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VOL. I.
[For the Banner of the South.]
A Lament.
Our blue-eyed babe hath sunk to rest;
The golden masses of his hair
Lie crushed upon this aching breast,
Against its weight of dark despair.
I clasp him to my weary heart;
Thine image, as he sleeps, I trace,
Stamped on each feature; and I start,
And fancy ’tis thy very face.
Say, darling, in that other land,
Wilt thou remember him and me,
As, onward toiling, hand in hand,
We watch and wait for Heaven and thee ?
And when, the struggle o’er, at last
We bow before the Eternal Throne,
Will a fond echo of the Past
Teach thee to claim us for thine own V
He slumbers, and beside thy bier
I kneel, within the darkened room,
And weep my bitter sorrow here,
Where they have lain thee for the tomb.
The moonbeams fall across the Boor,
In fitful figure, as of old,
But we shall watch those beams no more,
Axthore Mdchree, thy heart is cold.
I take that lifeless hand of thine;
Its touch is ice, its pulse is still,
It yields no answering clasp to mine,
It gives back n 0 responsive thrill.
I picture thee, beloved, as when
Life’s glorious fullness crowned thy brow,
I owned thy soul’s best treasure then,
And I have but the mem’ry now.
Above thee chirps the grateful bird,
Thy kind heart gathered from the storm;
Thy lips have breathed their last, last word;.
The birdling's note is blithe and warm;
Around thee opening blossoms shed
The sweetness of their perfumed breath;
Mavourneen. though the soul be fled,
They brighten the dark face of death.
Thou art not dead; those blue, blue eyes
Must open unto mine once more,
As when, beneath our Irish skies,
I was thy Mai re Bh’an a st’off.
Ah ! lift the heavy load of pain
J hat draws the heart’s blood from my life;
Oli! Fergus, whisper once again,
“ Jla Colleen Baum, my Irish wife!”
7Leu wouldst uot die ; I hear Shoe now;
They are thy very tones that call;
I feel thy hand upon my brow,
That tenderest caress oi all ;
Soft fingers smooth my heavy hair,
Hush! love—how dark the shadows seem !
What chill is on the summer air ?
Ah! woe is me—l only dream!
Adieu! adieu ! my heart will break :
I may not longer tarry here ;
Tut oil thy slumbers, darling, wake,
In life so loved, in death so dear.
To-night, beneath the mournful moon
The zephyr chants the dirge of May;
To-morrow, in the halls of June,
Its breath will float above thy clay. x
Fidelia.
[Written for the Banner of the South.]
The Earls of Sutherland.
BY BUTH FAIRFAX,
CHAPTER 111.
[CONTINUED ]
o will not go over the long search
with them; sufficient it is for our purpose
to know that the drawer was found, and
within its secret depths, directly before
jaeir eyes, lay the blood-stained dagger,
lliey drew it forth and examined it with
anx |ous eyes. On the silver handle the
initials “M. I).,’ 7 were graven in small
letters.
‘ Lliis, surely must have been hers,”
stud Kmily ; “and see, on the reversed
> 1( le is a motto in Italian. Let us ex
fiuiuie these letters.”
She drew a packet of letters, or rather
notes, from the drawer. One lay loosely
on the top, not bound with the others ; it
was stained with blood, and the silver
chain wrapped around it was rusted in
111 any places with the same dark stain.
“ Oh !” cried Emily, joyfully ; “ this is
the note she left for Ormand. Head it,
l ncle !”
The seal was unbroken, and, with
tumbling fingers, the Earl tore it away,
'b vain he fixed his eyes upon the con
teuts; the letters danced before him, and
lie handed it to Emily.
“ It is written in Italian, Uncle!”
“ Read it in English, Emily. I do ■
not understand Italian.”
Emily read :
“Sept. 2d.
“ Onnand:
“Farewell, forever ! I put this note be
neath the stone, where you will be sure
to look for it. I have left behind me the
rare sight I promised you. Ormand
Sutherland, beware of a woman’s kiss !
I return the chain, as it no longer binds
me with its silver links. I did think that
the coronet of a Countess would well fit
my haughty brow, but I renounce the
dream. Farewell, and remember ,
“ Magnolia Dolenti.”
“ Read another!” gasped the Earl,
with breathless interest.
Emily instantly complied, and took the
first that lay beneath the chain :
“Sept. Ist.
