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6 had forgotten it.’’ Oh! grief, oh! temp tation, to forget! He sinks on his knees; oovers his face with his hands, and weeps! he prayed for strength, and an inner voice, not to be misunderstood, whispers: “Thy vow !” Yes, it must be fulfilled to the letter, cost what it may! It will wring his heart; but a vow is sacred ! Slowly lie arose from his kdees, with happiness crushed, and a swelling heaj’t. He casts one longing look towards the cottages ; then, with a firm resolve, turns from them, and descends the hill on the other side. He remembered an elm tree, hollowed out by age, which stood in a secluded place, not far from the sea-shore, and, by the foot of which, a clear fountain took its source. Thither lie directed his steps, and determined to spend his year of dire trial. During his slavery, his beard and hair bad grown to a great length, and his face had been bronzed and furrowed by exposure and care ; and now, having ar ranged a hermit’s cowl and robe, which mostly concealed his features and his youthful form, he felt that he was safe from recognition. A cord around his waist, and a small cross, carved from a bit of bone, and hung around his neck, completed his attire. His small cell was as easily furnished; his bed was an arm ful of dried leaves, a large rock for a seat, aud above the entrance of his cell a rough cross, from two limbs of the tree tied to gether with a cord ; this constituted all he had. Very few minutes sufficed to complete the arrangements for his house keeping; and, for his first meal, muscles from the seashore, and a handful of ehes nuts, afforded better food than he had often had. It was not long before he was seen, and the report was rapidly and joy fully spread, that a holy Hermit had fixed his abode close by the village, and had selected the old traditional Elm tree for his dwelling place. Offerings were soon brought to him, but he refused all, save a few chesnuts, or some fruit; and this enhanced his sanctity in the eyes of the people, and great and many were the things related of him, especially as he spoke but little. For a long time he was the sole subject of conversation among the old crones, and, indeed, among the younger ones too. Who was he? whence had he come ? was he a man or a spirit ? was lie a Saint, allowed to revisit the Earth for their own special benefit? Some had seen his likeness painted in some dis tant Church, and knew him to be an old Saint, who had been martyred centuries ago! Others had his picture in their prayer-book ' But, all agreed that he must be a very holy man, for he spoke so little. Poor Jerome ! how often he recognised old acquaintances among his visitors, and turned his head, or disguised his voice, not to be known. Fishermen, his former companions and friends, whose hands he longed to grasp, came, with a modest offering of shell-fish, to propitiate the holy man; to consult him as to the best time for going out; or to ask his prayers for their success. They all went off with a few kind words of advice and promise of prayers ; and, be it chance or not, they usually came back "with boats well laden with fish. Was it Jerome’s skillful advice, or the Hermit’s holy prayers, which filled the boats ? Who can doubt this ? Indeed, ’twere sinful to doubt, for hundreds could testify to the miracles he had performed, and to the ful filment of one or two wonderful prophe cies ! But, Jerome’s heart was too pure and too humble to appropriate any share of these, and when he was told that his touch had cured a sick child, or had made a limping woman limp a little less, or that his prophecy that a certain miss ing vessel would return, if not lost, had just been fulfilled, by the safe arrival of the identical vessel, he meekly bowed his head, and thanked the good old Saint, whose intercession in bis favor had given him that power. One day, while seated in his cell, he had, for the time, weaned his heart from all earthly thought, and laid it hare at the foot of the Heavenly throne, a voice from without called him tice: “ Father? good Father!” Good Heavens! that voice, as sweet as angels’ music ! how it brought' back his heart; his thoughts roll ing, tumbling from Heaven to Earth! He had recognized Marianne’s voice ; that voice forever ringing its silver notes in his ear. His strength failed him; his limbs refused to support him ; words he could not utter. “ Father! good Father!” again repeat ed the sweet voice—the same which had so often told him the soft tales of love. V ith a great effort he found utter ance for the words, “Come in.’’ But. his voice was hoarse with emotion, and his tone rough. Marianne appeared at the the entrance of the cell. One rapid, un perceived glance—the first of an idolized object iti two long years—showed him the same beautiful Marianne; but, so sad! Oh! what a trial for the poor heart! What a temptation to press her to his heart. “ Good Hermit ,” she commenced, and then hesitated. *• Speak, my daughter,” he replied, in a hoarse voice, without, however, turning his head, lest his emotion should betray him. ‘‘Good Hermit, forgive me for disturb ing the quietnde of your retreat; but you are so good, and your sanctity is so great, and I am so unhappy!” Scarcely able to contain himself, he spoke again, in a tone which his very effort to control rendered hoarse and severe: “ Speak quickly.” Marianne trembled from head to foot. “ Oh! good Hermit,, how can I ever dare tell one so holy a.s you the cause of all my misery and grief. Two years ago there lived in our village a young fisher man, named Jerome, the son of my father’s venerable friend; he was so good! so * * and * * and he loved me * * and * * I loved him, too, for he was so good. Our fathers smiled on our love, and we were soon to have been married ; but, this cruel war commenced, and Jerome went off as a sailor, and, since then, Father, we have never heard of him! Oh! how I prayed for his safety—for his return! How [ pray every day to our good Mother, the patroness of all seamen, to bring him back to me! Oh! good Hermit, you are so holy, pray, oh! pray for him, for your prayers will be heard.” St. Jerome! St. Jerome! good old Saint, strengthen thy protege! for love is fearfully struggling against religion!” But, St. Jerome is there, and religion triumphs. “I will,” curtly replies the Hermit. ‘‘One word, good Father. You, who know everything, tell me! oh! tell me, will he come back ?” “Hope in Heaven!” Marianne left the cell. How little of an Hermit was there now ! With eyes filled with tears, he watched her retreat ing form until it disappeared behind the hill. What strength of mind—what power of faith—it required to come out triumphant from such a trial! But, alas! the struggle left a lacerated heart and a bewildered mind, and that evening his prayers were as often addressed to Ma rianne as to God. How sad aud dreary his cell appeared to him after that Heaven ly visit. Often, after that, he would take his seat outside of his cell, in the shade of the old Elm, -with his eyes rivetted on the path which led over the hill, towards the village, hoping always, and yet dreading, to see her again, for he feared his strength might fail him. Many others came to him; and, even, one day, his own old gray-haired father came to ask the Hermit of the Elm whether ac should again see his son, ere he sank to his grave ? This was another struggle, scarcely less trying than the first, but Jerome came out triumphant. One afternoon, while thus seated be neath the old Elm, he espied the well form of Marianne coming down the pathway. His heart leapt with joy and fear, and beat as though it would burst through flesh and bones, hut he had suffi cient presence of mind to say an “Ave," and to call on St. Jerome for aid, and when she spoke to him he was strength ened. Marianne was even sadder than the first time, and her cheeks were pale and her eyes red from continued weep ing. Oh ! why could lie not press a warm kiss on those cheeks, and bring back to them their wonted bloom ! But, this was scarcely a fit thought for a holy Ccnobite. “Good Hermit,” she commenced, “par don me for again turning your pious mind from thoughts of Heaven to things of this world, but, you are so good, you will have pity on the unhappiness ot a poor girl like me, though foolish it may seem to you. Oh! good Father, I am so un happy! Jerome, the young sailor, of whom I spoke to you, has not yet returned, and we cannot hear from him, nor from the ship on which he served. I know lie is alive, for you have told me to hope. But, my father wishes me to marry an other one, whom I cannot love. How could I love him after having known Jerome ? (Holy St. Jerome, strengthen the lan. How else can he resist?) My father thinks