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VOL. I.
[From the We Love.]
Tribute of Genius to Valor.
The soul of poetry flashes along each line of the
following touching i>oom as brightly a3 the sword of him
whose valor it commemorates flashod along the line of
battle :
STONEWALL JACKSON.
When the rage of the North sent her myrmidons forth,
And Virginia—proud mother of States!—
First chosen for pillage, saw homestead and village
Succumb to the pitiless fates,
With a comet-like dash, with a lightning-like flash,
Eclipsing her own radiant story,
Iu Jehovah’s dread name, wreaking vengeance, he
came—
Her youngest-born scion of glory.
■•Tliefoemen! where are they?” This alone was his
parley,
As o'er mountain and torrent he flew;
No foe could delay him, no darkness dismay him;
Starved, thirsting, yet sterner he grew;
He paused not to slumber, he recked not of number,
But, a cloud on the hurricane’s breath,
He flashed out the fire of God’s scathing ire,
And gave thee rich banquets, oh ! Death !
What deed that he dared not? what peril he shared
not 1
Intuition her torch held to light him,
Relentless chastiser, sententious adviser,
To discover the foe was to fight him.
Os the wisdom that lies iu the night and the skies,
He took counsel, with the knee to the side;
His devices he bared not. for favor he cared not,
Since he held his commission from God.
Manassas 1 yet white to the awe-stricken sight,
With thy bones like a glimmering pall!
Rappahannock ! still lost the blustering host—
Ve blood-deluged battle-fields all
l!"ar, bear into story with your own crimson glory,
So long as the ages revolve.
The name and the fame of that spirit of flame -
The man of undaunted resolve I
s tiH northward we'll bear him, and a grave we’ll pre
pan' him,
In the face of the foe he ne’er ded,
With the calm of the blest, he’ll take his deep rest,
Though invasion should sweep o’er his head.
But if the blue Heaven be suddenly riven.
Ami thunder announced by no gleam,
should his cannon resemble, and the pillagers tremble,
The grim sleeper may smile in his droam !
Savannah, Ga. H. r. Jackson.
[Written for the Banner of the South.]
The Earls of Sutherland.
BY RUTH FAIRFAX,
pare him,
CHAPTER 11.
Ernest is standiug.on the steps, look
ing anxiously toward the Park gates.
Presently Gerard joins him, and, seeing
Pis anxious look, exclaims :
by do you look so anxious, Ernest ?
It is not time for them to come yet.
How wc have missed Arthur’s bright face ;
how much he looks like—” , A signifi
cant glance completed the sentence.
“Very like/’ answered Ernest, “and I
believe that is one reason why we cling
him so. Let us go in ; I hear father
calling you.”
i hey had scarcely closed the door be
hind them, when the Park gates were
opened, the carriage entered the Avenue,
;md, in five minutes the travellers were
in the house. The old servant, who
opened the door for them, started back,
nnd, in his astonishment, forgot the wel
come lie was about to other. Arthur
aughed gaily, and, pushing h}' him, en
t') ‘ ret ’ die room, where his father sat.
>hegie followed with the girls. Arthur
new his arms around his father’s neck,
ur Joyous boyish fashion, and gently
l' the withered cheeks. As he
r ujj3*:d to bis brothers, Reginald advanced
, merrily at the speech-
k ‘ s> amazement depicted on the counte
!!ances his brothers ;in Marmaduke, it
amounted to absolute horror, as lie saw
those three elegantly dressed ladies en
that dreary apartment. Arthur’s
nurth was contagious, and, after a vain
attempt to keep up a becoming gravity,
Eugenia burst into a hearty laugh. As
If , A magic, that gay laugh dispelled the
1 m restraint that was brooding over all,
mm, certainly, if they looked at the ladies
1,1 astonishment, they were objects of
>ity themselves; our fair friends
looked at the five tall bearded men in rio
little wonder.
A few moments they stood thus, and
then, in a low voice, the old Earl bid
them welcome. Emily had been gaziug
at Marinaduke’s countenance of comic
horror, and, silently “laughing in her
sleeve,” at the sensation they had created.
Now, when her uncle’s voice reached her
ear, she went to his side, and, taking his
hand, looked earnestly into his eyes, and
seeing there reflected only the kindliest
feelings ol the human heart, she bent
forward and pressed her lips to his.
