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VOL. I.
The South.
BY REV. ABRAM J. RYAN.
Yes, give me tlie laud
Where the ruins are spread,
And the living tread light
On the hearts of the dead;
Yes, give me the land
That is blessed by the dust,
And bright with the deeds
Os the down-trodden just.
Yes, give me the land
Where the battle's red blast
Has flashed on the future
The form of the past;
Yes, give me the lands
That hath legends and lays,
That tell of the memories
Os long vanished days.
Yes, give me the land
That hath story and song,
To tell of the strife
Os the right with the wrong;
Yes, give me the land s
With a grave in each spot,
And to names in the graves
That shall not be forgot.
Yes, give me the laud
Os the wreck and the tomb’;
There’s grandeur in graves—
There’s glory in gloom;
For out of the gloom
Future brightness is born,
As. after the night,
Looms the sunrise of morn;
And the graves of the dead,
With the grass overgrown,
May yet form the footstool
Os Liberty’s throne;
And each single wreck
In the way-path of Might,
Shall yet be a rook
In the temple of Right!
[Written for the Banner of the South.]'
The Earls of Sutherland.
BY RUTH FAIRFAX.
[CONTINUED.]
CHAPTER VI.
Accompanied by the Doctor, ’Duke led
the way to Arthur’s room. All of our
friends were there, gazing, with terror
stricken faces, upon Arthur, as he raved
in wild delirium.
“Why, what is this ?” exclaimed the
Doctor ; “has he been ill long ?”
“Only a few hours,” answered ’Duke;
“but he lias lately been laboring under
the most fearful excitement.”
“This is serious, very serious,’’said the
Doctor soberly; “we must use prompt
measures ; a pair of scissors if you
please;” and, soon, Arthur’s long glossy
curls lay upon the table. “And, now,”
said the Doctor, after arranging his medi
cines, and giving directions, “have ano
ther room prepared as speedily as possi
ble, that he may be kept perfectly quiet;
if he is no bettor in the morning, he
must lose fill of his hair ; should he fall
into a quiet slumber, he will soon be
well, though weak.”
i lie night was already far spent, yet,
when the sun rose again upon the almost
ruined city, its first rays rested on the
sleeping face of Arthur. For three
hours he slept quietly, and, when, at
length, his eyes languidly unclosed, they
met the tender gaze of Emily, who, with
Ormand, was watching over him. lie
smiled faintly, murmured a few words,
111 answer to their kind enquiries, and,
closing his eyes, again slept.
hen the Physician entered the room,
shortly afterwards, he smiled pleasantly,
and assured them that all danger was
past. 6
“Where are we to breakfast ?” asked
Degie, creeping softly up to Emily’s side.
1 breakfast ?” echoed Emily, “oh, sure-
A. w e must have breakfast ; hut where
ttdl we get it ?”
Wlmt will you have, a little fruit,
some cake ?”
“Yes, indeed; the very thing.”
“Then, I can supply you ; you shall
liav e the things directly, and a cup of
ooffee, too, if I can get it.”
i “And, Regie”—Emily spoke hesitating
y—-“would you mind going away from
here V ’
“Do you want to go home, Emmie?”
osked Reginald.
“Yes, I would like to go home, hut,
we have not yet found Magnolia Dolenti.”
Reginald looked earnestly at her a few
moments, and then, calling Ormand, re
quested them to the next room with
him, as lie had something of importance
to communicate to them. And then he
briefly told them that the night before
they had discovered Magnolia, in the per
son of the Countess Guilia of Ravenna ;
that her palace had been destroyed by the
earthquake, and Sir Howard Montague,
the uncle of her friend Ellie, was then
in the house.
“How wonderful!” exclaimed Emily,
“then the old gentleman you brought
here last night is Sir Howard Montague,
and, surely, Magnolia must now be Lady
Montague; stupid that I was not to think
of it before! I have heard Ellie speak
of her uncle’s second wife, the beautiful
Italalian. Where do you suppose Magno
lia is now ?”
“I have no doubt but that she is buried
beneath the ruins of her palace,” replied
Reginald; “the hanquetting hall is one
mass of ruins; and, very likely, many of
her guests perished with her.”
