hatred descending from father to son against the opposite fac- .' tron, as if poor Ireland hadn’t enough enemies without turn- . ing—worse than a wild beast—to murder and destroy her .3 own flesh and blood. Now there’s a poor woman,” he said, pointing to a pale patient-looking person who sat knitting at ‘ her cottage door, “ there’s 'l poor creature! Mrs.- Lawler jkanB What lllclllms 00me to, and so she ought ; she’ll tell the lady her story, and welcome, if she has anv hear it. Good morrifivv-morning to you, Mrs. Lawler, and - how’s your girleen‘mfi'am? The lady would be glad to rest "while ’the gentlema‘tt‘and I get up the far hill; and you have ‘nlways a welcome, like your peoplebefore you, for the strain. ger.” “ Kindly welcome,” said the widow. “ Mary, dust

curiosity to

I

the chair, avonrneen.” The cabin was clean and neat, and bearing no evidence of the presence of .that and poverty which we had so frequently seen, though it dul not dint the smile or lessen the welcome; nor was it difficult to. lead the widow to the story of sorrows, which, however softened by lime, were ever uppermost in her mind. “ My mother and myself were widowed by factions—plnze God, my little gtrl wbrt’t have the same tale to tell, for the Connels and the LnWIers might put salt to each other’s potatoes without fear

brother raiscd against brother, only because as battle and

. ~ - [ mttst be _ . . . “mm” w-"r "l the l‘ennslofvigeggfzrzftngéll :32; almost‘ sink like death; and it s to the door I d he. s I

continued in their own. . I the first thing I learned was to hate is Lawler from the lip out; and yet hard fortune was before me, for the very first passion my heart felt was the same love it feels still for a Law- ler; it has known no change; though it has known sorrow; the first knowledge I had of the wild beatings of my own heart was when 1 saw that girl's father. Ah ynh! it has beat W|ll| joy and terror often ; bill the love for my first love, and my last, was alwnvs one; and now, when all is past and gone. and that you, Mark anlcr, are in your green, quiet grave, I am prouder to have been the choice of your own fine noble spirit, than if! was made this moment the queen of all Ire-

