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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.