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YOL. I.
[For the Banner of the South.]
The Southern Soldiers’ Lament.
: Written by Edward Kale, 2d Missouri Cavalry, upon
Li knees, in the city of Memphis, on his first days
arrival in that city after the capitulation.]
Where is the Hag which once floated so proud?
Where are the brave arms which once spoke no loud?
When are the brave hearts that held foes at bay ?
Where are the boys in their jackets of grey ?
Down is the flag which once floated so high;
Low lies the hearts that said “Conquer or Die;”
stacked are the arms that so proudly we waved;
Lost is the cause which we swore to have (Saved.
H> pe had departed; life life lost all its charms,
Disbanded our army, my comrades in arms
Taunted and scorned, in their jackets of grey;
1 envy the brave hearts which fell in the fray.
Lonely and weary the soldier returns,
Tells he’s paroled, and his manly cheek burns;
Life without Liberty—unceasing pain,
Would I’d been numbered4ong since with the slain!
Hardships and toil four long years endured,
Honor and triumph—by brave hearts procured—
Won to be lost by cowards and knaves,
Deserting their banners that they might be slaves.
Easy poor heart, sink quietly to rest,
One consolation that lightens the breast—
I stood by our flag, I heard the last gun,
And say now with pride I my duty liavo done.
[ron THE BAN NEK OF THE SOUTH.]
THE COUDRET MILL,
Translated from M Le Correspcmdant.”
b\ It. D. TANARUS., OF SOUTH CAROLINA.
[continued.]
X
“ CEST LA QUE GIT LE LIEVIIEE
When Jean Marie thought that, for the
present, at least, ho would be obliged to
give up his attempt on Luc’s stubborn
discretion, “ Ah! ball!” he cried aloud,
with every appearance of ill-humor ;
“ truly, it is very annoying to have much
time on one’s hands at the Coudret Mill;
there is no one to exchange a word with
—no help against ennui ! The best thing
to be done, that I can see, is to go to
sleep. To tell the truth, this will cost
me but little effort, for when I have no
thing to do, I dearly love to sleep, and
have only to throw myself down, no
matter where, or how, or at what hour,
to be instantly buried in a deep sleep.
This is a happy gift, truly, on occasions
like this.”
And before Luc—who seemed entirely
absorbed in his work—could make any
reply, Jean Marie stretched himself at
full length on the sacks he had brought,
ivlnca were piled up in a corner of the
Mill.
A few moments after, any one happen
ing to pass near, would have thought him
sound asleep. But the happy faculty
upon which he congratulated himself, ex
isted only in the fertile brain of Jean
Marie, who expected to gather fresh in
ia; nation from his hiding-place, lie had
shaken oil' his pretended drowsiness at
the hour of the expected return of Xavier
and Margaret. Then, his communica
tion being made to the old miller, he re
gained his post of observation, where the
foresight which had prompted the move
ment, was soon repaid in such a manner
as to make him glory, if possible, still
more in the high opinion lie cherished of
his own superior tact and sagacity.
Indeed, he had scarcely resumed his
position upon the sacks—his cars wide
open, his eyes stretched to their utmost
behind the slightly opened fingers of the
hand with which lie covered his lace, than
he was witness of a scene, which, in his
mind, became a matter of the utmost im
portance.
Luc, who had just loaded the mill
hopper, was sittting on a little stool,
leaning upon the window-sill, out of
which he gazed unconsciously.
On the last step of the stair-way, just
opposite the dark corner in which Jean
Marie was lying in wait, Margaret sud
denly appeared. was evidently look-
ing for Luc. and as soon as she saw him,
turning quickly, her lace beaming witli a
sunny smile, she moved stealthily up, on
tip too, and covered his eyes with her
hands.
“Ah 1” said Luc, with an expression
of rapture; and, gently disengaging him
self, he gazed upon the young girl.
“As usual, you are weary, because
you have not seen me- is it not so?” said
she.
Lue replied by taking possession of the
long, rosy fingers, and hiding them in
the caressing clasp of his great hairy
hands.
“ And, for part, lam weary too,”
said Margaret, who added, as she leaned
upon the arm which rested on Luc’s
shoulder, “how would it be then, if we
were separated for a long time ?”
“ Luc sighed, and raised his eyes to
hers.
