The banner of the South. (Augusta, Ga.) 1868-1870, July 04, 1868, Image 1

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    VOL. I.
[For the Banner of the South.)
OUB DEAD.
BT MOII.A.
Do we weep for the heroes who died for us ?
Who. living, were true and tried for us,
Aud, in death, sleep side by side for us;
The Martyr band
That hallowed our land
With the blood they poured in a tide for us?
Ah! fearless on many a day for us,
They fought in the front of the fray few us,
And bold the foemen at bay for us;
And tears should fall
Fore’er o'er all
Who fell while wearing the Grey for us.
How many a glorious nanio for ns !
Hovr many a story of fame for us
They loft!—would it not be a shame for us
If their memories part
From our land and heart—
And a wrong to them and a blame for ns ?
No—no—no 1 they were brave for ns,
And bright were the Uvea that they gave for us:
The laud they struggled to save for us
Cannot forget
Its warriors yet,
Who sleep in so many a grave for us.
No—no—no! they were slain for us,
And their blood flowed out in a rain for us,
Red, fresh and pure on tho plain for us;
And years may go,
But tears shall flow
O’er the Dead w ho have died in vain for us.
And their deeds—proud deeds—shall remain for us,
And their names—dear names without stain for us,
Aud the glories they won shall not wane for us—
In Legend and Lav,
u< i..u h; vVrey,
Though dead—shall live over again for us.
[FOII THE BANNEB OF THE SOUTH.]
THE f»©l)®Rl? MILL,
1 mnslatod from “ Le Correspondant. ”
BV K. D. TANARUS., OF SOUTH CAROLINA.
IV.
TOO LITTLE BRAIN—TOO MUCH
HEART.
Li'lecd poor Luc’s mental faculties
wore most limited; for he had never been
able to read more than two syllables in
bis life. Rut from the school, where it
bad been utter waste of money to send
bini, it had been an easy task to trace a
lemarkable development of every sweet
antJ gentle feeling of the heart. He took
110 l )arfc in any light or quarrel, unless,
perhaps, to give the weight of his great
muscular strength, already remarkable, in
separating the disputants. His kindness
<Lilong his companions was proverbial,
And, in some instances, his personal at
tachments had amounted to a kind of
tvorship peculiar to himself. There had
hever been an occasion on which he
cad been known to betray, even by a
grnnee, the attachments lie cherished ;
}ci lie had been seen to weep over some
Slm ple proof of indifference. When
gi’own up Luc loved with all that reck
?‘ SS ’ u ff (>r abandon which characterises
j 1 io\ eof a heart whose repose has never
1 ea broken, whose purity has never been
'■'tilied; and he married, expecting to
perpetuate the happiness, this great
'•ream of love had revealed to him.
Rut from the close and constant sub
jection of two lives, which it moulds into
0!ie > at all times, and under all circum
stances, marriage, even as well assorted
as . u was in this instance, could only
■B ing disappointment to a heart so simple,
true, so overflowing, as Luc’s—to whom
iove naturally signified an absolute giving
U P°L himself, even to utter forgetfulness
01 that self in all things; an unbounded
eonlij e ace, closest union of thought and
‘"■dun, complete abnegation of will, and
* bibi worship of the beloved being.
t his perfect union, without which Luc
' ->al i not realize the happiness of his
‘! eum > could not be found with a wife
V. 0 ' gentle,loving and devoted,
allowed herself some independence of
action, some diflerence in opinion, some
natural and characteristic feeling, some
reservation, at times, in her expression
All these differences were like slight
prickings of thorns, which most persons
would not have noticed, and scarcely have
felt. But, to poor Luc, they were so
many deep and lasting wounds; still, as
he could find no tangible cause of com
plaint, he suffered in silence.
Sometimes, indeed, he tried to venture
on some remonstrance, but, on these oc
casions, he only succeeded in convincing
himself of being unjust and suspicious of
the good creature, who, if she had been
told to question her own conscience, would
have been unable to find just subject for
self-reproach; and Luc wound up the ac
cusation, by thinking himself wicked and
absurd. He tried in vain to be uncon
scious of these slight bruises; then to
conceal his sufferings ; but he did not al
ways succeed in either attempt.