“And how is my innocence to he
proven ?’’ asked Ormand, anxiously.
“Oh, never fear, dear Ormand, it will
all come right in due time,” exclaimed
Emily, cheerfully; “let me call Ellie,
and bear what she can tell us ?”
“Not now;” said Regie, “I will have a
table, in the sitting room, prepared for
your breakfast; you can all meet me
there in half an hour; we will hear what
Miss Ellie can tell us, then ”
And then they separated,
Arthur was sleeping quietly, with his
own servant watching over him ; Sir
Howard was so far recovered as to be
able to take his seat at the table, with
the rest, and, it was really pleasant ta see
the intense delight that beamed
on his aged countenance, as he looked
upon Ormand’s face, and heard his name.
“Yes,” he said, smilingly, “I believe
it is Orrnand, but how it can be so, I can
not tell. Explain it to me;” and he
turned to Marmaduke.
Marmaduke’s explanation was long,
but, as we already know all that he could
tell, we will only repeat the question
which he asked, at the close of his nar
rative : “Have you any idea, Sir How
ard, who could have murdered your son V ’
“Upon my soul, I have,” replied Sir
Howard; and a deadly shade of pallor
overspread his face. “I believe that
’twas one who has borne my name lor
years, though, lately, it has been rejected,
for a worthless Italian titk*; ’twas one
who has made my life one lasting tor
ture ; who has kept me a close prisoner,
with her servants as my keepers, and al
lowed me but one pleasure, the com
pany of my more than daughter, who,
for my sake, has made herself a prisoner
with me. Oh! Orrnand, what you have
suffered! what we all have suffered, from
the evil deeds of Magnolia.”
lie sank back in his chair, overcome
with emotion, and Elbe soothed him with
gentle words.
“Regie, dear,” said Genie, in a low
tone, “I called you unreasonable; forgive
me ! Oh ! how wicked she was.’
A silent pressure of the hand, was his
only reply, as Sir Howard, just then,
spoke again.
“Children,” he said, looking round upon
them, can you imagine how I long to re
turn home ; am I asking too much, when
I ask'one of you to return home with
Elbe and myself?”
He did not say which one, but his eye
lingered on Onnand.
“You would like Orrnand,” said Mar
maduke, gently, but, you forget that he
is an entire stranger to the ways of the
world, necessarily so, from his long se
clusion. Yet, do not despair, for, if I
rightly interpret the expression of the
faces around me, you will not lack for
company on your way home.”
“How is cousin Emily ? when you be
able to start ?”
-A.TJGTTSTA.,. GA., OCTOBER 3, 1868.
“Just as soon as Arthur is able to bear
the journeywas the prompt reply, and
not one voice was raised to urge a longer
stay.
When Arthur was asked if he waited
anything, he replied, “Yes, I want to go
home.”
In ten days they started.
In a month they were in London.
The Earl and his family were living in
his town house, and Arthur, weak,
weary, and spiritless, was spared the
longer journey to the Hall.
Let us look in upon them a few min
utes before the arrival of the travellers.
In a cozy little sitting room, Amy is
sewing, by the brilliant light of a lamp,
placed on a little stand at her left.
Cuthbert, on the opposite side of
the table, toys with a bouquet of rare
flowers, and converses with Amy in a low
tone.
The old Earl is reading.
Edwin and Ernest are looking over a
host of invitations that have poured in
upon them in the last few days.
For the old Earl is very wealthy.
He stands high in the favor of King
Charles.
He has marriageable sons.
And a neice, who is an orphan and
an heiress.
Suddenly Cuthbert raised his head.
“I hear a carriage at the door,” he
said.
“Nothing uncommon,” said Edwin;
“you must think yourself at Sutherland
Hall, that the noise of a carriage startles
you.”
“Ah! but I was wishing it was our
folks in it,” said Cuthbert.
“I wish it was time for them all to
come home,” sighed Amy; “I want to ac
cept some of these invitations, particular
ly the one the King has sent us, and 1
can't doit unless Emily comes.”
“Can’t, indeed!” echoed Cuthbert;
“don’t you know that a request from the
King is equivalent to a command ? We
must accept it.”
