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2 VI. NOTHING DONE. But, alas! one evening, instead of the joyous young spouse and father, whom Clare had been accustomed to welcome, a sad group of workmen entered her door, bearing on a rough litter the bleed ing, mangled, corpse of her husband! The poor young carpenter had fallen from the roof of the house he was building, and had been instantly killed. All that friendship could suggest was carried out by the warm-hearted Marga ret on the sad occasion—and though sym pathy, soothing as it may be, cannot re call the past, she could only lament the terrible blow which had stricken the young widow of the carpenter, leaving her enfeebled, perhaps, for life ; because the shock had been so sudden and fear ful, as seriously to affect the health of the young mother. The misfortune which had befallen Clare was of a nature to touch the pru dent, but not unkind, heart of Xavier. Margaret, in this case, was not obliged to have recourse to argument or subterfuge to obtain from him most positive proof of kindest sympathy and generous commis eration And, in consideration of Mar garet’s sadness, he decided that he would let a certain length of time elapse before he would remind her of her own smiling prospects; her young lover yielding gracefully to this delicate thought on the part of her grandfather. But the day came when he thought it prudent to re turn to this important matter; fancy then the painful astonisment of Xavier, when Margaret clearly informed him, that she had reflected deeply upon the subject, and, if it were agreeable, she wished him to put an end to the negotiations that had been inaugurated. Urged by her grand father to give some reason for this sudden change, she pretended to find in her loyer, if not positive faults, at least the want of certain qualities, which she declared were indispensable to happines, in so close an union. But her objections were so vague and confused, that Xavier could get hold of nothing satisfactory. When he insist ed upon renewing the happy state of af fairs that had but a short time since made everything so bright and promising, not only did she plead that she was still too young, and that there was quite time enough to form so inviolable an engage ment, but she seemed to have discovered a long train of examples and arguments that gave weight to her determination. She put aside her grandfather’s most flattering prophecies by a well applied doubt; she enumerated unhappy instances of incompatibility of temper; and then dwelt at length upon the lingering mar tyrdom of a heart bound by an indissol uble tie, to one unworthy of it. In short, Xavier found himself confronted by the half crazy logic of Luc, defended bp Mar garet’s better judgment. “Par (lieu ,” exclaimed he—“’tis Luc who has won you over to his ideas.” “But why could not these ideas be mine too, grand-papa ? And then, as if wishing to turn away the weight of suspicion from her friend, Margaret, adopting another order of argument, declared that it was too early in life for her to be subjected to perhaps the same trial poor Clare was then passing through. Xavier insisted that she should not take the exception for the rule, and that should such sad casualties fall to her lot, even so, her situation, in other respects, could never be identical with that of her unfor tunate friend. Margaret then adduced the case of her own mother, who had died in less than two years after her marriage; of her father, who had so soon been taken from her love ; and as to the wordly ad vantages she possessed over her friend, she declared she really could not see any thing in that to convince her of the dis parity in their situations. “There”—said Xavier testily—“now I know, it is the nurse and Clare who have made you think of all these things.” “Oh, dear grand-papa, it requires but a simple act of memory to gather such facts for myself, and just a little common sense to apply them.” But why couldn’t you have thought cf all this nonsense a month ago ?” “It was just because I needed one month more of reflection. To-day it is very different. But that is not the difficulty cher grand pere! This boy does not suit me; he does not know how to please me. Surely you would not marry me to one not according to my taste; let the matter stop here—l wish it so.” “But—” “But grand-papa, see here—all that you can say will never convince me; positively, I do not wish to marry this young man, you may make any excuse to him that you please. For myself, I have nothing more to say !” much disconcerted, went straight to Luc, to compel him to ac knowledge the share he had had in this proyokingly sudden change, but he could elicit nothing more but this short and ra ther equivocal commentary, uttered with a slightly triumphant air—“l knew it! I thought it! I said it!” Then Xavier, more exasperated than before, fell back upon the two poor wo men ; but they solemnly declared that they had said nothing which could have influenced