said my father tome, and I winnowing at our barn-

bedge, for there’s many a Luwler will be passing then‘oafl this day on account of the fair, and I don’t wish itclIIld Ol mine to notice them, or to be noticed by them.’ I intended to do his bidding, and whenever I heard a horse, 0" lhe voices ofstrangers coming down the hermit, I kept my eyes on the o‘rnin, and lot the chaff fly iit its pleasure, until aflOI-l broker-through the hedge, and attacked a little beast pl my own ; so as soon as that came to pass, I let the setve‘fall, to catch my own little dog in my arms: tltcrc wasno nccil lor that, for "V. a}... over the hedge, liglilcr and brigltti‘r than :i sunbeam. All. tltcn, I wonili-r, is love as quick at, taking In all conntrll'fi as it is here? Mark Lawlcr didn’t speak ten words, norI thi and yet from that out—under the homes ofthe moon, or the Slim in the "[10" field. or in the crowd, it was all one; It" 0"‘5 bl” Mark Lawler was in my mind. I knew he was a Lawlcr by lllfi eyes', and well but knew I was a Councl, bu". the love would have little of boy and girl love in it, that Would hecd a faction. \Ve. who had "over met till that tnmncnt, could never goitslmy in the fields without meeting nfler. Ali! Mary," slte cnnllmlfid, addressing her daughter, and yet, in her simplicity, quilcfitrget- ting she had been proving the uselessness ofpreccpt by her 0W" confession—“Ali, Mary, dear, ifye l'cel yer lteurt soften towards a young man, keep out of his way intirely, nvourneen; have nothing to say to him; don't drive your cow the saute mad he walks, nor draw water front the some well, nor go to the 511010 chapel, Marv. barrin you have rtn other to go to: there’s adenl ofmiscliicfin the chapel, dcar, because you think in your Inn”- cence you’re giving your thoughts to God, and all the time. aybc, it's to an idol of'yoni- own making, my darling child, they'd be going: sure your mother's sorrow ought to be a warn- ing. avnurnccn!” "ch, mother,” replied the blue-eyed girl, meckly. ‘ \Vi-ll, Indy, my poor father thought I grew very at- tentive intircly tn the young lambs, and watchful over the H“; but at last sortie of~llte Connels whispered how it was, that M :irk Lawler met his child unknownst; and he questioned me, and I told the truth, how l had given my heart out of my bosom. and I fell at his feet, and cried salt and bitlcrtears until they dropped upon the ground he stand on; and seeing his heart was turning to iron, I who had ever been like a willow in hishand,ruused my- self. and challenged him to say a word to Mark’s disadvantage. Isaid he was stilwr, Lionest, industrious; null my father Wits struck with tile strength of the heart I took, and listened, until at last he made answer, that tfa saint front heaven came down, and was a Lawler. he would not give him a drop of water to \vet his lips. lle threatened me with his curse ifI kept true in my love, and thought to settle the thing out ofltantl by marrying me to my own second cousin; but tbatI wouldn’t hear to; God knows I did not moan to cross him, but what could I do? Mfll‘k sent to ask me to bid him farewell, or his heart would break ; I thought there could be tin harm in blessing hint, and telling liitn to think of me no more. Mary, avourncen," she said, again ad- dressing ltcr (laughter, “ if ye really want to break offal once With it young man, take warning by me." " ch, mother," was again Mary's gentlereply. “ At that meeting we agreed to meet again; and so ,wc did, until we got rt priest to make its one. At first I was liuppy'ns a young bird .; but soon my heart felt crushed, for I bail to curry two faces. My father was more bllml' Illa" ever against the Ltiwlcrs, and my brother, ‘Dttrk Cottficl,‘ as'he was callrd, more cruel than my father. At last I was forcud to own that I was married. I watched the time when my brother was away, for one storm was its much as I could bear. My fit- Ilicr cost me like a dog from thc'ltoarth I had played on Wllml a child; iii his fury he knelt, to curse me. but tny'ututlier held rt gospel ugulrst his lips, so I was saved his curse. :- loving husband wcre "fun for me, and until the Midsummer fuirl thought my happiness was sure; I worked hard to keep Mark from it, for the faction; were sure to mcct there; he swore to me that Ill' WllllllI not raise :1 finger against tny fatherur brOIl-Ol', nor let it drop nl'spirits pass his lips. I walked with him a piece ofthe way, and I thought :tll pleasure itt sight left my eyes when he WflVNl the lust wave of his but on the top ofthe Illll. AsI wits turning into our own field, a lurk was rising above its nest, singing its glory to the heavens in its sweet voice, when a shot front the gun of one oflltose squirecns who are thick among the leaves us spiders” webs, struck the bird, and it full quivering and blending close to where I know its nest was iii the corn. I open- ed the bonding grain to see if [could find it; tt-wns lying quite dead, and its poor mate standing close by. The lurk is a timid thing, but she never utindcd lite, and my heart felt so sick, that I went into my house crying bitterly. I could but rest; I thought in a fetv hours I might be like that innocent bird; and taking my cloak about me, I walked on, and on, until ,I came in sight of the fair green. It was a woeful sight to me —thc shouts of the showmen, the scream ofthe sellers, the low- ing ofcattlc and bloating of sheep, were all mixed together— while the _\'t'll ofthu' frictions, every now and again, drowned every thing in its horrid sound. I knew my father’s voice as he shouted ‘ IIurroo for the Councls—down with the I.:iwlcrs.'

saw him standing before Mark, aggravating him. My husband‘s hands were L‘ll'll'l’llUtI, and he kcpl his arms Close by his side “mi he might not strike. I prayed that God might keep him iii that mind, and flew towards them. Just as I dropped on my knees by his side, he had raised his arm—not against my father, but against my brother, who had drawn the old utnn back; and them they stood lime to lace-the two young heads ofthe old factions _blows were exchanged, for Mark had been aggravated bcvnnd .nll bearing; and I was trying to force myself between them, when I saw my father stretched upon the greeh,in the very hour and act ol'revenge and sin. It was by a blow from a Laivler—

