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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.