Margaret. Still, they admit ted that they thought Clare’s misfortune hnd been quite calculated to give her serious subject for reflection. Disappointed again, the poor old miller returned once more to Margaret, who, gently, yet decisively, reiterated her de termination; so he was compelled to make the best he could of her unsatisfac tory objections, trying to wound as little as possible the feelings of her suitor by this abrupt dismissal, a dismissal which the poor young man was but little pre pared for. iSfome months latijr, Xavier—who still cherished this one great hope of his tle clining years—persuaded himself that the sudden check he had received, did not arise from any objection on the part of Mar garet to his wishes for her happy settle ment in life ; consequently, he authorized another young man to try and win her. But notwithstanding his many advan tages, this suitor was rejected also ; with out receiving any attention from the young girl, except a refusal, marked by the most disheartening coldness. When Xavier spoke to Margaret about it, he was displeased and surprised to find that this refusal seemed based upon a pre ference for another. Soon after this there came a third suitor, then a fourth!—but why stop to enumerate ? Let us hasten on with our narrative. During the next five years, several other admirable and desirable matches were proposed for Margaret, with no bet ter success, nor did she seem to think it necessary to give herself any trouble with regard to her motives for each fresh re fusal. The heiress of the Coudrets possessed so many attractions, that the number of her admirers never lessened ; but the sin gular obstinacy with which she rejected even those, whose great claims seemed an earnest of success, finally roused com ment and observation. The report spread—and there were some to whom wounded self-love gave zeal in circulating it—that Margaret had made a vow never to marry, and that, not wishing to grieve her grandfather, to whom she knew her resolution would be painful, she aifiused herself by insulting those who could not move her from her strange determination. Now, this report, we need not say, was not slow in reaching Xavier, who, it must be owned, had not been without some un defined fear of this kind, which the voice of rumor seemed now, to a certain ex tent, to confirm. And he not only gave the report credit at once, but several times spoke freely to Margaret on the sub ject. Each time she had asserted, and once, even upon oath—when Xavier com pelled her to do so—that it was by no means her intention to remain unmar ried, but that nothing hurried the event, and she only awaited the time when she would meet the one who was to make her happy. But although saying this to silence the fears of her grand-father, numbers of suitors were still dismissed without any satisfactory cause. At every fresh rejec tion of fresh candidates, especially when he thought the chances of success pro mising, Xavier became more and more alive to the tormenting expression of triumph on Luc’s face, who, preserving all the while a strict neutrality, was never theless constantly muttering : “Savais bien, moi! pensais bien! disais bien /” Margaret would sometimes say : “Patience, grand-papa—leave it to time—perhaps the day may come !” But there was a final day drawing near for the old man, also; and he asked her sadly, if the pledge she had made, was indeed but a delusive promise, to lull him to the very last in his cherished dream ; and if he were taken from her, would she not then openly declare her de termination to live always alone; a con dition in which he would tremble to leave her under any circumstances. And the evening of his life was softly clouded by these doubts, these fears! Be cause, when at last the dark shadows of that mysterious night begin to fall, it is not enough to the upright man to feel as sured that he will sleep well upon the white and smooth pillow his own unsul lied life has prepared for him, and that he will rest beneath the warm covering spread over him by the regret and esteem ot his friends ; he must cherish, too, the hope, that in the eternal sleep, he will dream sweet dreams of the assured hap piness of the loved ones he has left. [to be continued.] Ale goes down every day, notwithstand ing its increased tax and cost. [For the Banner of the South.] Extract from a letter found in the trunk of of a young soldier who “Died at his Guns” in the siege of Vicks burg : Demopolis, Ala., June, 1863. * * * “Will you not name one of your guns in honor of my little daughter, the ? I have not forgotten your wish to make her your Patron Saint, and if, in the anticipated battle at Vicksburg, your Battery comes out, as I know it will, triumph ant, I will present you a stand of Colors, the white stripe of which shall be mado of my bridal robe of moire antique. * * * * * You are placed where only brave and gallant men are called; for well the enemy know how important the acquisition of that