his death (for he was liked by the one and hated by the other) struck a terror in them all—the sticks full to their sides—and the great storm nl‘uaihs and voices sunk into a murmur while they lucked on the dying man. Oh! bitter, heart bitter. was my sor- row. I shrouded my father with my arms, but he didn't feel me; the fooling had left his limbs, and the light his eyes; however linrd his words had boon, the knowlcdga that l was intllerless and my mnlhcra widow, made me forgotthem till! “’hilc some, ofthe neighbours run for a priest, and others raised the cry my brother—darker than evcr I lied seen him—fell upon his luieos and dipping his hand in the warm blood that poured from tltd old man's wounds, held it tip in the sight ofthe Connels. ‘ Boys,’ he shouted, and his voice was like the bowl ofit wild beast— ‘Boys! by this blood Iswcnr never to make peace till the hour ofmy death with one ofthe name who have done this,but to buckle and rive, and destroy all belonging to the anlurs.’ And the women who war about me cried out at my brother and said sure his sister was a Conncl; ’ l I was a snrpsnt, and resting his hand—wet as it was—upon my head, turned away, saying, ‘ She is marked with herfathér‘s blood in the sight ofthe people.’ I thought I should have died _=tnd when I came to myself I limnd I wtts'in a poor woman’s '

, . cabin its good as hall-way home, i

with two or three of the neiuhbours about me; and my hu~haml, the very moral ofit broke: bean by my side. ‘ Avourucen gra !’ he said, striving to keep dowri the workings of his heart; ‘ Avourneen grit! I had no hand in it at all. God knows I wouldn'thave hurta hair of his white head.’ I knew it was the truth be was telling, yet somehow the words of my brother clung about nte—I was marked with rug/father's blood. And the Conncls pttt the old man’s corpse upon a cart and laid a clean white cloth over it; and carried him past m, own little pluce—keening over itiin y gave him his death: hundreds ofthe neig own people, my widowed mother and my dark brother follhwinz‘ and so they passed by our door; for miles along the road I could hear the loud scream ofthe mother that bore me, high above the voices of all the rest. Oh! it was a horrid sound and a horrid stgbt! His death was talked offer and near; the magistrates set to putting down the factions, and the priest gave out from the

ltbours mixed with my

altar, Sunday after Sundny,such commands, t t, without flying in his reverence 5 face, they could not keep attlio fights in

of fighting now. It was a shocking thing to see the arm of

. - _' ! land’s ground. 0, lady! tfyon could have seen him! ‘Nmfllh

door with the servant-iriaid, ‘ Norah, keep your eyes on the grain, and not after the chef}; and don’t raise them above the

