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your trial I will come to you. Keep up
a "oodheart, darling; and don’t brood
too much on our grief for the sake of
your own health, now.”
After the carriage had rolled away
Horace stood by the window a long time
in deep thought; then he turned sudden
ly to his sister, and said, in a somewhat
restrained voice :
“ lies 4er, do you think Maxwell Mail
-1 iid makes Alice happy ?”
*• Certainly—why not, Horace ? What
a question. No one could fail to see how
at entire he is ; and I wonder such a
thought could enter your mind.”
Good Hester’s answer was quickly
given ; but a line that corrugated her
brows betrayed what see would not allow
her lips to utter, even to her brother.
“ They say that twins have a magnetic
sympathy fur their mates. I seem to
f<>el that Alice is not so light-heai ted as
she was when she left us. Nineteen to
morrow ; and she looks lull five years
elder than Wi.cn she left us, a year and a
half ago. If Maillard don't make her
happy, i shall hate him !” and a stern,
hitter expression settled on the youth’s
handsome face.
“ Why, Horace, how strangely you
talk !” persisted Hester, “Os course
Ally wouldn't seem as usual. Mother’s
death you know”- -and here the usually
calm, self-possessed woman’s lip quivered.
Horace’s own deep hazel eyes tilled
The boy had a tender, womanly heart.
“It may be my fancy only. I hope so,
Hester!' 5 but lie stood long in thought.
After their return home Mr. Maillard’s
mien softened toward his wife.
lie could not sec her going about in
her mourning robes, with her pale, sad
face, and quiet ways, without relaxing
from bis late manner. Hut still his pride,
so long dominant, mastered him sufficient
ly to withhold him from the manifestation
of his returning tenderness except by
constant watchfulness and by surround
ing her with such luxuries as wealth could
procure. Hooks, the latest music, flow
ers, every dainty of the season, these came
to her. Ah, if he had only known that a
lender word to a longing heart is better
than any gift gold can buy.
Alice accepted all with a sweetness
that never failed her now. Indeed, Mr.
Maillard marveled to see how submissive
she had become. There were no rebel
lions now; no breaking out of the old
high spirit ; no passionate outbursts—
and, alas ! no passionate yearnings for
tenderness. Her lips were never lifted
now for a kiss ; her eyes never sought
his wish wishful eagerness for the fond,
answering glance ; her slender hand no
longer slid caressingly into his. That
time, with her, was past.
One evening, sitting in that same libra
ry where she had stolen upon him once,
the windows open to the sultry air of the
August night, and the smoke of his cigar
floating out into the garden, Mr. Mail
lard began thinking of this.
“ How different Alice is from what
she was last winter ! My course was
most judicious. Her disposition has im
proved. But she has grown so pale late
ly. I think the air would have helped
her, if die had thought best to have gone
from home at this time.”
From that, soliloquy Mr. Maillard was
aroused by a ca’l from the housekeeper,
who sat with his wife in an airy, spa
cious upper room of the large, elegant
mansion.
An hour later, a baby boy’s frail life
fluttered in ( o existence, but for one brief
moment only, then went out again : and
the young mother lay dying on her
pillows. „
No kind, motherly, sustaining elder
sister was there to close those deep violet
eyes with a tearful kiss, and the twin
brother, who loved her with passionate,
enduring tenderness, only came to look
upon her white face in her coffin.
Maxwell Maillard stood, mute and be
wildered. when they told him his wife’s
life-moments were rapidly passing into
eternity. There was no time then for
confessions, pleadings, or regrets—no
time to tell her aught save the few broken
sobs that poured in a thick, turbid torrent
from his heavily throbbing heart.
Only time to receive the faint pressure
of the little outstretched hand, the last
meek, loving smile, and hear the two
latest words that came from the pale,
lovely lips, as her dying gaze was lifted
heavenward
Mother! Ilcaven !”
lliey buried her in the cemetery of
h<*r vi age home, beside her mother;
buried ner with her dead baby on her
breast. Hester s sad lace—-aged ere she
bad pa -sed into full prime—settled into
deeper ones hues that would grow deeper
still wdh the lapse of years that could
never restore the loved ones to the faith
ful heart of the mourner.
The twin-brother, brilliant with youth
and promise, but stunned and nearly
crazed by the terrible blow, felt that half
hh own bright young life was buried un-
der the earth-sod.
