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PUbT XSHEO B* STOCKTON * CO
NEW SERIES.]
THE REBEL'S OATH OP YKNGBANCB.
" Whit, all my pretty ehiokem and their dam
At one fell swoop P
“Let us mate madioine of our great revenge
To cure this deadly grief.”—Maoestk.
»r na ho skits i. canido.
A soldier hastened homeward, from the red field*
of war,
With lightsome step, although bis torm wee
seamed with many a sear;
He had been foremost in the fight when shot had
. fallen like rain,
But Heaven had spared him to behold hi* darling
ones again.
Ho reached the rnstlo cottage, but alas ! ’twaa
home no more.
■koil'-r's bloody foot prints now marked lb*
were the oherished Inmates, the wife, the
yr pretty child,
And all was drear and desolate where peace no
lately smiled. *
Brave was that fearless soldier, but terror fierce
and wild '
Now shook his hardy bosom a* he trembled like a
child f
Hoarse sobs burst from hi* heaving shell, 0, talk
not we of grief,.
Till we see mau’s strong agony when tear* bring
no relief.
One hour alone he gave to woe, then knelt upon
the sod, ,
And vowed a deep and fearful vow as vengeance
unto God:
“ And eveu as I have lived for ye,” he cried,
‘my child! my wife I
Bo to this oath of vengeance now I consecrate my
life . ,
“ And to my hour of vletory the mercy that I
show,
Shall be my eword’s point in the heart .of every
prostrate foe;
Even suoh, lost angel of my home ! as they have
shown to thee,
Bo shall to thy vile enemy t&y husband’s pity be.
“ Thy spirit, 0, beloved 1 shall be a spell upon my
Bword,
And to thy memory the blood of thousands shall
be poured ;
Nerved by the wrongs my arm shall be resistless
in the tight, ,
God bless me only a* I keep the oath I take this
night.”
And many a Northern widow and orphan sore
have wept,
In witness of how feariaily that vengeful oath
was kept;
And many a stream in oar own land with North
ern blood rune read,
Prom the invader's bosom by the sword of veil,
geance shed.
Mobile, Peb. 13,1*84. M J. C.
A •cnatable pursed a thief, who took refuge
ins stump, in a swamp, and pulled the rail
after him od which be went in. The constable
•made tbe following return:
‘Sight-able, conversable, non est-come-at
•bie, in swampum, up etumpum, ratio.
'Master at home V ‘No, sir, he's out’ ‘Mis
trsas at home ?’ ‘No, sir, she’s ont.’ ‘Then
I’ll just step is sad sit by tbe tire.’ ‘That’s
out, too, sir,’
Tour character can Dot be essentially injured
exsept by your own acts.
Love and lordship hate companion*.
M
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AUGUSTA, GA., SATURDAY, MARCH 19, 1864.
[Written for the Southern Yield and Fireside.]
Stag’s Wt.
BT THH AUTHOR OF “BUST MOMSNTS OF AN
mu woman,” “m»T," “stivta’s world,”
Aa* Ao.
Old jests and new were bandied about, and
Bertha began to moralise in her usual flighty
fashion.
'Don’t you think,’ she said, 'that people
really grow better if they live in the country ?’
‘Tbev grow falter, usually,’ said Mrs. Den
ham, helping herself to some raoro pat*.
‘But,’ persisted Bertha, ‘do thsy not grow
better ? How little excuse'one can make to one’s
sell for evil thoughts of one’s neighbors, malioe,
and uncbaritableness, when, one lives away
from all the potty annoyances and tnvitationa
of society.’
‘On the contrary.’ said Mr. Taunton ; ‘they
grow self-eaiisfled and intolerable, from haring
nobody to rub their own opinions against;
they form erroneous judgments of people and
thiDgs.’
‘They become intensely selfish,’ said Geral^
‘I thought yon had never lived in tbe coun
try till now,’ cried Bertha, innocently.
Mrs. St. Clair, vour remarks are personal.
Do you think me selfish?’ «
‘1 am no judge,’ said Bertha; ‘I am so sel
fish myself;’ smiling into his eyes with mock
humility.
■Who says you are selfish?’ broke in Arthur
Mclvor; ‘I don’t thiuk so at all; I think you
a very nice woman, which you jvould’nt be if
you were selfish.’
‘Young gentleman, come hither,’ said Ber
tha, solemnly. '
She took off the Jessamine wreath from her
hat and wound it round Arthur’s curly head,
as he knelt before her, taking care not to de
range the perfect ‘parting’ right in tbe middle
of his forehead. ‘1 crown you my knight
heneeiorward and forever. Biss, Sir Arthur,
and give me some chicken.’