Jerome is dead, or, if alive, cares no more for me. Alas! is it so ? Holy Hermit, you whom Heaven inspires, oh! tell me if lie still loves me!” “ He does! he does ! better than life !” cried the holy Hermit, forgetting for a second his cowl and gown, with a vehe mence which might have betrayed him. Then, he added in his usual tone: “He loves thee, and will return.” Marianne, bursting into tears, cried out: “Oh! thanks! thanks, good Father! I am so happy now, for you would not deceive me.” A few days after this trying conver- Mills ®S Tis B®TOL sation, the poor Marianne again returned, sadder than ever. She confided to the holy man that her father would not be lieve that Jerome was alive and loved her, whatever she could tell him to the contrary —for she felt, in her heart, that it was so—and he insisted and com manded that she should marry the rich farmer who sought her hand, and that he had even appointed a day for the wedding. “Oh! good Hermit, what am I to do ? Must I obey my father ? Must I be untrue to Jerome ? What must Ido ?” Poor Hermit, what is he to do ? Two months must elapse ere his cruel term expires. If he persevere in his Hermit age, in that time Marianne will be for ever lost to him; if he discloses himself, he breaks his vow, and fearful would be the consequences. What a terrible dilemma! But his dear old Patron did not abandon him; he whispered advice into his ear, and the Hermit spoke : “Tell thy father to postpone thy mar riage until the day of St. Martha. I shall pray, and Jerome will return.” Marianne returned to her home, and with the aid of Jerome’s father, she at last drew from her father a reluctant consent that her marriage should be postponed until the day of St. Martha, but not a day later. Marianne had faith in the promise of the old Hermit, and her heart was lightened; but, old Anselm shrugged his shoulders, and called her foolish. One month had passed over, and Je rome had not arrived. Each day Ma rianna looked for him, and each day added its weight of disappointment upon her heart. Each night, as she cried herself to sleep, she would say : “ He will come to-morrow.” But, to-morrow came, and brought no Jerome. Six weeks have gone ! Seven weeks! St. Martha’s dav is next week, and her father is inexorable! Not another day will he allow ; indeed, he said he was a fool to have waited so long. Marianne’s cheeks are deathly pale; her checks are red ! “ Hermit! Hermit! hast thou deceived me ?” St. Martha’s is only two days oft*. One more visit of despair to the old Hermit. “ Hope !” said he, “my daughter ; hope and have faith.” The eve of St. Martha has come, and gone ! that night Marianne spent in prayer. The morning dawns, and Je rome has not come ! “Hermit! Hermit! thou hast deceived me !” was the cry of the poor breaking heart. The preparation for a gay wedding had been made; all the young folks of the vil lage and neighborhood had assembled; they formed a long procession to escort the bride and groom to the Church. Poor Marianne, more dead than alive, scarcely conscious of what was going on, ‘hoping against hope’ to the last moment. They reached the Church —Anselm and the groom supporting the tottering form of the poor victim. The kneel be fore the Altar, and the crowd collects around. The venerable old Cure, in his vestments of office, advances to perform the ceremony. The deepest silence pre vails in the Church, a pin could have been heard to drop, for the anguish in the bride’sdieart is no secret, and all sympa thize with her. Marianne feels a death like faintness coming over her—she hopes it is death about, to relieve her from her misery. But, her ear catches a sound at the door of the Church—a rapid step —a few words pass from mouth to mouth, and reach her car : “ The Hermit of the Elm.” She springs up, to find herself in the arms of the Holy Hermit, who cries out: “ Marianne! my own Marianne!” Cruel Jerome! The cowl is thrown aside, and the well known features of the lost Jerome are re vealed to the astounded crowd ! “ Forgive me, Marianne ! forgive me, Father! all! A vow—a solemn vow! It expired to-day!” Is it necessary to say, that the Her mit’s gown was soon thrown aside to make place for a groom’s surtout; and the boys and girls were not disappointed in their, dances and festivities. It was the hap piest day ever witnessed in the village, except for the disappointed farmer, who, however, joined in with good grace, if not joy. .