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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.