Then there were two sorrows in this
house instead of one; neither of which
could know any alleviation. The sadness
of the husband, all the more deep and
painful because of his struggles to sub
due it; and the sadness of the wife, who
felt herself the cause of his unhappiness,
but to whom, neither Nature nor tender
ness suggested the proper remedy for it.
It was not the poor young woman’s fault
that God had not gifted her with a more
sensitive heart; neither could Luc he
blamed for having received this great
capacity for loving, this excess of sensj-
Kiiijy; he it nil ut le ran Jo of wfiiciiTie was
obliged to control, even with her,
In this way, then, they led a most un
happy life ; and though Luc was not na
turally given to that kind of introspec
tion, he had tried repeatedly to look into
and discover the cause of this two-fold
misery. Do not most errors usually sprint
from too slight an examination into their
source ?
This problem could easily have been
solved by an ordinary looker-on; on con
dition, however, that he was entirely dis
interested in the matter.
“It is because you love too much/’ our
imaginary observer would have said.
But Luc, at the barest reference to liis
great weakness, the slightest pressure of
the finger on his wound, would quickly
and indignantly have replied—“ Can one
love too much ?”
“Then it is that Catherine does not
love enough.”
But God knows whether Luc would
have gently handled the ill-advised coun
sellor, who would have touohod ever so
lightly upon the cherished memory which
was the holiest feeling of his soul. Per
haps the irreverent busy-body might then
suggest ; “One of you must have been
wrong ; perhaps both were at fault,”
“Neither one, nor the other, nor both.”
“Well—what then?”
“What then? Bah! It means that
marriage is worth nothing; that there
are no good matches, no happy homes—
for example, if wo take on one side good
grain, on the other a good mill, and we
get but inferior flour, what must one con
clude but that it is impossible to make
good flour? VoilaV ’
It would not be safe te affirm that the
narrow logic of the good man had always
presented to him this assertion aud solu
tion of the problem under this figure of
speech, but once finding it in its positive
form, it seemed to him to express both
his veneration for the beloved dead, and
the peace ot soul, he telt it was his right
to enjoy. No matter how his friends
might remonstrate, no matter what exam
ple they might allege, Luc resisted all ar
gument, and never abandoned bis first
position. This was the one aberration of
of this poor brain, joined to so great a
heart; this, the agaric on the sturdy Oak !
V.
PATERNITY.
“Have you any children?”
. . wa ® on o of the questions, with
\v lich Xavier thought he would conclude
inquest on the domestic affairs of his
AUGUSTA, G_A., J ULY 4, TLB6B.
new servant.
“None;” —this was Luc’s answer, ac
companied by a deep sigh.
“You have never had any?”
“None!” again sighed Luc.
Little Margaret, under the influence of
the first disagreeable impression, had
gone off to a corner of the room, where
she still examined the new comer with
lingering suspicion. But, after a while,
she ventured as far as the end of the
bench on which her grandfather sat, taking
a seat by his side—and finally, that she
might more closely observe this odd,
ugly face, and listen more nearly to that
rich voice, whose clear ring found a hap
py echo in her childish heart, she leaned
her head upon the table, her beautiful
curls falling freely about her.
Although still speaking with the grand
father, Luc had stealthily watched the
movements of the child, and again smiled
his peculiar smile. But while pretend
ing to. be entirely engrossed by the con
versation, he stretched out his hand me
chanically, and unconsciously, as it were,
slipped it between the table and the float
ing, golden tresses of the child; letting it
rest under the wavy mass, though his
hand at first had trembled, as a miser’s at
the touch of gold.
For some time the little one contented
herself with watching, then glancingly*
furtively from under her knit eye-brows, ;
opening and puckering up her sweet rosy
Jps she suddenly parted and thvowhig’
Lack her head, pointed with her pretty
little fingers to the great, coarse hand,
which was thus left exposed, and uncov
ered upon the tabe. “Caught!” she cried
joyously, with a merry peal of laughter,
which found prompt and deep response
in the depth’s of Luc’s great lungs. The
ice was thus broken between these two
beings of such opposite looks and natures;
one all deformed, apathetic, taciturn ; the
other, beautiful, graceful, overflowing with
life ; and only their Creator could know
the origin of that rapid friendship which
grew up between them. Two days, later
the heavy, great man, might have been
seen perched up on the topmost branches
of a tall poplar tree, (like some school
boy robbing his first nest,) that lie might
get at a hoop, that the little girl had
tossed there while playing.