“Don’t fret for them, Amy*,” said Er
nest, gently, “they will be home as soon
as possible, after they receive our letter
telling them that Magnolia is in London,
living in splendor, as Lady Montague.”
At this instant the door was thrown
open, and a cheery voice, that made them
start from their seats, exclaimed, “Any
body home ?”
Pass we over the meeting; the intro
duction of Sir Howard Montague; the
account of the earthquake; and an ex
planation of all that had occurred.
The travelers retired to rest at an ear
ly hour.
In the morning, the Earl summoned
to his library, those of his children with
whom he wished to have a private con
versation.
These were Emily, Orrnand, Marma
duke, and Regie; and, thus, he began the
conversation :
“I have had a private interview with
the King, and have laid before him such
evidence of Ormand’s innocence as I
have been able to collect. He agreed
with me, in believing Orrnand to be in
nocent, but told me to keep perfectly
quiet about it, until your return. When
Magnolia made her appearance, as Lady
Montague, I informed King Charles of it.
She has not been presented, but is in
vited to all the Court fetes. The King
is grateful for past services, and will see
that we have justice.”
“And wdiat is to be done now, uncle ?”
asked Emily.
“I aw to the King, to tell him. of
your arrival, and ask his pleasure. Re
member, to say nothing of this, until I
return.”
“It is still early,” said Reginald; “will
the King receive you?”
“He bid me come to him as soon as
possible after your arrival; I will bo ad
mitted at almost any hour. He may not
have time to hear me to-day, for I heard
it reported, yesterday, that the Duke of
Monmouth had been taken prisoner; if
this is true, the King will have hut little
leisure or inclination to attend to business
of a private nature.”
“How unnatural!” exclaimed Ormand,
“I did not believe it possible that Mon
mouth could take up arms against his fa
ther.”
“Then, you remember him, Ormand?
I know when we lived here, years ago,
you and the young Duke were firm
friends. Yes, Monmouth is in arms
against the King, hut—l speak confi
dentially—r-not against his father. It is
my opinion that Charles is willing to give
up the crown to his son, but dare not do
it, on account of his brother, and succes
sor, James, Duke of York.”
“But why should not his son succeed
him ?” asked Emily.
“Because the marriage of Charles
with his mother has never been acknowl
edged answered the Earl. “While on
the Continent, Charles fell in love with,
and married, a beautiful Welsh girl.
When he became King, he found it neces
sary, for political reasons, to deny this
marriage. Consequently, Monmouth has
no apparent legal right to the throne.
The Duke of York is his deadly enemy,
necessarily so, as James is the heir ap
parent to the throne, and, if Monmouth’s
legitimacy were proven, he would he
thrown aside. Charles would willingly
resign his crown to Monmouth, but he
dare not do it openly. For this reason, I
say, Monmouth is in arms agaiDt his
King, but not against his father.”
“Unfortunate Prince,” ejaculated Emi
ly ; and you say, Uncle, that in this scheme
he has been unsuccessful ?”
“So I have heard, and, if it is true, I
know not what King Charles will do, for
the people are still so exasperated about
the sale of Dunkirk, and the secret treaty
with the King of France, that Charles
himself must needs walk carefully, lest
he lose his balance; still, the Duke of
Monmouth is not unpopular, and it may
be smoothed over. But I must go.
Meet me here in two hours, and I will tell
you all that I learn in the meantime.”
The two hours passed wearily away,
and, when, at length, he returned, lie
found his auditors already assembled in
the Library.
“Bad news, uncle ?” asked Emily,
noting the cloud that rested on the brow
of the Earl.
“Bad news, indeed,” answered the Earl;
“I found the King overwhelmed with grief.
Monmouth has appealed to his father for
mercy ; lie has been pardoned, hut a
cruel necessity compelled the King to
sentence him to perpetual exile.”
“Where is Monmouth ?” asked Or
mand.
“He is in London, my son ; would you
like to see him ?”
“I would indeed, very much, but I sup
pose, under the present circumstances, it
would be impossible.”
“Not at all impossible,” said the Earl;
“but before saying anything more, tell
me, all of you, would you support Mon
mouth's pretensions to the crown, if you
could ?”
