Newspaper Page Text
'' ========== == “U“
VOL. I.
[For the Banner of the South.]
Come Back.
Conic back, ye gorgeous dreams of loug ago,
Gilded and fretted with the purest gold
Os my young heart’s affections, in whose flow
The shining ripples gleamed with wealth untold;
Come with that radiant beauty through your forms,
Be evanescent, still the beaten trac k
Os mem’ry ye may traverse, and the storms
Os dark reality—come back! come back!
Come back, the dear departed, ye who sleep
Beneath the grassy mound, and you whose grave
Is far away, where Indian maidens steep
Their raven tresses in the swelling wave;
Come, soothe the weary longing and the pain,
And we shall rove once more the flowery track
Os childhood, pure and innocent again—
Those days will all return—come back! come back !
Come back, sweet visions of a happy heart,
When truth and joy were inmates of my breast,
Ere my young life had learned from hope to part,
Ere it was filled with doubts and wild unrest;
Come, and to meet you buried thoughts shall fly
From out their gloomy tombs and caverns black,
And, in the trembling lip and tearful eye,
Your welcome shall be read—Come back! come back !
Come back, 0 faith in humau worth, and truth,
Trust in the future, pleasure in the past;
Courage that filled me iu the hours of youth,
Ere my horizon’s brightness was overcast—
Come, in your purity and radiant guise,
0 Love, that shed such sweetness on my path—
What ? are there tears within my longing eyes ?
Have pity on my grief!—Come back! come back!
Fidelia.
[FOB THE BANNER OF THE FOETH.]
THieeyißlTlWlii.
Translated from “ Le Correspondant.”
BY R. D. TANARUS., OF SOUTH CAROLINA.
[continued,]
“Once more, Mademoiselle, I tell you,
you have only to speak,” said Etienne,
who was gradually recovering his self
possession.
“Then listen well. When we will be
all together at table, by and by, we will,
of course, be chatting pleasantly, as
usual. I will make it my business to lead
the conversation to a certain subject I
know of, and suddenly I will say to my
grandfather, * Ask Etienne’s opinion’—
or, perhaps, I may say to you, ‘ Come,
Etienne, let us hear what you think.’
ou understand me so far, do you not ?”
“Perfectly.”
“Then it will be your turn to speak ;
ami I am going to tell you what you are
to say. Do try and understand it at
once, that I may not be obliged to
lepeat.”
“Be satisfied, I will not lose one
word.”
Margaret paused a moment, as if to
collect herself; then, turning an earnest
look upon the young man, with the
evident intention of making him withdraw
hi> gaze from her, she replied, in a voice
which it required no little effort on her
part to keep clear and unfaltering:
“Speaking to my grandfather, you
will say to him, in as deoided a manner as
you can : ‘Eh bien ! mafoi! one must
do what one can, If you insist on it,
Blaster, I will tell you now what I think!’
Y:m must say that,” continued Margaret,
‘ with a great deal of animation ; because
there is but little in the words themselves;
everything will depend upon the manner
1Q v 'hich you will utter them ! Do you
understand ?”
'Yes, oh, yes!” said Etienne, in an
aosent kind of way, for he was entirely
pre-occupied in trying to guess what was
to follow.
‘I go on, now—follow me, if you please
1 am going now to speak in your per
son : The other evening, master, you did
U' t seem pleased, when I kept to myself
uiy reason for not wishing to marry ; you
kindly and politely" sent me to the Devil,
reproaching me with thwarting you, and
being amongst those who bad prejudiced
Mademoiselle Margaret against marriage,
-ihis reproach was painful to me. It has
weighe i on my heart, and, for this rea
son, if you still wish it, I will tell you
the truth to-day. Listen, then’ ”
Etienne was going to speak, evincing
some sign of uneasiness, blit Margaret
prevented him.
“Can you remember all this ? If yoif
do change a word here or there, I will not
mind it, provided you give my meaning,
and provided, above all, that you speak
with great spirit.”
And then she resumed, in the most
matural manner, not thinking it necessary
to remind Etienne, this time, that she was
still speaking in his person:
“ ‘Yes, master, listen to the truth. If
I do not think of marrying, it is not that
I have any prejudice against marriage.
On the contrary, if it depended only on
myself, I would soon be married.”