* “ Dora,” says she has been readiugtwo volumes of “The Blood-stained Lamp glass; or, the Kerosene Courser ol the Koural Mountains,” and it is so horrible she cannot go on with the third volume, but wishes us to read it, and tel! her whether the “ Bounding Baron” marries the “ White Widow,” or whether she poisons herself with the Government Gazette. We will think it over, Dora. Melbourne Punch. When does a horse become a landed estate ? When he is turned into & field. lT y b l o m e~& c 07, PUBLISHERS AND PROPRIETORS. AUGUST AG a., OCTOBER 10J868 All Communications, intended for publication invtst be directed to the Editor, Rev. A. J. Ryan ; and all Business Communications to the Publishers, L. T Blome k Cos., Augusta, Ga. A few Advertisements will be received, and in serted on liberal terms. 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Petersburg, Va.—EOBT. KENNY. Richmond, Ya. —JOHN H. WATFSH. Washington, D. C.—J. J. WILLIAMSON. Maysville, Ky.—Dr. E. W. RUTH. Baltimore, Md. —Lieut. A. McK. PITTMAN. Sandersville, G«. —E. A. SULLIVAN, P. M. Millwood, Mo—Dn. JOSEPH A. HUDD. Corpn6 Christi, Texas. —RIOH’D POWER. Mobile, Ala—B. McGOYERN. Wilmington, N. C. —JAS. MADDEN. Bairdstown, Ga.—O. A. MCLAUGHLIN, P M. tf* The paper can also be obtained from news and periodical dealers everywhere. j&if~ Specimen copies will be sent to any address, on application. PERIODICALS. The Southern Review. —One of the ablest conducted Reviews in this or ai. other country, is the Southern. Iteveiv, of Baltimore, Md., published by Messrs. Bled soe & Browne, at $5 per year, in advane: Specimen copies will he sent free on re ceipt of GO cents. The following is tl; Table of Contents of the October lim ber, embraced in about 260 pages : I. Alexander H. Stephens ou the War. 11. Lettice Knollys. 111. The Northern Church. IV. Bellearius. V. Two Recent Poems. VI. Brownson’s American Republic. VII. riaten’s Poems. VIII. Classification in Natural History IX. Book Notices. Advertising Pages. C ON'TENTS OF TUB UNITED STATE Musical Review. —The October num ber of this valuable musical monthly, contains thirteen pages of reading ma ter, divided as follows: Poetry: The Harper’s Grave, and a Day by Day—Gretry’s Childhood, from “La France Musicale ’ —Anecdote of Rossini—Our Village Annals—Samuel Lover—The Hand-Organ—The Aut grapli of Handel’s “Messiah”—itemini-- cences oi Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdv —Haydn and Hans Sachs—The Ear’ Years of Meyerbeer—Review of Nov-- Music, etc., etc. In addition to this, it gives the follow ing choice selection of new Music : Je sie Dean , Song and Chorus, by Will. S. Hays —Smile To-day and, Frow, To-Morrow, Ballad, by H. P. Danks—a Beautiful Waltz, by E. Mack, entith u Perpetual Rose , and the Cinnamon Rm Polka, by Ch. Kinkel. Sample copies, 25 cts., or $2 per yea: Address, J. L‘ Peters, P. O. Box 5329 New York. Sermons.—Father Ryan commenced, on Sunday last, a series of Sermon having for their subject The Blessed Virgin Mother of God, connecting her with the history of the world, of our Saviour, and of the Church. The series will continue through the month o: October, and, if not finished then, in ; the month of November. The Earls of Sutherland.—We can still furnish a few copies of the back numbers with the first chapters of tkk thrilling and highly interesting story. It is written by a lady of Georgia express} fur the Banner, of the South. A Pamphlet.— “ Fire and Inland M rine Losses Paid by the Underwriter. Agency of New York, 1866,1867.” W have received a copy of a very nea printed Pamphlet, with the above title. To Our Readers. —Father Ryan's disposition during the past week is . excuse for the paucity of Editorials in f week's issue. Jewelry. —We invite attention to "v I’rontaut’s advertisement in this week Banner. KENTUCKY CORRESPONDENCE OF THE BANNER OF THE SOUTH. Maysvili.e, Ky., Sept. 25,1868. Banner of the South: In your issue of Sept. 19, I find y desire for regular correspondence, fr all sections of the country. In accoi ance with your wish, I write you, hopi- - that you will find my communication sufficient interest to insure its publicuti m and, then, in the absence of a me worthy correspondent for the Banner, i shall be happy to take my place up your list of regulars. As this is my first appearance be? - your readers, it may not be inappropriate