'Btgtha, what is tbe use of abusing your
aelfr aßked Bettina; ‘there are so many to do
it .lor you. 1
‘1 like to follow la mod*' said Bertha.
‘ls it the fashion?' asked Francis; ‘alas!
can I never hope to be fashionable here 1 What
is your crime, dear Mrs. St. Clair?'
‘Upon my word, I have never exactly found
out,’ said Bertha, carelessly. ‘Sometimes I bear
it is because I am so satirical—because I say
sharp things. But I have set traps occasion
ally for my best friends, like the lawyer and
his client, aod have found out that once more
it makeaall the difference in the world 'whose
ox it is that was gored.' ’
‘I don't quite understand.’
•‘Shall I explain? .Well, for instance, I am
embarked in an encounter with somebody, and
a skirmish of words ends in a mutual drawing
off, wh'ch ia oalled ‘one of Mrs. Bt. Clair's
quarrels'—all tbe odium rests on me. In rain
I protest that the provocation came from the
other side. ‘Oh, impossible!’ My fault has
only be9n to resent. ‘Oh, that cannot be 1’ At
last I tell the story, reversing tbe actors, at
tributing to the other party my speeches and
my actions, and endosste-ing theirs. A chorus of
exclamations : ‘Of course, don’t you see ? You
were palpably wroog; nothing was done to
you; you were needlessly fierce! poor so and
so, no woDder that they are wounded.’ ‘You
think ao. really ?’ I say. ‘Mostassuredly, noth
ing can be plainer.’ ‘I am heartily glad,’ I
answer; 'because I have exactly reversed what
happened; ’twag tiny that did such apd such
things, and I who had the other side.’ ‘Ah !
well, let's hear it all over again,’ if I am
weak enough to accede.’
‘What?’
'I find out that It makes all the difference
in the world whose ox is gored.’ ’
‘From which state of things you oonclude--
‘Two. Fust: That jEsop ia ever fresh, and
that naughty wolf, my world, is always
having the stream at which it drinks seriously
muddied by this innocent little lamb far below
the current; and, second : that it is the fashion
to think me always in the wrongand then she
made a courtesy a la Fontangu, and proposod
that they should all go home.
CHAPTER XII.
‘Mrs. St Clair, may I come in for an instant?’
said Ruth, tapping at Bertha’s door.
‘Certainly,’ cried Bertha; ‘is anything the
matter ? Sit down.’
‘Nothing very alarming, only I will venture
to oonsnlt you. I have just got a note from
my father, as we entered the house—but don’t
stop arranging /your hair, vou can listen just
as well, and rurte near the dinner hour, and I
know you don’t like being hurried.’
'Thank you. Tour father is not ill, I hope?'
‘No. not exactly, but he writes that his head
gives him some uneasiness, and adds,’ reading
from the note in her hand, ‘unless I grow
worse, I will start for Beauchamp on Wednes
day murniDg.’ Yon see, he has not come; this
note ought to lave been here yesterday. Ol
course, had anything very serious been ailing
him, my cousin, Mrs. Price, with whom lie
stays now, when I am not in town, would
have sent for me; but still lam a little wor
ried’
‘Of course. Are we in youj way this even
ing ? Would you go at once if we were not
here V
'Oh, not to-night; It is already after four
o’cluok. But you and Mrs- Denham meant to
go to town by the twelve o’clock train; would
you mind going instead with mo in the carriage
vtry early ? It is now later in the day, but by
starting at aix o’olook —can you calmly con
template six o’clock ?—we shall have a plea
sant drive, and I can return when I please.’
‘lt will suit me perfectly. But the luggage?’
•That and your maids can still take tbe train.’
‘lf we are not in your way, I think tbe plan
a very agreeable one, and I am glad you nave
spoken so promptly and without hesitation.’
‘Thank you, my dear Mrs. Bt. Clair; it Vas
exactly what I knew you would say.’ ‘
‘Well, it is exactly what I wish you would’nt
say, when you address me a9 Mrs. St. Clair.
Pray call me Bertha, as you sometimes do, and
as every body else always does.’
'Bertha, tbsn,’ said Ruth, smiling, and strok
ing tbe bright dark bair which her guest was
rapidly braiding ; ‘I am by nature’very formal
and stiff, you know.’
‘By education you are growing very much
the contrary,’ said Bertha, as she looked up at
bar.
‘Yes, Gerald U my teacher, and it i* easy to
learn from one who practices what he teaches.
You will parden my foolish admiration, when
I say, that his gracefnl ease of manner is to me
perfectly charming ; but I always think that
my efforts to imitate him are very like tbe
donkey’s labors in tbe lap dog line.’