“Ormand, dearest, meet me beneath the
cliffs to-morrow, at sunrise. I will show
3’ou such a rare sight, Ormand, as never
before greeted your eyes. Remember
your promise, in life or in death, with
m}’ love or without it, you are mine,
and with your life will you shield mine.
Such was your promise; was it not, my
love ? Magnolia.”
“Oh ! surely that is enough to prove
to me his innocence. Look over the other
notes, and tell me what you think of
them ”
“ The other notes are all short, Uncle.
Some of them are very cold; others more,
much more, than friendly in their tone.
Here is one, where she speaks of herself,
Sir Howard Montague, and their broken
engagement. Here is another, where she
heaps upon his devoted head every vile
epithet of which the Italian language is
capable; and here is a magnificent tress
of hair—her’s without doubt.”
“Do you see bow artfully that woman
entangled my poor boy’s fane}* ?’’ said
the Earl, as Emily ceased speaking ; “do
you see how she flattered his boyish
vanity, speaking to him as if lie were a
man ?”
“ You think he didn’t love her, Uncle ?”
asked Emily, timidly.
“ Love her ! Certainly not. What does
a boy of sixteen know of love ? He was
flattered by the beautiful woman’s atten
tions, and it pleased his romantic fancy
to be styled the protector of the lovely
orphan. Rut, Emily, those notes will
not be of any service to us, unless we can
find Magnolia Dolenti herself; but, Regi
nald and Arthur shall know it, and in the
evenings Ormand shall join our family
circle.”
Emily grasped her Uncle’s hand.
“ Come!” she cried, gathering up the
notes, “ let us not waste one precious
moment here; lot us toll him that his
innocence will soon be proven to the
world, as it is already to us. We will
find Magnolia, Uncle, if we have to search
throughout the broad earth for her!”
“We can find her more easily than
that,” replied the Earl, following her as
fast as possible ; “we will apply to the
steward of old Sir Howard’s estate for his
employer’s present address. If Magnolia
is still with his daughter, we can fiud her
very easily. But:, walk slowly, Emily,
or you will leave your old Uncle behind
you.”
Emily tried to comply with his desire,
but when she reached the ante-room her
nervous impatience showed itself in the
manner in which she drew out the steps,
concealed in the base of the statue, and
helped her Uncle to enter Ormand’s
room. Ormand was sitting at his table,
writing; when he heard the door open,
he looked up, and, seeing Emily, threw
his pen hastily aside, advancing to meet
her, with a glad smile.
“ My son,’’ said the Earl, in a trembling
voice, “I am convinced of your inno
cence. Will you forgive me for ever
having doubted it?”
u Emily has convinced you, my Lord. !
Rut, how ?” asked Ormand, eagerly.
A.TJGrTTST.A, GUA_., SEPTEMBER 19, 1868.
“My Lord!” repeated the Earl re
proachfully. “ Are you, then, unfor
giving, Ormand ? Will you not say
Father?”
“Gladly, my Father!” replied Or
mand. “ But, tell me how has Emily
convinced you !”
Emily laid the notes, together with the
chain, before him. “Do you recognize
these, Ormand?”
lie picked up the rusty chain and the
bloodstained letter, but his face grew
i • o
ashy white, as he asked :
“ Where did you find them ?”
“ In vour book-case,” answered Emily.
“ Yes!” lie exclaimed hastily, “in the
secret drawer. I remember it now. I
threw it there when T went into my room;
and the dagger, Emily, it should have
been there also,”
“ It is here, Ormand !”
“ And these notes and this dagger will
prove my innocence. Will they not,
dear?”
“ Yes,” answered Emily ; “ but, you
know, Onnand, I never have believed
you guilty.”
“ True!” he answered, passing his
arm around her waist, and smiling down
| into her eyes, while the Earl looked on in
astonishment at first, and then, with a
glad happy smile, as Ormand continued :
“She loves me, Father, and I can ac
knowledge it, now that 3*oll no longer
believe me to be a murderer; and, to say
that I love her, Father, is not enough—
she is the light of 1113’ life ?”
“ She is, indeed, my son, for to her
you owe your present happiness; it is she
who has lifted the dark cloud that lias
shadowed so many years of your life.”
“ Enough !” exclaimed Emily, smiling;
“you will spoil me; and, hark! do}*ounot
hear the tinkling of the dinner-bell ? let
us go,”
“ The dinner-bell! you forget }*ourself,
Emily; look at your watch, and see what
time it is,” said the Earl, laughing.