***** *
The next year Luc was obliged to re
turn to his old home to attend to some
business, and was necessarily absent for
several days. On the morning of his
expected return, Margaret had been miss
ing from an early hour. She was sought
for everywhere, and they were just yield
ing to most alarming anxiety, when, ear
ly' in the evening, she was seen returning
in company with her friend. He had
found her at a great distance from the
Mill, near a little hill which overlooked
the road he travelled, when she suddenly
darted out to meet him from the foot of
an old tree, near which she had seated
herself, waiting patiently for so many
hours, with the simple wish to meet him
a little sooner, and to give him a pleasant
surprise.
When, indue time, the sweet and sol
emn festival of her first Communion drew
near, it was—would you believe it?—her
father who remained at home in charge of
the Mill, that Luc, accompanying her
grandfather, might go to the l’arish
Church to satisfy himself that she was
the most beautiful amidst that fair young
band. And as it was his pride that she
should appear the wealthiest amongst
them also, he had been allowed to con
tribute lrom his own savings a handsome
sum towaads the purchase of the beauti
ful wax taper it was customary for the
first communicant to bear in her hand on
this solemn and joyous occasion,
When her father’s death affected her
so deeply, that most anxious fears were
felt for her recovery, as has been already
said, Clare kept constant watch over her,
usually sitting in a large arm chair by
her side. One night Margaret heard her
telling Luc he had better go and rest him
self, for, ever since her illness, he had
passed every moment that he could spare
from the Mill, standing at the foot of the
bed, bis eyes rivetted upon her face.
“Let him alone,” said the sick girl—“he
could not sleep now; he will rest after
wards.”
“Yes, afterwards”—quietly repeated
Luc, who had never before felt him
self thoroughly understood, but expect
ed nothing less of Marg*aret,and her
remained silently at his post, stealthily
dashing aside two great tears which pre
vented a clear sight of his idol. Thus
began, and thus grew this singular af
fection between Luc and Margaret.
This great loving heart of the lonely
man, required some object upon which to
lavish all the tenderness of his simple
nature. Deceived in friendship, disap
pointed in love, the two most exacting
and jealous of all the passions, he seemed
to have found at last, in the gentle, and
disinterested emotion of paternal love all
that his warm heart craved.
The friend and lover aexact the most
exclusive devotion from their chosen ob
ject, and the least apparent coolness is,
often, enough to extinguish their ardor.
But the father loves from the simple ne
cessity of loving, and though he may meet
with ingratitude, he grieves, but never
ffeels the least diminution of this great
love—and it seems the nature ot this calm
->ind self sufficing affection receive al
most as a gratuity the proofs of love of
fered in return.
Luc seemed at last to have found a
sweet heaven of rest in the tenderness he
lavished on the charming and loving
grand-child of Xavier ; and Margaret, in
turn, from earliest childhood, to her gay
and happy girlhood, appeared instinctive
ly to comprehend him, and made just the
return that filled his life with joy.
We need not say that the father and
grand-father of Margaret never thought
of objecting to this unique friendship;
which, exercising an influence over the
child, equal almost to their own, seemed
but to add to the importance of the little
one, in the additional care and devotion
with which they delighted in seeing this
only object of their own surrounded.
And still more needless would it be for
us to say, that after ten or twelve years
of this unrestrained interchange of sym
pathy, if any one had tried to convince
Luc that there could be no positive bond
of friendship between him and the young
girl, it would have seemed a most un
called for interference. Certainly no one
would have dared to say she was not, by
some little claim, his Margaret, whom, as
a merry child, he had again and again
taken upon his shoulders, and carried
over the mill on all fours; and who now,
a beautiful and timid girl, never failed
even yet, to come, with all the freshness
of childhood, to offer her blooming
cheek for his kiss each night and morn
ing, and who all day long, in her familiar
talk with him, was perhaps even more
charmingly ingenuous than when with
grand-papa himself. This was plainly
seen when, acting altogether upon his own
judgment, the grandfather, without con
sulting Luc, told him one day to give free
entrance to the Mill, to the young man
whom he had selected, as being in every
way qualified to take charge of the pre
sent and future happiness of Margaret.