“You are welcome, my child,” he said,
tenderly caressing her, “welcome, even
if your unexpected arrival has startled us
out of all decorum. lam glad you have
come ; did you want to come, or has
Arthur coaxed you into this dreary
place ?”
“Oh ! we wanted to come, all of us;
this is Eugenia, uncle, and this is Amy.”
He greeted them kindly, but his eyes
soon wandered again to Emily.
“And you are Emily; let me introduce
your cousins to you ; did you know that
all these rough boys were your cousins ?
This is Marmaduke, and this Cuthbert,”
(the young men advanced as he called
their names, and respectfully saluted
their cousins,) “these two are our farm
ers ; Gerard is our ‘man of business’;
Ernest and Edwin arc our gardeners.
Ah ! you are looking puzzled ; Ernest
and Edwin are twins, it will be a long
time before you can tell one from the
other; but, if you see one of them in mis
chief, you may be sure it is master Ed
win. Can you remember them all ?”
“I am sure I shall remember my
Lord Marmaduke,” said Eugenia, grave
ly; “because he looked so horrified
when he saw us come in.” Her laughing
eyes were at variance with her grave
words.
“That was because the room was so
dreary,” answered Arthur, and Manna
duke added, “don’t let me hear ‘my lord’
from you again, or I must call you Miss
Mortimer.”
“ See! father,” exclaimed Arthur,
“Regie is leaning on the hack of your
chair, waiting for a greeting.”
The old man extended his hand, and
drew Regie to his side.
“You will excuse my apparent neglect,
my son ; those pretty girls absorbed all
my attention. Order dinner, Ernest,
these children must be almost famished.
We have dinner an hour later, this even
ing; we were waiting for you.”
Hats and cloaks were quickly laid
aside, and cur school girls did ample
justice to the bounteous meal, which, iu a
few minutes, was spread before them.
Smiles dimpled the cheeks of Eugenia
during the eutire time they were at the
table. Everything was so strange ; at
school, she had only seen girls and
women; here, a gentleman poured out
their tea. Arthur knew they were
laughing at him, and the next day resign
ed his place to Emily.
“Where will they sleep ?” asked Ernest,
in a low voice, when they drew around
the fire after dinner; you know all the
rooms have been shut up so long, they are
damp, and not to sleep in.”
Arthur replied, in a whisper :
“They can have our room to-night, and
we can sleep anywhere; to-morrow we
will fix a room for them.”
They retired, after an early cup of tea,
and, in the morning, were up with the
lark, eager to look at all the curiosities of
their new abode. By dinner time, they
had made themselves acquainted with the
names of all the horses and dogs ; had
seen the flower and vegetable gardens ;
taken a long walk in the old park ; and
returned home, with rosy cheeks, and
good appetites. And this day w>as the
first of many days of happiness and joy, i
such as they had never experienced at
school.
The next morning, as they rose from
the breakfast table, the wagons contain-
AUGUSTA, GLA., SEPTEMBER 5, 1868.
The boxes were opened, the curtains
put up, and looped back in graceful
tolds. The bedstead was put together,
and then, from the room next to Arthur’s,
Regie and Ernest brought the heavy
mattress, and luxurious feather bed.
Just as the beds were arranged, and
Amy had given the last pat to the plump
pillows, cased in the fine linen that was
yellow witli age, and turned down the soft
fleecy blankets, the bell for luncheon was
rung; and, after hastily washing their
hands, and smoothing their hair, the
merry trio descended the stairs, followed
by the young men. The rest of the day
was spent in hanging pictures, opening
boxes, and a general bustle about
nothing. The carpets were finished the
next day, and put down ; then the furni
ture was arranged to their taste Arthur
said he must certainly have a carpet for
his room, it looked so comfortable.
“But you haven't seen our sanctum
yet,” said Reginald, opening the door of
the room opposite their sitting-room. The
floor was partly covered with an old
ing their baggage, and recent pur
chases, were driven up to the door.
“Come, Cousin Arthur, show us the
rooms we arc to have,” said Emily, “and
we will arrange them at once.”
“Come up stairs, then; the rooms were
open all day yesterday, and you can, I
suppose, fix them at once.”
Ernest and liegie followed them up
the broad stairs. Arthur paused in the
great central hall, with his face toward the
front of the house.