stronghold. You may receive this on the eve of one of the grandest of the many grand battles fought for your country’s freedom; for God’s sake do not falter. Let them wade through a sea of blood before they take a gun from your command.” In answer to the above, was written, “The noble gun shall be baptized in blood.” “Baptised in Blood.” Lady, when you counselled this young soldier, This spirit bold ai*l daring, did no voice . Whisper within you, that, for him, perettanef, There might be fearful prescience in your words ? And did your heart not bleed, recalling then The soft dark eyes that looked such love in yours, Or danced in mirth, or proudly answered back Your own proud patriot look of dire resolve ? Did you bethink you, then, of that sweet smile, So full of tenderness, your startled heart, Albeit guarded, to its depths was stirred, As if a dream of girlhood had come back ? And did then mingle with these later dreams, Remembrance of the fresh glad voice that made Such music soft or tender, sad or gay; While came the thought, “How dear all these must be To some fond heart that finds in them its world, For 'tis no common love natures win—” And knowing this, did you not, Lady, know To “wadethro’ sea of blood,” alas 1 might be To close the eyes, bike from those lips their smile, And still the music of that voice fore’er ? “Baptized in blood , the noble gun shall be!” Pledge lightly made, but royally redeemed, , Whose heart’s blood flowed to make that promise good* O, noblest blood that ever dyed our soil I O, truest heart that ever ceased to beat! 0, purest Patriot of the Martyr Dead! Brave blood so vainly spilt, so quickly dried— True heart, with all its wealth of love, forgot— Pure Patriot, ’mid a country’s woes passed by, Save in a mother’s proud idolatry! Fair friend—brave comrades—weeping lady love— Where were ye then ? Amid the tumult wild, And thro’ the City’s wrecks the Mother ‘twas Who sought, and found, the lonely grass-grown mound Where slept her darling. "Twas the Mother's love, Thro’ victor foes, and from beneath their flag, That bore her coffined idol to a grave Lone, still, and quiet, where the step of those Who made her childless, might not thence to stray. The Mother ’tis, who watches morn, and noon, And night, that sacred 6pot, o’ergrown with flowers, And keeps upon his tomb the fadeless wreath, Pure as his valor, fresh and green as lives His noble memory down in ber heart. Fair friend—brave companions—mourning lady love— And dear companions all—where are ye now ? Sacred Writ we reiki of o»e, whom p The Blessed Saviour, at the gates of Nain, Brought back from Death to Life; and gave, unasked, Again unto the weeping Mother’s arms— This one— a widowed Mother’s only child! M. S. Fort Gibson, Miss., June 24, 1868. GEN. PAtTcLEBURNE. The Editor of the Houston Telegraph draws a parallel between the Earl of Car digan who led “the charge of the Light Brigade,” in the Crimean war, and Gen. Pat. Cleburne, who, it will be remembered, was killed in a desperate charge at the battle of Franklin, near the close of the late war. The following is the picture given of Gen. Cleburne: The same rellections apply to that grand hero of the Confederate Army of the West, Maj. Gen. Cleburne. He was as brave a man as the Earl of Cardigan. He was as brave as any man in the world ever was. lie was not brave as most brave men are, from the high moral qualities of the soul alone, but, like the Earl of Cardigan, he was physically brave. He had a contempt for fear; he disdained danger ; he defied death. He was the most perfect specimen of a truly brave soldier—brave, morally and physically, and brave to perfection— that it was our good fortune to become ac quainted with during the late war. When commanding in battle, the hail of bullets and the tornado of all-destroying shells, so far from impressing his mind, or relaxing the steel springs of his nerves, did not even attract his attention, except so far as his eagle eyes watched the swaying fortunes of the light. His courage, too, manifested a most rare combination, lie was as ferocious as a tiger, and vet as cold-blooded as a fish, and as impassable as an owl. He fought his men so as to kill and destroy as many of his enemy as possible in the short est space of time, and yet he smiled with a grim delight at the success of his measures for the destruction of human life, and coolly and nonchalantly revelled in the carnival of blood. Although he taught his men assiduously that the art of war was the art of killing, and that the best fight ing was the fastest killing, so that every soldier of his command soon became accus tomed to fire in battle with the same cool ness and precision as when shooting squir rels or deer, yet he was noted for teaching his men how to preserve themselves from the fire of the enemy, detecting, with the quickness of instinct, every advantage of ground, natural or artificial, for such pre servation, and teaching his men the same sagacity and the same art. His