Here Etienne’s lips parted, as though
he must speak, but Margaret again forced
him to be silent.
“Listen still,” she said, with peremptory
sweetness, and continued : “ ‘Yes, very
soon, master ; but that does not depend
upon me. This is my 7 idea —l am one of
those who think that, before dreaming of
addressing a young girl, one must love
her, love her dearly ; be able to say that
he will always love her for herself alone,
for her good qualities, and for her beauty,
if she possesses it; not giving too much
thought to any property she may possess
of her own, still less to those miserable
calculations that are called expectations
from relatives .”
“Oh ! how grandly you speak,
Mademoiselle!” cried Etienne, who im
mediately regretted that he had spoken.
“You find this interprets your feelings,
truly ?” said Margaret, with a bewitching
smile ; “so much the better, it will be all
the easier for you to say it. But let us
go on : ‘ Now, master, here is exactly
what I have done. I have loved, without
dreaming of anything but loving truly and
well. I have found a y'oung girl, who, it
seems to me, possesses a great heart, and
some beauty.’ ”
Had Etienne been able to notice any
thing at that moment, he would certainly
have seen that Margaret cast down her
eyes as she said this, and that her voice
trembled in a most unusual manner.
“ ‘And, ma foi! I have given all my
heart to this young girl, without remem
bering—aud Iso poor !—that she’s rich
in her own right, and has also great ex
pectations from her relatives. And, then,
when I did remember this, I felt much
disturbed; for I thought to myself, if I
declare my love for her, everybody will
cry it is her wealth I desire ; no matter
what I may assert to the contrary, I will
not be believed. They will say', ‘Why
should it not be so with him ? he is so
poor, while the rich themselves are often
actuated by such matters’—and I will be
rejected, master, as one not loving truly—
I who love so much, so truly, and so
well!—and, for all the world, I would not
be suspected of loving her money, or of
prizing it more than I do her fresh young
heart! This is my pride, which I cherish,
because it is dear to me. Then, I
said to myself: ‘I will not expose my
true and honest love to those miserable
suspicions, from the very thought of
which I nervously shrink. I will be
silent; no one shall ever know it, and if I
am asked why I do not marry, I shall
simply say, because I choose to remain
single—not one word more. This is the
only 7 course left to me ; the only 7 way in
which I can preserve my self-respect.’ ”
Margaret could have continued now,
without the least danger of being inter
rupted by Etienne, who became alternate
ly pale and flushed ; with a troubled, un
certain kind of look; he seemed spell-bound,
as though in a dream; he asked himself if
it were true that another could thus be
speaking aloud the cherished secret of his
heart ! But Margaret being silent for a
moment, he seemed roused to conscious
ness.
“Yf hat ! Mademoiselle !” he cried,
“you wish me to say that ?”
AUGUSTA, GLL, AUGUST 15, 1868.
“Yes,” replied Margaret, “that and
even more !”
“But only think, Madamoiselle—”
“Think what ? Think that it is a
great effort for you to do this for me ?
Tell me, Etienne, in promising to help
me, did you not say, “ ‘lt matters not, I
will do it V 7 ’
“That is true,” ho replied vehemently.
‘ All right, then ; I will proceed. Re
member your lesson well; now, lam
speaking again in your person : * The
other evening, master, I did not wish to
make my secret known to you ; this even
ing, on the contrary, I intend telling you
everything-—even the name of the one
I love so tenderly.’”
Margaret spoke more and more slowly,
as though she wished to mark the effect
of her words on Etienne, who looked at
her with strange earnestness.
“ ‘lt is my opinion,” 7 continued she,
“ 'that you will no longer reproach me
with wishing to contradict you, nor with
trying to prejudice your daughter against
marriage ; for, most certainly, you will
understand, why I did not at first wish to
reveal my secret to you.’ ”
Margaret paused a moment ; then con
tinued, hurriedly, though sensibly lower
ing her voice :
“ ‘The name of the young girl is Mar
garet Coudret.’ ”
Then, without appearing to notice the
great shock which seemed almost to over
whelm Etienne, she resumed, in the most
quiet manner:
“That is all you will have to say. So
I think 1 may rely upon you. I thank
you now in advance, and will thank you
again, afterwards.”