The arms of

the old man nevur spoke another word—and the snddenness of

but he looked at me worse than if

d cursing the hand that

-~-

public; every' innocent divarshion throughout the country was stopped on their account ; 'but though there Ivyasoutward peace, yot day after day I was followed by the spirit of my brothens words; the World wouldn’t put it out of his bond that Mark struck the mortal blow, and he turned his ear from me, and from his own mother, and would not believe the truth. For as good its two years, the husband, whose life was the life-beat of my worn-out heart, seldom left the cabin witltout my thinking he would never come back. I'd wait till lie was a few yards~ from the door, and then steal out to watch him till he was out nfsiglit. At ploughing, or linymaking, or reaping, his whistle would come overtbu littlo hill to me, while I sat at my wheel, as clear as a blackbird's; and ifit stopped but for a minute, my heart would lfl woke in the night, I could not go to sleep again without my mm across his shoulder to feel that lie was safe; and my first and last prayer to the Almighty, night and morningywas for him. My brother was very fond ofchtldren, and though he had gone to ltvo_ at the other side ofthe parish, I managed to meet him one evening'and place little Mary belore him; but his face darkened so over the child, that I was afraid she might be struckwilb an evil eye, and, making the Sign ofthe cross on her, I covered her from-his sight with my cloak: uftcrthat, I knew nothing would turn his hatred, except the grace oqud; and though I wished that he might have it. whenever I tried to pray for it lbr him, my blood turned col/l. I've often thought," she continued, aftcr a pause, “ what a blessing it is that we have no knowledge of the sorrow we’re born to : fiir ifwc had, we could not bear life. Iliad that know- ledge; Mark never smiled on me that I did n-vtfcel myflesh creep. lost it should be his last. lIo‘d tell sometimes of how things were mending, how there was much bitterness going out ofthe country; and‘tltougli there was no talk ofteinpernnce then, he saw plain enough that ifincn would keep fi'om whiskey, they d forget to be angry. And every minute, even while I trembled for the life ofliis bodv, the peace and love that was in him ‘inndc mc easy as to the life of his scul. At last! persuaded him to leave the country; a new hope came to me. strong and bright, and I thought we might get away to America, and that, maybe; then. he’d have a chancu'ofliving all the days that were allotted at his birth. I did not ii-ll him‘ihat, but having got his consent, I \an‘l:l"l night and day to get off. It was nllscttlcd; the day lixcd: and none of thin nciglibours, barring one or two of the Lawlers, kucw it,nnd Iknew my brother would not hear it from tbcm; and then my mother lived with him. The evening be- fore the day was come; that time to-mnrrow we were to be on shipboard. ‘ I'llgrt,‘ says my husband, ‘ I’ll go to the priest this evening who christened, confirmed, and married inc, and who knnvvs all that was in me from the tiniel was borrt ; his blessing will be a guard over us, and, We'll go together to his knoe.’ \Ve went; and though the parting was sad, it was sweet; \vc walked liomawards—bolh our hearts full. At hm Mark said, [lint only for me he'd never lane thought of leaving the old sod: btit, maybe, it would be for the best. I opened my mind to him than intireh , and owned more than Imcr had done before; how the dread ofthe factions bad dis- turbed m'e day and night; though Itlid not tell him how my father's blood had becn laulpn me by myown brother. He laugh- ed at mu—liis gay wild laugh—and said he hoped my trouble was gone like the winter's snow. Now, this is a simple thin". and yet it always struck me as mighty strange intit’ely ; we were walltln! through a ficld,"fltd, God help me !it was a weak wo- man's fancy, but I neve’t’ thought any harm could come to litm when I was with him, and all of u sudden—started, maybe, at his laugh-21 lurk sprung tip at our feet; we both watched it, stopped to watch it, about three yards from the ditch, and while it was yet clear irt sight, it whiz—a flash us of lightning—the sound ofdeath-a-and my husband was a corpse at my feet." The poor woman flung her apron over her face to conceal her agita. tion, while she subbed bitterly. " The spirit ofthe factions," she continued, “ was in that final shot. on that be, my hlcs- sing and my pride. should have been struck in the hour of hope! Oh, Mark! Mark! long ago you, that I loved so well, were turned into clay—many a long day ago; and still I think when I sit down upon your green grass grave, I can hear your voice tel- ling me nfyour happiness; the heart ofthe youngest maid was not more free from spot than yours, my own darling! And to think that one ofmy own blood should have taken you from my side. Oh, then it was I who felt the curse of blood." “And was il—wns it?‘I we would havensked, “ was it your brother ?" “‘ \Vliisltt !" she whispered- “ \Vltishl, avourneen, whisltt! he's in his grzwn,tno—though Idid‘nt inform-l left him to God. \Vhen came to myself. the place around—tho very sky where the lurk and his sr-ul had mounted together—looked dismal, but not so dark as the dar/rfucwrl man who did it : he had no power to IPlH'e the spot: he was fixed there; something he sold about his father and revenge. God help me! sure we war nursed at the same breast. No one knew it but me; so I left" lum to God—— I left him to God! Aitd lie withered, lady! lte withered ofi'lhe face ofthe earth—withered, my mother told me, away, away—— he was eat to ricth by his consnience ! on, who would think it faction could end iii such crime as that! Ah ! people who live among the flowers ofthe curtli know little of the ltuppinessI have in taking tnylchild, and setting beside her on her father’s grave; and as month after month goes by, Inhn’l butfcel I'm all the sooner to be with him !" When she said this, it was impos- ,fllble not to fool fitrvher daughter; the poor girl cast such it pita. ous look upon her mother, and at last, unable to control herself, flung her arms tightly round her neck, as though she would keep herthcre for ever. Again and again did her mother return her caresses—nturmuring, “ My colleen-dun will never be widowed by faction now; the spirit is all gone,prtiise be to the Lord; and so I tell him when I sit upon his grave."