“ But, we will never be separated long.”
Luc shook his head from right to left.
“ Besides, you know our agreement.”
Luc shook his head up and down.
“Beautiful, darling,” murmured Luc;
and leaning forward, the young girl
pressed her lips upon his forehead, which
seemed to expand itself ecstatically under
the caress. In rising, Margaret glanced
round unconsciously; suddenly her face
darkened, and she rent her brow with an
expression of deep annoyance. Jean
Marie understood from that that she had
only then seen him; he plainly saw her
blush, and pointing him out to Luc, by a
movement of her head, reproached him
for not having told her they were not
alone.
Luc slightly shrugged his shoulder,
frowned, and made some little movement
of the hand, as tho’ lie had said in the
most coolly indifferent manner, “ah ball!
what does it matter ?”
And this contemptuous valuation, is it
necessary to say ?—was nothing less than
flattering to the object of it,
Margaret, Meanwhile, returned to the
stairs, where she disappeared, not without
having, as slie passed by, flashed upon
the unfortunate sleeper a lightning glance,
charged with scorn and indignation.
A quarter of an hour later, during which
time it need not be said he slept no more
soundly than at first, Jean Marie pre
tended to start up from his sleep, and as
Luc passed near, jumping up—
“Ah f Ah !” lie cried, with a dismayed
look, violently rubbing his eyes, “what
o’clock can it be ? Stop! it is not possi
ble, it is night ? I would have laid a
wager that I could sleep for four or five
hours ! Isn’t it droll to have such slug
gish blood !” And he stretched and lie
yawned, trying to attract Luc’s atten
tion, who, on his part, seemed willing to
dispense with all this trouble, by the com
plete indifference of his manner.
At last, Jean-Marie went out and be
gan prowling about the yard amongst the
workmen of the mill, trying to effect the
private interview lie now longed for with
Xavier.
Night came on, and he could just dis
tinguish the old man, who, doubtless
much pre-occupied by the communication
he had received, had been walking
thoughtlessly along the bank of tho
stream, and now returned with lingering
steps.
Jean Marie stood awaiting him on the
little bridge near the flood gate, just
above the great wheel, whose revolutions
he pretended to be watching.
Xavier came up to where he stood.
“The soup must be on the table,” lie
said; “come and take some with me.”
“1 will not decline the favor,” replied
Jean-Marie, in a low tone of voice,” but
first I must speak with you; though Ido
not wish any one to see us. You must,
therefore, go at once to the mill, so that
no one may suspect anything. Say,
when you see the soup is ready, that you
will turn back and look for me, as you
j believe you saw me pass by. I will go
( out and walk upon the bank of the
AUGUSTA, GA, JULY 25, 1808.
stream. You will come for me; then we
will confer together, and after that you
may return, and must say you could not
find me. Some moments after I will
walk in. You must ask where I have
been—in short, you understand, Pere Cou
dret ; we must play our parts well; no
body will ever suspect you have been
speaking with me ; we must be cunning.
Pass on now, quick, so no one will sec
you coming from me—bo quick, else they
will suspect—go on, go on !”
Such an air of importance would have
imposed upon a much more unmanage
able subject. But the good old Xavier,
carried out with docility almost, as it
were, mechanically, the programme, or
rather the order , of Jean-Marie.
No sooner had he returned to him :
“Well ?” he hastened to ask, with un
feigned eagerness, “well, what is it all
about?”
“What it is, my poor Pere Coudret,”
replied Jean Marie, pretending a kind of
sarcastic commiseration for Xavier,
“what it is is a something I do not under
stand myself; not at all—not at all.”
“Ali!”said the old man, pretending to be
more quiet, for he certainly had expected
some less equivocal communication after
the mysterious preliminaries ; “and this
something ?”
“Ah, this something,” said Jean Marie,
with a more self-sufficient air than ever,
“is but the truth, which I have just found
crut, and which has been passing before
your eyes this long time.”
“But what is it then ?” asked Xavier,
again, eagerly, recovering all his first ex
cited manner.
“Mon Dieu\ Yes!” quietly repeated
Jean Marie. “It is the truth; and you
have passed alongside of it so many years,
and yet you have never seen it! and here,
lam but just arrived, et voila ! it is al
ready discovered !”