The adopted father did not go quite so
far as to dispute the superior claim of
Margaret’s legal guardian ; perhaps be
cause he could not exactly persuade him
self that this right could be questioned.
But when the young man arrived, and
was presented to her, Luc being present
only by chance, Margaret could not but
see the great shock it was to him. Siie
went up to him even in presence of her
lover, doubtless to try and soothe, by
some loving words, the great grief she
saw that he felt; hut before she could
reach him, he had hurriedly risen and
left the room.
An explanation followed, brought about
by Xavier, who apologized to Luc for.
having acted without consulting him
This frank admission conciliated Luc ver w
little, but he congratulated himself, nev
ertheless, in finding his claims to being
consulted in Margaret’s affairs, at last re
cognized. But Xavier added that he
felt convinced the result of their joint
deliberations would agree in every par
ticular with the decision he had already
made; fcnd he complacently enumerated
all the advantages of the proposed union.
Then it could be seen, how Luc, with
out giving up his short and pithy habit
of speech, knew exactly, in the most piti
less manner, if not absolutely to destroy,
at least how to take to pieces, stone by
stone, the bright castle built lip in the
dreatns of the good old miller.
So many flattering predictions, so
many knowing smiles and happy excla
mations on the one side ; so many scorn
ful shrugs, so many horrid grimaces, so
many ominous grunts, on the other. It was
a struggle, becoming worse and worse; so
that Xavier ended by losing his temper,
and, notwitstanding the unchanging imper
turbabiiity of Luc, a serious misunderstand
ing took place. The angry conclusion of
the old man was, that he had been a great
fool to lose his time in duscussing the
suitability of a match, with one, who,
from the very first, had pronounced all
marriage dangerous and impracticable ;
and be further reasoned that, at this aus
picious moment, when his child evinced
no disinclination for his choice, he was
not bound to follow other than his own
judgment, and that judgment was already
formed. The last reply of Luc, consisted
of a sudden toss of the head, accompan
ied by his expressive— “Eh, bien! ” —
ironicaly and loudly uttered. It seemed
like a defiance—at all events it expressed
neither submission nor defeat.
Next day, however, Xavier had the sat
isfaction of seeing, not exactly that Luc
had surrendered, for the bare mention of
the word “marriage” made him growl
significantly—but he seemed, at least, to
have resolved upon a certain neutrality,
Being a thoroughly good-hearted man,
Xavier could not but feel an earnest and
true attachment to his old and faithful
servant, and not wishing any misunder
standing to continue between them, when
he found himself alone with Luc, he ex
pressed his regret at having been so
hasty in his manner the previous day;
adding that he felt most kindly Luc’s
change of opinion.
“BahI” said Luc, “for the little girl,
yes; but for myself, no—no —never!”
This phraseology being interpreted, sig
nified, that Margaret had gained this con
cession from him, but that he considered
himself by no means compromised; and
he never hesitated, even in the presence
of the young suitor himself, to speak
freely his opinion, whenever he thought
the occasion called for it.
Meanwhile, negotiations seemed to he
quietly progresing to the inexpressible
delight of the grand father, Still, he felt
occasionally annoyed when he defected on
Luc’s sarcastic face a peculiar smile, as
he glanced at the young people, as thoug h
to say—“ Bah ! the bargain is not yet
made—she has too much sense to say
positively yes. She will think better of
it —no doubt of this.”
But, then, again, the good old man en
couraged himself by remembering how,
on a certain occasion, he had overheard
Margaret rejoicing with Glare at the pros
pect of the pleasant intercourse they
would establish between their two homes,
lie had even heard her exclaim in a per
fect ecstacy of delight—“ You have a fine
little man, perhaps we may have a nice
little woman ; we will train them to love
and admire each other, and by and by
they shall marry ; so we shall be doubly
united. That will be nice, is it not so ?"
Certainly there was not much more need
ed to assure Xavier of Margaret’s fullest
assent to the arrangements which seemed
on the point of completion.
No. 16.