And Maxwell Maillard—the strong,
proud man, whose imperious will had
never yielded before—was smitten by the
fiat of the Almighty. He was left alone*
with remorse and regret. No need now
to open bis empty heart ; she could never
enter more. lie must sit down in the
ashos of its desolation. No need now to
relax his iron rule.
It Was TOO LATE.
[From the N. Y. Globe.]
Tho Dishonored Banner.
ADAPTED FROM TIIE “ AMERICAN FLAG.”
That banner, whose dim, waning light
Glints faintly on the trembling air,
Seems filched from the robe of night,
Without one star of glory there!
Fret glowed its folds with gorgeous dyes,
Like raylets from the azure skies,
And gleamed its pure, celestial white
With streakings of the morning light ;
Flag of the free heart's hopes and home,
By angel hands to valor, given !
Its stars did light the welkin dome,
And all its hues were born in heaven ;
• Now on its folds th’ unwilling sun
Sheds lingering rays of the evening’s dun,
Since late ’twas borne by tyrant’s hand
Tho symbol of his Vandal band.
Majestic monarch of the cloud !
No more! thou reard'et on high thy form
Amid war’s tempest howling loud,
Amid the hurtling death-shafts driven,
As though the kelbfiends of the storm
Had seized the thunder-bolts of heaven!
While Freedom from her eyrie gazed,
Beheld her banner of the free
Careering where her temples blazed!
And, erst her plains of victory
Ensanguined with her children’s blood,
And darkness where her altars stood,
Then bade her angel from the skies
Wash from thy folds her gorgeous dye3!
Flag of the brave! no more thou’lt fly
The sign of hope and triumph high!
No more the standard of the brave,
Tiiou’rt symbol of the trembling slave,
Since he alone thy stripes will bear
And all thy shameful guerdons wear.
No more the soldier’s eve shall turn
To see thy meteor glories burn,
For those red meteors rise and fall
Like gluts of flame on midnight’s pall ;
Nor foes shall heed their fitful glow,
Nor gallant arm shall strike below ;
But darkling hosts shall cower beneath
Thee, hateful messenger of death, •
For freemen’s life-blood, warm and wet,
Has dimmed thy glittering coronet!
Flag of the seas! the ocean-wave
Shall spurn thee flaunting o'er the brave,
And shamed afoarn shall hurl thee back
As ’fore the broadside/s reeling rack,
When death careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
Each hapless wanderer of the sea,
Whoso gaze toward heaven shall pause at thee,
Shall blush as thou dost mocking fly,
Like hovering ghoul, to sec him die !
Cold are those hearts that wanned for thee,
And all their love-born hopes are fled ;
No more thou’rt standard of the free,
Thy sons of valor all are dead !
Grim horror claims the free heart’s home,
To Vandal hordes for rapine given,
Whose flames did light the welkin dome
And shamed the genial glow of heaven!
Go! float above yon Bastilc’s towers
Where late the 4 ‘spot bade thee wave,
And as the night of freedom lowers
Henceforth be standard of the slave.
H*
Behold! the young morn streaks the day ;
The old stars deck the welkin dome ;
See Faction’s clouds how swift they fly!
While Freedom seeks her ancient home ;
She flings her banner o’er the lea ;
It greets each sun-light hill and dale,
Salutes the sky, the earth, the sea,
And floats in beauty on the gale ;
Its azure folds, how bj igkt they gleam!
Since all its hues were born in heaven—
Like lingering memories of a dream,
Or weird forms in summer's even ;
Still, miscreants claim its magic sway
In vapid boastings, deep and loud,
While i reedom's self they scourge away
To die within her bloody shroud.
P. C. W.
Xew York, April, 1808.
THE SOLDIER LOVER,
A TALE OF THE CONFEDERATE CAUSE.
‘‘And do you dure to call the feeling
you have professed for Hugh, love, Cora
lic ?”
“Hush Madge! don't look at me with
your great stormy eyes that way. Madge
Harper, you positively make my blood
run cold the way yon talk. It is hardly
right that a girl of my attractions should
throw herself away on a mau with only
one arm.’’