“With heart and hand!” exclaimed Or
mand, and the others echoed his words.
“Then, listen to me,” said the Earl,
with a pleased look; “to-night lam to
see the King again. I have promised
him, in my own name, never to cease my
endeavors, so long as life shall last, until
Monmouth wears his father’s crown; and
more, I have pledged you all, who now
sit here, to the same work; was I right
“You were right!” was the unanimous
answer.
“Hush! speak softly,” said the Earl,
this is a business that might cost us our
heads, if it were too loudly spoken of, for
the present let it rest among ourselves;
hereafter, we will let the others know of
it. The King will receive us privately
this evening; to him you can say all you
wish.”
“And will we also see Monmouth ?”
asked Ormand.
“You will see him,” replied the Earl;
he has been g ranted permission to take
leave of his father; the King will receive
lis at the same time.”
“And Magnolia, what of her?” asked
Marmaduke.
“The Kin will recive her to-morning.
We will enter the room immediately after
her, and to the King himself, in the pre
sence of some of his lords, w e will accuse
her of the murder of Howard Montague.
If she denies it we will confront her with
Ormand. The King thinks she will be
so overwhelmed with terror, that she will
acknowledge her guilt.”
“I am afraid he is mistaken,” said
Marmaduke, “but, if such is his will, we
must comply with it. Suppose she does
not acknowledge her guilt, what then ?”
“The King has promised, in any case,
to publish her letters, and openly ac
knowledge his belief in the innocence of
Ormand, to confirm his title to my coro
net, and confer an Earldom on Marma
duke, that he may feel no disappoint
ment, in losing mine.”'
“More than ever are we now devoted
to the cause of his son,” said Reginald.
For my part, I promise to leave nothing
undone, to secure to him his rights !”
“And I,” said Emily, “all that a woman’s
wit can accomplish shall be offered him.”
“If it does as much for him as it has
done for me,” said Ormand, warmly, “he
may already call the throne of England
his own.”
They smiled at his enthusiasm, yet, in
their hearts, they applauded his words.
CHAPTER VII.
In a small room of the Palace sat two
men. The eldest was King Charles the
Second; the other, was his eldest son,
James, Duke of Monmouth. In appear
ance, the Duke was one of the most en
gaging men of the Seventeenth Century;
his manners were free, fascinating, and
affable, his face pleasant to look upon.
He was tall and rather slender, with
short curling hair, of a highly gold
en color, dark eyes, bright and piercing,
and fair roseate complexion. He wore no
beard, and his beautiful mouth needed
nothing to conceal it.
“My only hope for you, my son, is in
this family of Sutherland,” said the King,
breaking the painful silence that had
been brooding over them; “as I told you
before, the old Earl, then a young man,
was mainly, though secretly, instrumental
in gaining for me my crown; and if his
sons possess one tithe of the energy and
daring of their father, there is yet hope
for you.”
“But, why did he serve you secretly,
father; surely, no one denied your legal
right to the crown ?” said Monmouth.
“lie would have it so,” answered the
King; “lie could do me better service
than if he had openly declared himself
my friend. In truth, he served me for
the love he bore me, and not for power
or reward. You, doubtless, remember his
eldest son, Ormand, he was about two
years younger than yourself, and, if I am
not mistaken you were very fond of him.”
“I remember him perfectly,” answered
Monmouth; “I liked him very much, and
well remember how we grieved when his
father announced his intention of retiring
to his country seat with his family.” At
this instant, a light tap at the door in
terrupted their conversation ; the King
returned the signal, and the door
opened, admitting the Earl of Suther
land, with his neice and sons.
When they had been duly presented,
the King said : Yourself and your
sons, my Lord of Sutherland, come tome
as suppliants, and you find in me a great
er suppliant than yourselves. You only
ask of me to establish the innocence of
your son, and to confirm his title to your
Earldom; this I can easily do witout risk
to myself. I ask you to give your aid to
establish my son upon his father’s throne,
and to secure to him the crown of Eng
land. You may succeed, but if you fail
you will pay the forfeit of your lives for
No. 29.