courage, though cool and calculating, was electrical in its influence upon his men. There never was a time when his simple presence and voice would not re-form and re-inspire the most utterly routed and broken brigade or regiment. Men seemed afraid to be afraid where lie was. He did nothing to win popularity among his men, and yet they worshipped him. We are satisfied, even at this late day, that he was the most effective, reliable, and able division commander we ever knew. The drill, discipline, and inspection of his whole division was as perfect as that of a single company, under a Captain of similar qualities to bis own. [For the Banner of the South.] » POLITICS. In these times that try men’s souls, the heart of the patriot is often filled with sad foreboding’s of the future. When he con templates the spectacle of discord and strife which this once united country now presents ; when he thinks o£ the glories of the past, and remembers the gloomy present, well he be filled with sadness, and exclaim, from the inmosft depths of his soul: “Who can deliver us from the evils that are upon us ? Is there nothing that can restore peace to our distracted country ? Can it be that, in a land that claims to be Christian, the people of the two great sections lately engaged in fra ternal strife, cannot clasp hands, and, mutually agreeing to forget the past, unite their energies to promote the pros perity and glory of their common country V* It is only by a spirit of Christian charity, pervading all sections of the Union, that peace can ever come again to this un happy land, and it should bo the prayer of every patriot that God would incline the hearts of the whole people to love and seek after peace. Let the people of the North say to their brethren of the South : “We believe that you thought you were fighting for the right, and that, in taking the course, you did, you deemed that you were upholding the honor of your sec tion ; we believe, too, that when you laid down your arms, and swore allegiance to the Union, you took those vows in good faith ; we believe you to be honorable men, and we can trust you.” On the other hand, let the people of the South say to their Northern brethren : “We, too, believe that you deemed your cause just, and, granting to you the same purity of motive which we claim for ourselves, we are willing to ignore all past differ ences, and, with you, vow upon the altar of our country, mutual friendship and forgiveness.” It is only upon this broad platform that the North and South can ever stand together, united in heart and soul as well as in name. No party, and no set of men, can jelaim to be,, national in their sentiments, whose souls are not animated by this liberal spirit of Christian charity. Judged by this standard, what claim has the Republican party to the name of National ? Where, in all its policy, can you find this spirit of mutual forbearance and trust ? Does it not propose to treat the man of the North as a citizen, while it treats the man of the South as a conquered subject, who has no rights except such as the conqueror may choose to grant him ? We know too well how deficient in a truly national sense is the policy of the Re publican party. We cannot look to it to restore to our country her former pros perity and glory. But there is an abiding hope in the hearts of our people that the Convention which shall assemble in New York on the anniversary of our Nation’s birth, will adopt such a policy as will ha tre a just claim to the name of National, and that they will give us a platform broad enough for the whole country to stand upon; one upon which the North erner and Southerner can stand, shoulder to shoulder, and upon which the man who wore the gray, and he who wore the blue, can cordially unite and clasp hands, without either abating one jot or one tittle of his manhood. Let there be no mention of those much abused terms, loyalist and rebel, and no reference to the bitterness of the past. But let the dele gates of the North, the South, the East, and the West, with one heart and soul, raise the standard of Justice and Consti tutional Liberty, and lend their united efforts to bear it on to victory. Let them resolve that the unjust schemes of the now dominant party shall be thwarted, and, throwing expediency to the winds, and thinking only of principles, let them determine that, while we will do justice to men of all races, yet this country shall remain, what our fathers made it, the country of the white man, and that none but white men shall administer its Gov ernment. Under such a banner they will deserve success, and even defeat would be more glorious than victory un der any other. When a great National Party shall come before the country with a policy so liberal and just, seeking to in augurate an era of reconciliation and peace, then, indeed, hope will dawn in the hearts of the most despondent, and those who now grieve over the dissen sions of our country, will feel that truly the “morning