“You see, cousin,” he said, “as I stand
thus, all the old part of the building is
far away there to the right; this entry
divides the new part in the centre, and
that cross entry divides it lengthwise,
making four suites of rooms, three in
each suite. These front rooms, on my
right, arc filled with old furniture; these
opposite, are locked now, they are occu
pied by all my brothers, except Marma
duke ; ho sleeps in father’s room, down
stairs. There, at the end of the entry,
is a door, opening into the old building,
but it is never opened, as we do not use
that part at all. Here, on my left, are
two suites; take your choice. I think
the front rooms are preferable. You
slept in one of the back rooms last night.”
Arthur opened the doors of the front
rooms. .
“Oh ! what beautiful rooms !” ex
claimed Emily; “yes, we will take the
front rooms, cousin, particularly as I be
lieve those back rooms belong to you and
liegie. This one, at the end, shall be for
our sitting room, and this one for our bed
room : we won’t want the other one.”
Arthur closed the windows, and locked
the door of the rejected room, saying, as
lie did so:
“We will measure the rooms, and cut
the carpets. Dora and Mary will make
them.”
“You should not propose such a thing
to Cousin Emily,” interposed Ernest;
“father has sent to Plxeter for servants,
and we will have them here by to
morrow.”
“Servants !” echoed Arthur, curiously;
“how many has he sent for, Ernest ?”
“I don’t know, exactly’,” answered
Ernest ; “I saw Gerard mounting his
horse, this morning, and upon asking him
where lie was going, lie relied, to Exeter,
for servants. I suppose lie will get the
number usually found in an Earl’s
household, though we are like to forget
that our father is an Earl, the way wc
have been living. One thing lam sure
of, he will not forget a maid for our
cousins.”
“We are not such fine ladies, cousin
Ernest,” replied Emily, “and, to prove it,
we intend to put up the curtains and bed
stead, and you must help us; we won’t
rob Arthur of his room auother night.”
“Come, Mr. Dignity, forget that you
are an Earl's son for a few minutes,”
laughed Eugenia, “and open these boxes
for us.”
faded carpet; the windows were hung
with worm-eaten tapestry ; but a magnifi
cent guitar lay upon the window-sill, and
on a large table, in the centre of the room,
were scattered a number of books in
splendid bindings.
“It don’t look much like 3 7 our room,”
said Arthur, closing the door, and going
back to the comfortable room they had
just left. The little old fashioned
secretaire had boon brought from the
lumber room, dusted, and given the post
of honor in Emily’s sitting-room. Emily
was delighted with its quaint, yet rich,
appearance, and had carefully selected
the books she wished to put in it. A
bright fire was kindled in the broad fire
place, and now, when everything was
complete, the Earl was coaxed to ascend
the stairs, and look at their improve
ments. The bed-room met with his un
qualified approbation, and then he must
go into the next room. Here, Arthur led
him to a large easy-chair, which had been
placed for him near the fire; and Amy
handed him a tiny glass of rich cordial.
He was glancing around him with smiling
eyes, when suddenly his cheek paled,
and, starting from his chair, he grasped
Reginald’s arm, exclaiming, in a hoarse
tone :
“Where did you get that secretaire ?”
Arthur explained, and liegie added :
“We will put it back, father, if you do
not like for us to use it.”
“No, no,” replied the old man, “keep it,
children, keep it; ’twas only a painful
memory, roused from its slumber by the
unexpected sight of that old secretaire.
But, come, Arthur, haven’t you a room
up here somewhere ? Show it tome.”
“Oh !” said Arthur, smiling, “it is not
wortli looking at; but, come, it is just
across the entry.”
The Earl looked with astonishment at
the meagre furniture of Arthur’s rooiu.
“Why, my son, have you no better fur
niture than this ?”
“No, father,” answered Arthur. #
“But this is shabby, Arthur; do you
think that your father is a poor man ?
But, truly, it is my fault ; would you be
lieve it, my children, this is the first time
I have noticed anything in this house for
many years. Arthur, you will find a
pocket-book on the library table, for you
and liegie, in the morning. Emily, my
dear, if your pocket money is not suffi
cient, let me know. Ido not wish, I will
not allow, you children to live as my
boys have been living. I will go now.
Reginald, lend me your arm.”
A month passed rapidly away, anc
truly the gloomy faces of the elder-brothers
were lightened somewhat of the dark
shadow that had rested on them for years.