“But, finally ?” said Xavier, with evi
dent impatience, doubtless thinking that
the most urgent matter at this moment
was not exactly to sound the praises of
the wonderful faculties of Jean Marie
Nivard.
“\\ hat will you have ? Perhaos ’tis
not your fault, every one is not ‘ gifted
alike.” b
1 [ know that—but finally,” repeated
Xa/ier. “Finally, then; if I must tell
you in a few words, in a few words then
[ will say it; your daughter rejects all the
suitors who present themselves to her,
because her choice has been made for
some time.”
“Do you think so ?”
“Bo I think it ? I know it—l would
stake my life upon it.”
“Can this be possible ?”
“It is just as I tell you.”
“Well, then,” quietly said the old man,
who seemed far from evincing any annoy
ance at what he had just heard—“well
provided that the choice be good ”
“She finds it good, apparently ; it re
mains to be known whether you will be
ot the same opinion.”
“I must know first,” said Xavier gen
tly^
“101 l me, Pere Coudret, you place
much confidence, do you not, in this—
this man who lives with you?”
What man—Luc ?•’
“Y r es, Luc, since that is bis name,” tri
umpantly said Jean Marie.
“What!” cried the old man, “what! is
it Luc ? Is it of Luc you would speak ?”
“Eh! Eh! ” snecringly laughed Jean
Marie; do not be angry Pere Coudret;
this is indeed the charming son-in-law
your daughter wishes to give you !”
Xavier began to laugh, aud shrugging
his shoulder said : “Allons done! you are
dreaming, my poor Jean Marie.”
“To tell the truth,” said Jean Marie, I
did pretend to be asleep when I found out
this affair : but du diable! if I dreamed!
That you must find this discovery very
droll, I am willing to admit, but that it
is not true, I will deny.”
“Good—but give me proof of your as
sertion.”
“Proof? Oh, I can easily furnish that
—if not, do you think I would have said
so much?”
“Well, well, let us hear it,” said Pere
Coudret, who amused himself in advance
with the thought of the absurd extrava
gancies he would doubtless have narrated
to him.
But Jean Marie, after establishing his
argument, by enumerating all the sights
he had seen, and in relating the conver
sation he had overheard, in the most de
dactic manner announced this conclu
sion— to wit—that Margaret, imposed
upon by the sinister and cunning sugges
tions ot this man—who cloaked his vices
under a pretended antipathy to marriage,
had rejected, in the lightness and thought
lessness of her young heart, all idea of a
reasonably assorted match, won, as she
had been by the thought of this strangely
disproportionate union; that, if she had
never spoken of it, it was doubtless by
the direction of this deep and cunning
schemer, who, of course, foresaw all the
opposition his proposal would meet with,
and who delayed the consummation of his
plan until Margaret would be of ago,
when, indeed, the death of her grand
father, by anticipating her majority,
would leave her at liberty to dispose of
herself as she would. Jean Marie was
willing to admit, that although Luc had
acquired unlimited influence over her, he
had, up to this time, respected the trust
she had reposed in him ; but, might this
not be rather tho result of cool calcula
tion, than of any delicacy on tho part of
a creature who was essentially grasping,
and who would be afraid to compromise
in any way this young girl whom ho felt
certain of moulding to his wishes, by this
patient system of silence and of waiting ?”
Xavier, as he had foreseen, found only
cause for ridicule in these suspicions.
Still, he did not fail to refute them.
He said that Jean Marie took things
too seriously; he wished to make an in
nocent and disinterested friendship ap
pear to be one prompted altogether by
calculation and cupidity. Luc was a per
fectly honest man ; and Margaret, though
very young, had too much good sense to
lend herself to any such foolish and im
prudent scheme.
Jean Marie, could no longer keep silent.
“Eon Dim! Pere Coudret, I am not sur
prised at your finding all these excuses
for believing that what is not, may not
be; because all this time you have had
the truth just before your nose, yet you
shut your eyes to it. But mind what I
say ; you must not trust appearances* I
have heard what I have heard, quo dia
ble! I have seen what I have seen ! But,
stop! without going any further, what is
the meaning of that agreement spoken
of between them ? what does it mean, I
ask of you ?”
“ Mafoi /” said poor old Xavier, much
embarrassed.
