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2 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.”