There had been a great change, too, in the
household of the Earl. Tall footmen, in
the Sutherland livery, stood around the
dinner table every day ; rich carpets and
curtains made the large dining room
look as it had not done for years. The
lounges were banished, and luxurious sofas
occupied their places; the gentlemen left
the room, now, before they lighted their
cigars; the breakfast room was re-furnished
and put into use; coffee and tea were
served in the drawing-room after dinner;
attentive servants were always near at
hand.
They had been in the llall a month,
and, during all this time, Emily had
never found,-time to “rummage” in those
rooms, so delightfully lumbered up with
quaint furniture, old carved chests, and
pictures, with faces turned to the wall.
Rut now, at last, she resigned herself,
with a sigh of pleasure, to the pleasant
task, in company with Arthur, Regie,
and Genie. Amy had gone to ride with
Ernest.
“First, let us look in old chest
that stands by the window/ 5 said Emily,
“its carving is beautiful.”
The lock was rusty, but, at last, it was
opened. Dresses, of every hue and
fabric, were piled within.
“Those dreses must have been my
mother s,” said Arthur, and much as
Bmily wished to examine them, she
resolutely closed the client, and turned
away. The next chest contained a
quantity of the finest bed and table linen ;
this was closely examined and set aside ;
Emily determined to ask her uncle to
allow her to use it.
“Look, here is a chair that matches
.with your secretaire, Emily,” said Euge
nia, wiping the dust from a large arm
chair, that was covered with blue
damask. Suddenly, she started back,
with a little exclamation of terror: “Here
is a great spot of blood on the arm,
sister!”
“Oh, no,” said Arthur, “it is only a
stain.”
“Yes, I know it is a stain,” replied
Genie ; “isn’t that blood, sister ?”
“Verylikely,” answered Emily, coolly;
“I expect someone cut their hand. Turn
those pictures round, Regie, please.”
The first picture was of a lady.
“That is my mother,” said Regie.
Emily carefully wiped the thick dust
away, and asked Regie if she might carry
it to their sitting room ?
“Yes, certainly,” answered Regie;
father never comes up here, and so he will
not see.it.”
The picture was put outside of the door,
and the others examined. They were all
boys, their ages apparently ranging from
two to fourteen years, and each one was
easily recognized, as it had the name of
the original inscribed on the left hand
corner of the frame.
“See here ! Regie, is your picture :
‘Reginald Sutherland, aged four,’ and
here is Arthur, aged two; oh ! what a
chubby little follow, and how gay aud
merry all these boys look, so very unlike
the stern looking men they are now,”
said Eugenia, looking over them all;
“but who is this ? one of our ancestors, I
expect; yes, here is the name: ‘Regina
Sutherland, Countess of Sutherland
why, Regie, it is our grandmother ; how
stiff and proud she looks, not at all like
Uncle Hugh.”
“Here is another one,” said Arthur,
tugging at a large one, covered with
cloth. Regie turned it around, and his
impatient fingers tore away the cloth.
“Oh ! what a beautiful face,” exclaim
ed both the girls at once; “who is it ?
where is the name ? Why, it is cutout;
here is ‘Lord— ’ and the rest of the name
is gone !” exclaimed Emily.
The picture represented a youth of
sixteen, seated in an arm chair, toying
with a bunch of wild tlowers. The brow
was high and broad, the nose thin and
straight, the mouth full and rosy, but the
chief beauty’ of the handsome face rested
in tho eyes. Hlue they were, and sad
looking, seeming to crave sympathy from
the beholder.
“llow lovely !” exclaimed Emily, tears
sparkling in her eyes; “what a noble
brow, and what splendid eyes! I have
heard, Arthur, that persons having such
eyes, prophet eyes, they are called, often
meet with a sad and early death. I won
der who it is ?”
No one seemed to know.
“I wish it belonged tome,” continued
Emily ; “no one seems to care about it.
I will take this one to my room, too, if
you have no objections, Regie ?”
“Here is a small one, Emily,” said
Arthur ; “dont you want this one, too ?”
This was the portrait of a young girl,
small and beautifully painted, but evi
dently unfinished. The face was pos
sessed of a wicked beauty ; the jet black
hair fell in waving masses around the
low brow : the eyes, black as night, looked
at the beholder with a bright glitter in
them, as of polished steel. C
No, exclaimed Emily, “not after
the lovely face I have just seen ; put it
aside, cousin.”
“Why, Emily, it is beautiful !” replied
Arthur, holding the picture before him,
and gazing at it with admiring eyes; “i
jSTo. 25.