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.-> /-\7. 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.