“Not if that arm was lost in the defence
of his country. Oh, Coralie! you that
I have loved as a sister, how can you be
so heartless ? How can you have so little
feeling for the brave man who has
enshrined you in his heart of hearts,
and who has periled his all in defence of
our loved land ! Think of those who
have bled and died, and how narrowly
Hugh has escaped with his life ; and all
through this warm summer day 1 know
he is lying patient and hopeful, yet won
dering why Coralie does not come—his
Coralie. Nay, do not start; you know
you promised to he his just one short
year ago ; and now, Coralie, how can
you throw aside, like a worthless toy, the
love of the noblest heart that ever beat ?'*
“Hush, Madge, you, distract me.
What has all this talk to do with my
marrying Hugh Mansfield ? i suppose
that 1 love him just as well as any other
girl would under the circumstances; but
as to wedding him, it is utterly impossi
ble, scarred and mutilated as he is,”
“Hut, Coralie, you should bo proud of
that sear, and that lost arm. Had I such
a soldier lover, I could consider it a badge
of honor that I would ' e proud to share
forever. Besides, is not the soul the
same, only, if possible, more ennobled ?
Oh, be careful, my friend, my sister, how
you trifle with your life’s great h ppi
ness;” and, in her impetuosity, the small
delicate girl knelt at her cousin’s feet,
and clasped the folds of her rich riding
habit.
“1 tell you I will not see him. Marry
him ! no, never! Hut now I think of it,
you would suit him exactly, Madge ; you
are both what the world calls talented
and understand all about soul marriage,
moral heroism, and all that, while I am
so much of earth, earthy, that I shudder
at the sight of a cut finger. You see, my
little cousin, that 1 lack the moral courge
you possess, Why, 1 believe that you
would march up to a loaded caunon’s
mouth if you thought it was necessary.
No, no, little one, 1 could only yield my
heart to a handsome face and form, n it
forgetting the charms of a well-filled
purse. Believe me, I could not bear to
sec Hugh now ; he was once so gloriously
handsome. Good-bye, cousin dear, I
am going to take a ride with Charlie
Lumsford, to the haunted castle, where
they say that ghosts do congregate on a
moonlight night. Good-bye.” And the
the gay coquette donned her riding hat
and closed the door behind her.
Madge made no reply; she had cov
ered her face with her hands, and the
bitter tears were coursing down between
her white fingers. Ah, little did the
thoughtless Coralie think that she had
rudely jarred a secret chord that way ward
Madge had striven in vain to hide down
deep in her heart of hearts. She was
not beautiful; her features, though pro
possessing and intellectual, were too largo
for beauty ; still the form was cast in the
finest, mould, and with her proud, flashing
eyes, clear complexion, and wealth of
chestnut curls, she was often called beau
tiful, because there was about Her that
mysterious magnetic attraction which sup
plies the place of beauty.
Left an orphan four years previous to
tho introduction of our story, she had
found a home in the house of her uncle,
where she had been treated as a daugh
ter —yet the silly, fashionable Mrs. May
burn illy supplied the place of the mother
she had lost! and Madge sighed for the
rose-wreathed cottage where she had
known such a wealth of love.
Charlie Lumsford, seated in the next
room, had unwittingly been a listener to
the conversation of the two girls, and it
was the first intimation lie had ever heard
of the engagement of Coralie. A great
admirer of beauty, lie had been lured by
her siren smiles almost to the verge of a
declaration, and hitherto had looked upon
Madge simply as an interesting girl, of
whom he would like to know more But
then it was not worth the trouble; for
Charlie, though talented and noble-mind
ed, Had been spoiled by fortune, and
dearly loved his ease. Hut now his
heart throbbed and glowed as lie listened
to her sentiments, so unlike the mass of
women ; and how he despised himself for
yielding his heart a moment to one whose
iove went no deeper than a handsome
face and a well-filled purse. Besides,
why may not his fate be the same as
Hugh’s, for an earnest lover of Isis coun
try, that morning he had enlisted for
Lee’s army.
Coralie opened the door softly to find
him pacing the room with a red spot
burning on either cheek, while the words
“I must know more of her ; she is worthy
the love of a true man’s heart, ; such as
with the help of heaven I may become,”
came from his lips.
And the little beauty gave the words
her own interpretion.
“tie will certainly propose,” she said,
“and I shall as certainly accept; for in
all the country round, there is no one so
wealthy and handsome as Charlie Lums
ford.”
