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[ss| * ; "■ »p " |jgslsl f^lfes..,-A^fSp -' '■' ” ■ ' 3Sp AL>sste ; ■■ YL‘'',T li J-': : C° ' p At-cTP ON - >^^*>>^l)l *r.i-^ -*■ —-- J j 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.