of deliverance cometh.” A Confederate. NEW ORLEANS CORRESPONDENCE OF THE BANNER OF THE SOUTH. Heavy Rain —Awakening of Southern Industry—lmprovements in New Or leans —The Crescent City to be Eleva ted into the Chief Grain Market of America Attention to Garden and other Supplies—The South working out its own Reconstruction. New Orleans, June 23, 1868. Editor of the Banner of the South: Dear Sir:— A heavy rain-tiood, with thunder and lightning accompaniments, affording me the unaccustomed privilege of spending part of an hour at my desk, I take the occasion to note for you a few items from the Crescent City. Imprimis , let me express my belief that the “coming day” hp.s already dawned for our too long shrouded Southland. Its signs are to be seen in the unmistakable awakening of Southern Industry. Witness, in this city, the successful manufacture of ice, whose purity ahd temperature rival those of the poles; the rotating brick kiln, whose admirable productions pour forth in an incessant stream, day and night; the numerous sugar and syrup refineries, un surpassed in the world for the quality of their work; the extensive soap-works, of similar character; the ravenous bone-black mill, which disposes so happily of ali the defunct cows, horses, mules, and other animals of this large city, converting the hides into leather, and the rest of the car cass into tallow, tanners’ oil, axle grease, &c.; and, finally, not to tire you with the list of successful industries now in active operation, I would name, as a climax, the invaluable Grain Elevators, now here, and in the course of construction, with a capacity of handling, daily , many hundred thousands of bushels of grain, salt, or any other commodity, in bulk. These Eleva tors, in conjunction with the cheap system of barge-transportation, will soon elevate this city into the position of the chief grain market of America; and if our capitalists then fail to crown her Queen City of the Continent, they may blame none but them selves. Another evidence of renewed vitality in the South is the unwonted attention given to the production of garden and other supplies, for daily home consumption and exportation, as may be seen by the large receipts from the interior, of early Southern vegetables and fruits, which are shipped, in great quantities, to the Northern and Western cities. Let politicians do their worst; the South has fairly entered on its own plan of inde pendent Reconstruction, and a few years of persevering attention to our own potato patches, will enable us to hid defiance to all sorts of Puritan Radicals. So be it. Yours, truly, Southern Radical. Home-Made Barometers.— Take two sheets of pasteboard jfef>er, of any con venient size, say three feet long bv two feet wide. Bring the ends together and glue or paste them tight, each sheet by itself, and they will look like two pieces of paper stovepipe. Cut thin, round boards, exactly to fit in the ends of these paper cylinders, carefully nail or glue them tight. Now you have two air-tight paper drums, with wooden heads. Take a pole of any length you desire—three feet or twelve feet ; let one drum be fas tened to each end of the pole, Now balance this pole, with the drums on each end, on nice pivots, in the middle. Then bore a gimlet bole through the end of one drum, and you have a good farmer’s ba rometer. One drum is air tight; one ha> a hole in it; So there will be more or less air in one drum than there is in an other, according as the surrounding air is dense or rarefied. Consequently, in dense or heavy air the tight drum rises, while the one with the hole in it, goes down Crosswise, through the middle of the bar or , pole, should run a stick as large as one’s finger, a foot long, with wire gud geons, on which the instrument should vibrate. Let the ends of the pole be slightly lower than the middle, that the whole do not make a somersault ; smear all with glue or oil, so that no air enter only in the puncture mentioned. Have something you can slide through the bar, to keep it nearly level Mark, if you please, figures along the pole, to show how far you have moved the balancing poise, though for this there is but little need. This instrument may not be >c perfect as a costly barometer, but for ah practical purposes it is all one could a.-k I have had one more than a year. I lock at it a dozen times a day. They could be made and afforded for fifty cents a piece They could be made as long a-- a barn, and placed in the loft, with an in dicator to show the distant mower wnca to make his hay. —Boston Journal g Chemistry. Our readers have heard of the clerg}; man who quoted Sterne’s sentence, ‘'[foi tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, f a passage from the Bible. The mistake is not equai to that of a Friend, wh 1 a meeting, remarked : “A horse, a hor." a kingdom for a horse.’ The in>p irt, ‘ apostle, friends, doubtless intended :1 spiritual horse.” Few ladies are so modest as to retu& e to sit in the lap of luxury.