He turned to see a roguish face ap
proaching, and to feel a soft little hand
placed within his own, while the apology,
“I am sorry to have kept you waiting so
long, Mr. Lumsford, but am ready at
last,” came in a musical voice to his ears;
and they were soon on their way to the
old ruins which Coralie had expressed a
fancy to explore, but for which she eared
little, thinking the trouble only repaid by
the attractive attentions of Captain Lums
ford
it was with difficulty that he kept up a
conversation with the smiling beauty by
his side ; for his thoughts were far away
by the sick bed of his friend Hugh ;
waiting, longing, hoping through the.
rosy morning hours for the presence of
his affianced brid-?, the faithless Coralie.
Somehow he fancied that the shy, impul
sive Madge was there, with her deep, un
fathomable eyes and musical voice, per
haps reading to him from some classic
tome, or tender poet ; and somehow the
thought gave him pain.
Hut Madge was not there, as she had
been many days previous, assisting Eva
line Mansfield in the care of her sick
brother, because after Coralie’s depart
ure, she went carefully to work searching
her own heart, and there found Hugh
Mansfield’s image shrined as its most
cherished idol. How eould she dare to
meet him now ? Header, it is a sacred
hour when the pure and trusting maiden
for the first time enters the white-robed
chambers of her soul, and finds the spirit
image of another shadowed there. How
the clear white deepens mto a rosy flush,
and the rainbow hues of hope overshadow
all till the path of life seems strewed
with flowers; earth is robed with a golden
glory, and it seems as if we would never,
never suffer again, so sweet, so thrilling
is the new, strange chord that the welcome
guest has stirred.
Hut the sweetest awakening of woman’s
life came not to Madge Harper as it does
to many maidens, but in sorrow, for with
it came the knowlekge that she was
alone and unloved. Alas! what a des
olate feeling this is to a loving woman’s
heart.
* # * %
“Madge! Madge! my sweet little wild
wood blossom, will you not, can you not
love me ? 1 know well the worth, the
depths of a nature such as yours. Cir
cumstanes have compelled me to speak
now, for I leave with my regiment in the
morning, and could not depart without
opening my mind to you —you who have
so silently, sweetly, stolen into my inner
life, till every tendril of my heart seems
woven around you, every purpose cen
tered in you, till it can scarcely be said is
mv own. Madge, 1 would not insult
your spotless nature, or tempt your proud
heart, by speaking of the great wealth
which it is in my power to lay at your
feet, did I not know that from no other
man than a husband would you receive
means to expand the lofty intellect which
is yours ; and that you, who are an angel
of mercy, might make that wealth a bless
ing. Oh, Madge, give me one ray of
hope, and help me to live the better life
that 1 have marked out for myself.”
Her answer fell on Charlie Lumford’s
life crushing out all the beautiful flowers
which had nestled there for weeks.
“Charles, dear friend, I love and es
teem your noble character, prize your so
ciety, but will he frank with you. My
heart is another’s, and my love, like
yours, is hopeless.”
They were together on the mossy turf
beneath the shade of the spreading ma
ples. and the strong man bowed Ids head
upon liis hands, while his proud frame
shook with contending emotions. She
laid her small hand on his bowed
head, and the slight touch aroused him.
Impulsively his arm drew her to his em
brace, while he pressed one kiss upon her
brow.
“It is not wrong, Madge. Farewell,
purest, dearest, I will try to learn to
look upon you as a sister; and when you
hear that Charles Lumsford has fallen in
battle you will go and comfort his poor
mother, and be to her as a daughter.”
One moment more, and the brave
hearted, impulsive, Charlie Lumsford was
gone.
Alas ! how often swift coming presen
timents are true ; it was at Antietam he
fell, with her name the last upon his lips.
They opened his will and in it there was
a rich legacy bequeathed to Madge
Harper; and when his mother wrote
asking her to come and share her home,
and be toiler as a daughter, she went
like a true woman, seeking to bind up
the wounds of the broken-hearted, and
many blessed the legacy, which in the
hands of Madge, was the means of doing
so much good.
In the meantime where was Coralie?
h : he had become the wife of a rich mer
chant, old enough to be her father, and
in a giddy round of pleasure, vainly
sought the pearl of happiness. Alas!
how many there are who sell themselves
for gold to find that gold a curse.
* # % # * *
“How can I ever thank you, Madge,
for your kindness to me ? You have
been like fragrant flow rets and coul foun
tains to a parched desert.” And Hugh
Manfield took the little hand in his only
remaining one, while he gazed scarch
iugly into the clear eyes upturned to his
own “I am going to luxuriate in rural
life now,” and his voice had a touch of
sadness in it. “And now that I have en
tirely recovered, you will still be my
companion sometimes, and we will live
over tlie old days again—you and l—the
days when we were children.”