‘I think you are getting a style of your own
which is even more attractive than bis.’
‘Ohl’ said Ruth, blushing faintly;* I shall
make you one of your own eourteseya for tbat.
But the fact is,—she paused ; ‘the fact is, my
present anxiety about papa is a little based on
an evil conscience. I fear lam too much taken
up with the study of Gerald and bis perfections,
to be able to pay tbe attention I ought to papa.
I have an nneasy, vague presentiment of some
coming evil connected with my dearest feel
ings. Haveyouever bad such silly fancies?’
•Dosens of times; very seldom with any re
sult. It. is quite. reasonable that you should
wish to go tp MrTDesboreugb, and I think it
is rigtjt, hilt I A'ke no doubt you will And
nothing tfcsJarmjfeu. Either be is only still
ailing, or etye he has changed his mind abont
coming. Pgrbaps he has heard that you have
a house foil of noisy, chattering people, and
keeps out of their way.’
‘Perhaps so,’ smiling. ‘At all events, I twH
I had best go; and you are sure^M^fl
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IMS^*.
Vr * * • i
*T EIGHT DOLIiARS FOK BiX MOMTHB.
Denham will not object T’
'Quite sure. What becomes of the gentle
men ?’
Phyllis takes Mr. Browne with them to the
Fordjcc's, by the up train in the afternoon. Mr.
Auorey and young Molvor go over to the
Trenton’s to hunt, and pass a few days. Mr.
Taunton goes in his own waggon, after break
fast, to big sisters, whose place is sixteen miles
acro.-s the river. Francis remains here with
Gerald.’
■Mr Gray does not go to town with us, then ?’
On, no I he stays to see the Fordycea off,
and, of course, I leave him to look after the
children.’
•Ot course.’
‘ 'Twits his proposition that I should suggest
your going with me, end thus reach town ao
much sooner. Now, good-bye; 1 must hurry
up Valerid. Tour hair looks like plaited satin,
aud to think that 1 can do nothing with mine,
except put it lu Valerie’s hands! Gerald al
ways says when I attempt to arrange my hair
mysell that it looks as if 1 had invited the
tunis to past a leisure moment lu brushing it.’
‘So 'twas Gerald's proposition, was it?’
murmured Mrs. St. Clair, as Ruth closed the
door. ‘Humph I'
In halt an hour there was a rustling of silks
down tue stsirs, as the ladies assembled in the
drawingroom, and immediately alter dinner
was aunounued.
The variable climate I This evening it was
like the last of May ; windows were thrown
open, aud in the coming twilight without,
everything looked so cool and (till, while
around me plate-laden table, where flowers in
prolusion bloomed, the tall silver eaudiehra
were not yet put to use. W ben the desert
and the children appeared, the oandlea were
lighted; and if among the many aiereotcopio
views whicn flood the civilised world, tuis
room could have been translerred to card board,
the result would have bad a great sale.
The women were all in their different styles,
worthy of admiration, irom stately Ruth to
smiliug Cissy. The gentlemen were, some of
them, singularly handsome. Mr. Fordyce
would only have lent a little shade to the
ooiors. Toon the two lovely babies in their
white embroidered dresses, and shoulder knots,
and sashes of bright, broad ribbon. They had
mitfnonnet heads with long ourls, and such
pretty, foreign-accentuated voices and ways;
their skins like ivory sud roses, and their plump
little bodies so well shaped.
Gerald at flrst clung to bis mamma, burying
his lair nead on her shoulder, and refusing to
look up, while Miss Geraldine, standing on her
papa's knee, had seised bis faoe between her
two little chubby hands and was kissing him
without ceasing, ooquettishly pretending utter
uncognixanco of Mr. Taunton’s efforts to draw
her attention towards him. ,
► *
Presently, however, she let her large, blue
eyes wander in that direction, and before very
long, was sharing an orange with him, and
chattering away in her little half French, half
English jargon.
‘Did you see the papers, Mr. Fordyce?’
asked Gerald. ‘They were late in ooming to
day, and I had no time to skim them over be
fore the dressing belL’
•Yes, I read one or two. .
•Anything new?’
‘A tulier report of the X— case.’
‘Ah. indeed! Is it decided ?’
‘Yes; verdict against him—marriage pro
nounced valid.’
‘From wuet paper do ours copy ?' asked Mr.
Aubrey. •
‘From the London Tirrut.’
•Didn’t you read it ?’ enquired Mr. Mclver;
‘I did.’
•What ease is this?’ Mrs. Denham asked.
‘A Casego prove a marriage.’ ansumred Mr—
IYOL IL—NUMBER 12.