“Just see there now! you do not know
any more than I do—and, nevertheless,
it is very important that you should know.
Why did she blush when she caught
sight of me ? Why didn’t she go on
speaking ? Bees one try to hide when
there is nothing to be concealed ? In
short, Pere Coudret, what prevents your
finding the clue to all this ?
“Nothing ;” answered Xavier. “You
are right. I can very well ask them
what is the meaning of this agreement
between them.”
“What! in that straghtforward, direct
way?” _ «
“Why not, since I wish to know it?’ ; *
“Because, Pere Coudret, that will just
be exactly the way to know nothing at
all. Believe me, they have an answer
cut and dried agreed upon between them, to
turn aside all suspicion. You must go t*
work more skillfully, in a more rounda
bout way. I propose, that you pretend
you are sending Luc off.”
“Can you propose this ?—a faithful ser-
vant, who has been with us over fifteen
years!”
“A faithful servant, indeed! one who
does nothing less than thwart, in the most
cunning manner, your heart’s dearest
hope! a faithful servant' who only awaits
your death to—”
“Oh! Hush! No! Luc never could
have such thoughts.”
“Well, let it bo so then, since you will
have it; but it is all the greater reason
why you should not bo afraid to put his
fidelity to proof.”
“I will do nothing of the kind. ”
“Then you are a dupe because you
choose to be one ! and you will have no
excuse after this to complain that things
do not go on as you would wish. Now,
listen: were I in your place, I would pre
tend to dismiss Luc ; then I would go to
the little girl, and make her understand
that I had some suspicion of their plot,
and that it did not seem altogether im
practicable—then—”
“Ah ! stop there !” quickly interrupted
Xavier, “let it alone—let us go to supper
—come.”
“Very well ; now do you go in by
yourself, that no one may suspect we
have been together. You will sec—after
thinking about it, you will return to my
opinion, I feel sure of >.”
“Oh, no !”
“Oh, yes! Once more, Pere Coudret,
reflect. ‘(Test la que git le licvre;’ if
you do not start it, it will bo because you
do not choose to do so—reflect !”
Oh, ’tis all settled. Igo in alone be
cause you have planned it so, and I will
say (hat I have not seen you. But all
these manoeuvres and evasions are very* !
useless. Ma foi! to suspect such j
things! Allons done!''’ said Xavier, who
laughed aloud as lie went along.
“Good,” said Jean Marie. “ He ‘laughs!
well, who laughs last’ The time is not
far off when you will see that Jean Marie
has not, as the old saying is ‘la cocoUe
aux yeux ’”
THE SPANISH KNIGHT AND THE AYE
MARIA.I.-,
f ' **&**>*. X /
[The folio* , T ing composition was read
at the recent distribution of premiums
at St. Joseph’s School, by Miss Mary
Farrell:]
The following remarkable incident is
related in Spanish chronicles as having
occurred during the seige of Granada.
It was in a large and fertile vega, or
plain, which environed the great city of
the Moslems, that the Christian army lay
encamped. For King Ferdinand had re
solved to force this last stronghold of the
Moors to surrendei, and was wont to say
in speaking of Granada, “ I will pluck
out the seeds of this pomegranate one by
one.'’ The Moors were the most invete
rate toes of the Spaniards, whom they
held in great abhorrence, calling them
slaves and infidels to express their con
tempt of the Christians; for so many cen
turies had the Moslems held sway in
Spain's fairest provinces, that they con
sidered themselves as masters of the land.
But, at the period of our story, their
power was greatly declining.
The white tents of the Spanish army
rose proudly and conspicuously mid clus
ters of pomegranate trees and fragrant
orange groves. There was quite a rival
ry between the knights and nobles, who
vied with one another in adorning their
respective encampments, each one en
deavoring to make his the most brilliant
ly distinguished. The pomp and splendor
which reigned in this canvas city almost
rivaled royalty itself. In the centre, the
grand pavilions of the King and Queen
were erected, magnificently adorned with
rich silken bangings embroidered with
gold and precious gems; a splendid
standard, made oft tfie richest material,
and fringed with gold, bore on azure
ground tbe united arms of Castile and
Arragon. But the pavilion of Isabella
was pre-eminently conspicuous by th
ISTo. 19.