It came, and yet he knew nor how, the
all-absorbing love which overshadowed
with its holy wings, Hugh Mansfields
life ; and Madge became loved as even
Coralie never had been.
Every hour that Hugh spent in her
society he wondered at the strength and
power of her mind. It was winter, when
the snow had spread abroad its fleecy
mantle, that the confession was made.
And shortly after there was a quiet wed
ding in the village church, where the
sweetly murmured, “I will” of Madge,
thrilled Hugh Mansfield’s heart with glad
ness and caused him to bless the broken
arm which had gained him such a wife.
THT^RUNKARDr
Among the busy scenes of the world,
the most degraded object which meets
our gaze is the drunkard. A being who,
bereft of all control over his passons, is
sinking into an early, dishonored grave.
Years ago he was the pride of lovin"
and indulgent parents. Maternal influ
ence made his youth the happiest epoch of
his life. Could that mother's voice now
breathe words of comfort and affection in
those ears which have so long been accus
tomed to hash tones, virtue would su
percede vice, and the wretch become'a
man.
When manhood smiled upon him lie
was surrounded by those whose ages and
employments made them his constant com
parions. The giddy pleasures of the day
soon won from him the paths of rectitude
and honor. Step by step he descended
from industry to idleness, idleness to dis
sipation, from dissipation to wretched in
temperence. Friends have deserted him.
Soon weary of their endeavors to re
claim, they have given up in despair, lest,
bv constant contact with vice, they should
become associated with it,
Forgetful of the mission which the
Creator intended he should fulfill, the
drunkard, in the companionship of those
who have lost all traces of virtue and hu
manity, becomes the hardened man of
crime. At times there is no act, however
wicked, to which he does not give assent;
no deed of horror in which he refuses to
become an actor. During his moments
of frenzied drunkenness a human life is
to him as a spider’s web, which without
any thought of remorse, he s veeps into
eternity.
The home of the inebriate presents a
scene alike of pity and of shame. The
bare wall, empty larder, and half famished
children show that care and protection are
unknown and unappreciated. Here, in
one corner, desolate, sits she whom the
drunkard won from her happy home—she
whom he swore to protect, to care for in
sickness and in health, in prosperity and
in adversity, In her face the furrows of
sadness and woe have made that which
was once beautiful the picture of wretch
edness and despair. In one glance she
surveys the present and past; what
the future will reveal she dreads to con
template. As if painted before her ir.
vivid colors, she sees her miserable Ihh
hand, destitute ol honor, turned from the
society of the worthy, a branded felon.
Despised and shunned, she sees him fallen
to the lowest depths to which a mortal
can descend. To the drunkard’s children
the world offers a life minged with dis
grace. Though they may become blessed
with knowledge—though Providence mav
endow them with a plentitude of wordly
goods—though they may become all tint
is noble and good, they will ever remem
ber with horror and shame the curse of
intemperance. —Santa Cruz lime*.
Marriage of Gen. llood —We find
the following pleasant announcement in
the New Orleans Picayune of Friday :
\\ c have a pleasant surprise to give
our readers. The gallant, brave, and
universally beloved Gen. Hood, was mar
ried yesterday evening to Miss Anna
Hcnnen, daughter of the late Duncan N
Ilennen, Esq.
Ihe hero of this, as well as of a great
many other, but very different engage
ments, was surrounded by a number of
his comrades in arms, among whom we
notice Gens. Buckner, Brfigg, liavs,
Wheeler, Maury, and Scott. Also such
friends of his in peace as Messrs. M.
Musson, T. A. Adams, Pike, etc
General Hood may rest assured that
from every Southern household will go
up, upon reading this announcement,
most hearty prayers for the continued
happiness of himself and of her who lias
linked her destiny with his, and surren
dered her name to one whose own is
written on the tablets of fame indelibly.
A New Hampshire farmer, who had
an invariably good-natured wife, longed to
hear her scold for a change, and was ad
vised that a load of crotchety firewood
would make her very desirably cross.
He tried it. When the pile was gone, ho
asked if he should get such another sup
ply. “Oh, yes, said she, “for that crook
ed wood you brought before does lie
around the pot so nicely.”