And here she seemed to wish to put an
end to the interview,
“But, Mademoiselle, truly—what ?”
stammered Etienne, “you truly wish, you
truly think—you ?”
He sought in vain for words, which
refused to come to his aid.
“I think,” replied Margaret, quickly,
“that you will not fail me your promise.
I require this service of you. Will you
not keep your word ? Or, shall I seek
for someone else to aid me ?”
“I did not say so, Mademoiselle,”
timidly remonstrated Etienne, who began
at last to recover his senses.
“Very well,” said Margaret, in an im
patient and haughty manner, “if you
wish to be untaue to me, say so; if you
feel at all afraid , I beg you will tell
me.”
“ Afraid /” exclaimed Etienne, whom
this offensive word seemed most effectu
ally to rouse “Afraid of what, Mademoi
selle ?”
“How can I tell ?” replied the young
girl, quietly.
“No, I am not afraid,” said the youth,
with calm dignity; then added, in a
softer tone, as lie bent a searching
glance upon the thinking girl:
“And when I shall have said all that,
Mademoiselle, what then ? I ask you,
what then ?”
“After that,” said Margaret, whose
turn it now seemed to become confused
and shy ; “oh, well, after that”—then, as
if suddenly recovering her self-possession,
“/ know the consequences,” she cried,
trying to assume a playful air, “but you
cannot be satisfied to take everything, for
the present, on trust. Now this import
ant matter is settled, is it not ?”
“Pardon me, Mademoiselle,” Etienne
quietly persisted, “you spoke of a lesson
I was to give; as yet, Ido not see any
thing like—”
“Rut is it not enough that I see it ? Is
it not enough that I make it my affair ?
Is it not right and proper that it should
be so ?” replied Margaret, who was far,
very far, from feeling the confidence im
plied by her words.
“Yes, it is right,” said Etienne, gravely.
There was a moment’s silence, after
this, of which Etienne availed himself, to
east a searching and eager look upon the
young girl, the consciousness of which
scrutiny she betrayed by her deep blush
and embarrassed aif.
“After all,” she said suddenly, with a
certain tone of decision, though she had
not yet the courage to look up; “after
all, if you do not think it right, let it
alone, and say no more about it.”
“I did not say that, Mademoiselle.”
“Then, what did you say ?”
“I said, and I say, Mademoiselle, that
I will do all I can for you, according to
my promise.”
‘ Very wall; lam satisfied.”
Saying this, she turned suddenly from
him, and returned to the Mill, affecting
an air of indifference she was far from
feeling. It never seemed to strike her,
however, that she was returning empty
handed from the fowl house, where she
had gone, ostensibly, in search of eggs!
Etienne appeared to be singularly
pre-occupied and absent, as be left the
yard, crossing over to the stable, to look
after the animals, that were awaiting his
care.
XVI.
IT IS ENOUGH.
It was night. Jean Marie, chilled and
nearly worn out, had, perhaps, for the
twentieth time, looked up and down in
every direction, where, at last, he distin
guished the form of the old Miller, and
went out in all haste to meet him.
Taking advantage of his privilege as
guest of the Coudret Mill, he was prepar
ing himself to address some remonstrance
to him at his post, and perhaps exact an
explanation of his long and unexpected
absence.
Rut Xavier took good care not to let
him have the opportunity,
“Ah! laissez done!" said he, throwing
up his arms violently, and being most
careful not to slacken the speed at which
he was walking ; “do not speak to me of
it! lam just in the mood to-night to
beat my own father! There are some
people in this world—do you see ?—who
don’t care how much others are incon
venienced ; people who want all the
profit, and are not willing to give any
chance to others ! But now that I think
of it, where the devil did you take
yourself off to, this morning, after I left
you ? I looked for you every where, to
tell you I was going out.”
“I was just there; I did not go away.”
“That’s droll ! not under the trees out
there ?”
“Yes; just there !”
“Well! I did not see you ! I thought,
however, I would only be absent an hour
or two. Rut I met a little boy, who
accosted me, and said that Claude
Huchon, of Saint Blaise, sent for me on
business. Do you know him, this Claude
Huchon, of Saint Blaise ?”
“No, I do not.”
“Nor Ilonore Divand, of Creux Cour
bon ?”