“ Why, it is an hour past dinner-time,”
exclaimed Emily, starting; “ that must
have been the bell for coffee in the draw
ing-room, was it not Uncle ?”
“ Certainly it was.”
“ Oh ! Uncle, do let Ormand go down
with us ; the servants are all dismissed
now, and only his brothers and cousins
are in the drawingroom!” The Earl
was more than willing to consent to
this arrangement. “ Give me ten min
utes for my toilette, Uncle ; I still have
on my morning dress.”
“ Willingly, Emily, particularly, as
Ormand will need those same ten minutes
to make a change in his own dress. In
ten minutes, then, I will tap at the door
of your room ; so haste away.”
In something less than the stated ten
minutes, the Earl tapped at her door. It
was opened immediately, and so sweet
j did Emily look, in her simple dress ot
soft white muslin, profusely decorated
with rosc-colored ribbons, that even the
: old Earl himself could not help pressing
a kiss upon her ros}* cheek.
They paused, in a flutter of excitement,
at the door of the drawing-room, and
heard Arthur’s exclamation of surprise at
their non-appearance.
“ I will see if the}* are in the library,”
said Regie; and, as he opened the door,
the Earl advanced, leaning on Ormand’s
arm. Reginald retreated in speechless
amazement; Marmaduke rose from his
seat, looking almost terrified. The Earl
smiled liappil}*.
“ Arthur, Regie, this is your eldest
brother, Onnand Sutherland, a stranger
to you for many years, he must be so no
longer. Don’t ask me for any explana
tions now, but accept this stranger upon
my word. Arthur, introduce your
brother to your cousins, and to-morrow
come to my library, all of you, and I will
explain everything to you.”
Arthur and Regie pressed close to their
stranger brother, gentl\ r pressing his
hands, and gazing at him with curious
eyes’ then Arthur playfully led him up
to Eugeuia : “ Miss Eugenia Mortimer, I
allow me to introduce \*ou to your cousin,
Lord Ormand Sutherland, ‘ heir appa
rent,’ not to ‘ the throne,’ but to the coro
net, and you see you have made as great
a mistake in calling Marmaduke, Lord of
Sutherland, as}*ou did when you christen
ed Regie, Lord Reginald.”
“ I acknowledge my fault,” replied
Eugenia, extending her hand ; “ and if
Lord Ormand will forgive me, I will
promise to make no more mistakes. Just
to think! we have been wasting our at
tention on Cousin Marmaduke, as the
eldest son of an Earl, when here is the
rightful heir.”
Unaccustomed for so man}’ years to
ladies’ society, Ormand could not repl} 7
with ease to Eugenia’s mischievous re
marks, and turned gladly to the quiet
Amy :
“ Let me say this much to you, boys :
all the happiness that we now enjoy,
Emily has given us. The sorrow that
has shrouded our hearts in gloom exists
no longer, and it is she who lias removed
it,”
In vain, Emilyjtried to make herself as
small as possible, to escape observation.
The}* all clustered round her; nor was she
released until she had received from each
one a brotherl}’ embrace and kiss. Soon
Onnand sought her side again, nor could
he be induced to leave her, not even
when Arthur and’Genie directed the fire
of their mischievous raillery fall upon
him. *
“ Do you observe that knot of rose
colored ribbon on his breast ?” whispered
Arthur.
“ Certainly I do. How can I help see
ing it, when I mode it for Emily’s hair ?
Don’t you see the mate to it holding back
her curls ?”
Here the usually grave Marmaduke
whispered, “ Rose is Ormand’s favorite
color.”
“ Ah !” laughed Genie ; “ that accounts
for sister’s sudden partiality for rose
color.”
“ And whence comes your sudden par
tiality for pink—you used to like blue?”
replied Emily, smiling.
’Genie blushed deeply, but Regie, laugh
ing, answered :
“ She loves it because I do. Could
there be a better reason ?”
“Oh, fie!” Arthur exclaimed; “you
know there could be a better reason—if
she liked it because I did !”
And so the evening passed away, and
many other happy evenings. But, Or
mand felt that, though so far as his owm
family were concerned, the horrible im
putation which had so long overshadowed
his name had been cast aside, he was
still an exile, until his innocence could
be proven to the world, and he might
once more fearlessly take bis place
among men ; but, for the present, con
cealment was necessary ; therefore, Or
mand still kept his room in the day time,
though not in solitude as before.