“No; neither of them.”
“You have never had any dealings
with them, then ?”
“Never!”
“Well ! between ourselves, then, you
have two sharpers the less among your
acquaintances. They do business to
gether, dealing in corn, in grain, in Hour,
in fodder, in horses, in all sorts of things!
and though they live three hour’s journey
apart, they are as closely joined as two
kernels in the same nut! No! no! I
told them again and again, that sooner
than turn my mill-stones on their terms,
I would raise the flood gates, give the
meadow the benefit of the water, and let
the great w’heel be still forever !”
And saying this with great energy,
Xavier quickened his step more and
more as they neared the Mill, notwith
standing Jean Marie’s indirect efforts to
retain him. He could scarcely keep up
with him, and saw, with infinite chagrin,
how much the distance was shortened by
each rapid step, dreading that he would
lose his only chance for seeing the old
man privately.
But Xavier was up to him.
“You cannot imagine,” he said, pre
tending to be out of breath, and taking
off his hat to wipe his forehead ; “no, no!
you cannot possibly imagine what trot
ting up and down,backward and forward,
these knaves have given me ! It would
be too long to tell you. Ma foi ! from
Saint Blaise to Creux Courbon; from
Creux Courbon back to Saint Blaise !
Claude Huchon could do nothing without
Honore Divand; Ilonore Divand could do
nothing without Claude Huchon! First,
we went to one, then trotted back to the
other ! If I have not walked ten leagues
I have not walked ten steps ! And, after
all, we made no bargain—not even for
one bushel! It was a good job to lose,
too ! It would have given me two weeks’
work—but to work just for the sake of
using my millstones ? Ah, no ! it would
never pay ! We shall not be idle, though,
from the loss of their grain; we have
plenty of good customers still left, thank
God ! I can always get along ! But
supper must be ready, now. I am so
tired ! I will just swallow a mouthful of
soup, toss off a glass of wine; then
“bonsoir le compaigne /”
This volley of words brought Xavier to
the door-sill, which he stepped over more
nimbly than one would have expected,
who had just heard the repeated assever
ation of being broken down and exhaust
ed. Perhaps, too, he was nerved by the
thought that he had cunningly escaped
the communication he felt sure Jean
Marie had in store for his return.
“Oh !” said Jean Marie, taking hold of
the good man by his collar, and standing
just in front of him ; “oh, yes! but mean
time, you must, if you please, Pere Cou
dret, listen to me for a moment. I have
much to say to you of our affair.”
“There*? Just here ? in the yard?
Why, everybody can see us !”
“No; it is too dark. Besides, there is
nothing so very astonishing in my speak
ing to you on your return; and, in short,
seen or not seen, I must speak with you!
There is no time to be lost. That
morose, devil-of-a-mil!-boy of yours, sus
pects something wrong. lie has thrown
my grain into the Mill!”
“Bali! that is bad !”
“And you should see, Pore Coudret,
how rapidly he is throwing off my
sacks !”
“Wait, I will go and stop him !”
“Do you think,” said Jean Marie, “it
will be best to do it ? We must be cau
tious, though we must also make good use
of our time.”
“Speak on, then.”
“Well, listen intently.”
“I will. But, if you please, be quick.
Just see! lam saturated with perspira
tion! lam positively streaming 1 If you
do not let me go, at once, and change my
clothes, I shall certainly be ill”
“Well, I proceed, then. Listen!”
“I am all ear.”
And Xavier, his eyes twinkling, and
his head bent down, pretended to give
Jean Marie the particular hearing, the
undivided and earnest attention of a
lawyer, who follows minutely the state
ment of his client, that la* may be ready
to seize upon any point that may help his
cause.
“What we have been trying to find,”
said the young man, in a low tone, “was
some tangible excuse tor dismissing that
rude boor, who is in charge of your
Mill.”
“Yes,” said Xavier, complacently.
“Very well, I have fixed it. As soon
as we will be seated at table, to-night, I
will take it upon myself to lead the con
versation to a certain subject; and in
such a way, that he will be compelled to
take a part, and betray himself.”
“All very well; but remember, I will
have no wrangling at rny table,” said
Xavier, though it would have required
but little penetration to see that he was,
by no means alarmed, though he gave
this warning.
No. 22.