Sir Howard Montague’s agent was ap
plied to, but, beyond the bare fact that
Sir Howard was in Italy, he could tell them
nothing. He could not say that Magno
lia was still with them ; lie could not say
that she was not; the daughter had been
dead several years, and Sir Howard had
a young neice living with him—he, the
agent had taken her from school, and
sent her to him, a few months before.
Beyond this, at the best poor information,
they could learn nothing. That evening,
grave, earnest faces only were to be seen;
even ’Genie and Arthur put aside their
mischief for a time, while an all-important
question was discussed. They had al
ready decided that someone must go to
Italy. The question now was : Who is
to go ?
First, then, Emily, of course; nothing
could be done without her; and Ormand,
he could appear there in public without
danger of anno} T ance, and Arthur and
Regie, because they so earnest!}” desired it.
Then, one of the girls must go with Emily
—not Amy, because she would rather
sta}” at home.
“ ’Genie, then !” Regie suggested, and
finally, Marmaduke, who declared he
would do more work in a week than the} 7
could in a month.
In a week their arrangements were
completed, and, accompanied b} r two ser
vants, the party left the Hall ; and so
quietly were all their movements made,
that a month elapsed before the gossips in
the village discovered that some of the
family had left the Hall ; but, who they
were, where they were gone, or how long
they were to stay, was only a matter of
conjecture.
And now, with a stroke ofeurpen, leaping
over the long vo}*age, we will put up with
our friends at a Hotel in Naples. Their
names were recorded on the books as
Sutherwood, for, as Emily remarked, if
Magnolia should hear of them, she might
be on her guard; and, then, it was the
same name, nearly. Reginald was regis
tered as Lord Reginald Mortimer, bor
rowing Emily’s name for the occasion,
and resigning his to her.
And now, having settled them all safe
ly, we will resume the thread of our
story.
CHARTER V.
For three weeks our friends have been
pursuiug their search. They have left
Naples, and now, in the second month of
their stay at Florence, we will rejoin
them at the tea-table.
“ I don’t like her appearance !” Emily
says, decided 1)*.
“Why not?” exclaimed ’Genie. “I
think her the most fascinating woman I
ever saw !”
“Os whom are }*ou speaking ?” asked
Marmaduke.
“ Os the Countess Ravenna,” answered
’Genie ; “we have met her several times;
Arthur and I like her very much,
but Regie and sister do not wish me to
speak to her.”
“Perhaps Regie has good reasons for
not liking her.”
“He has not. lam sure she likes
him!”
“ May she not like him too much ?”
asked Marmaduke, laughing.
“ I don’t believe she cares a cent for
him,” said Arthur, earnestly. “ I am
sure she don’t.”
“ I really hope not,” answered Regie,
and passing his arm through Arthur’s, as
they rose from the table, he whispered in
his ear : “ What is the matter ?”
“ Nothing, nothing,” was the reply ;
and, almost throwing aside his brother’s
arm, with a half muttered apology to the
girls, Arthur hastily* left the room.
“ What can be the matter with Ar
thur ?” asked Emily.
“ Heaven onlv knows,” answered Item
nald, looking more grieved than sur
prised. “ This is not the first time I
have seen him look as he does this even
ing. Have you noticed him, brother
Ormand ?”
“ Yes, lie is greatly changed—his face
is pale, and there is a troubled look in
his eyes that Ido not like. I am very
much distressed on his account. Are you
not his confidante , Emily?”
“Notin this case,” answered Emily.
“ I have no idea what has changed him ;
he lias not been like hintself these past
two weeks, and every day he becomes
more gloomy. Perhaps he is home-sick,
and don’t like to own it.”
“ More likely he is love-sick, and don’t
like to own it,' said Eugenia, smiling.
“ Nonsense !” exclaimed Marmaduke;
“lie loves candy better than he does
ladies. ”
“ In love !” murmured Regie; “ can it
be so—it seems very reasonable —but
why not tell me ? Who can he love ?”
Then as a sudden thought darted into
his mind, he turned to Eugenia ; “ Good
Heavens! ’Genie, can it be possible that
Arthur loves the Countess Ravenna?”
“ Very possible, Regin, and—very
No. 27.