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VOL. I. From the Sunday Times. Too Young to Die. BY CABBIE RAYMOND. Oh! mother, dry those tearful eyes, That set my poor heart throbbing; And, brother, smother o’or your sighs, And, sister, cease your sobbing; The Spring-time of my life is near, My Summer lingers nigh, Oh! let my warm hopes dry the tear, For, I’m too young to die. The dowers in the garden bloom. Their sweetest odors rise, To wake me from the deep’ning gloom That sweeps across my skies. For them the Autumn’s wind will blow, And Summer’s zephyr sigh— They cannot fade till comes the snow, they’re too young to die. The green leaves hang upon the trees, Like fairies swinging there, Loitering in the Summer breeze, And sailing on the air; Singing requiems with the wind That o’er their homesteads fly— I cannot leave these joys behind. For I’m too young to die. The bird is 3inging in the wood— I love its little song; It brings to me the loved and good, That I have sighed for long. Can I from her forever part, Forever lrom her hio ? Oh! death oan never chill my heart, For I’m too young to die. Come nearer to ijjy side, dear mother^,*. My sight is grdVving dim; Come here, my sister, and my brother, For I must go to Him. The flowers must fade, the trees must fall. The birds must lowly lie— I hear the Angels’ welcome call, I’m not too young to die. ***.*,# They laid him in the quiet gloom Os the willow that ever weepeth, And they carved upon his marble tomb, “He is not dead, but sleepeth;” For, to the just there is no death, No link that time can sever, Our life is more than fleeting breath, For life exists forever. [Written for the Banner of the South. 1 The Earls of Sutherland. BY BUTH FAIRFAX. CHAPTER XI. [continued.] “Brother and myself will accompany vour Majestv to Torbay, where Prince Willi am now is, and, at such time as opportunity olVcrs, remove him, secretly, and put you in his place. With your hair grown long, and dyed black, you will readily pass for His Highness. I have seen him, and noticed the extraor dinary likeness between you. We will take him, at once, to Louis XIV, who can do as he will with him. You, my Lord, will then march on London with your Army, and take possession of the throne of England. ” "I agree !” said Monmouth, “I agree to it all, and place myself entirely in your hands.” ‘‘First, then, we must see the King of franco,” said Reginald ; “I will leave home for France, early in the morning, and you, Ormand, go to London. My Lord Duke will remain here with Mar maduke, while Ernest accompanies Emily to the Princess Mary.’’ In the morning, each took their differ ent ways, venturing on dangerous paths, that were to lead to the throne, or, per chance, to the scaffold. Yet, not deterred by the awful warning given by Cuthbert’s death, they entered upon their enterprise 'yith high hopes and courageous hearts, force of arms had proved unavailing, and they must now resort to stratagem; their object must he accomplished ; for, they had sworn by the bleeding body of their brother that Monmouth should be Ring, and they had promised King Charles that never, while life lasted, v ''onld they cease their endeavors until Monmouth wore his father’s crown !’’ CHAPTER XII. Regally handsome, in his brilliant Court dress, Reginald Sutherland, bowed before Louis XIV, of France. He had succeeded in gaining a private interview with the King, and now stood before him, awaiting the royal permission to speak. The Monarch’s eyes rested admiringly on the handsome face and superb form of Reginald; nor did he fail to notice the chaste elegance of his attire. “\ou have something of importance for my private ear?” asked Louis, kindly. “\ es > jour Majesty, of vast import ance,'* said Reginald; “it regards the sacredness of a promise !” “Os a promise ?” said Louis, “of what promise ?” “A pledge made by you to my royal master, King Charles the Second.” ‘’To King Charles ?” exclaimed Louis, paling slightly; “but he is dead, and what can you know of my private promises to him ?” "\\ hat I know, I have learned from a paper which King Charles left with my father, the late Earl of Sutherland.” “And that paper ?” said Louis, ques tioningly. ‘’That paper, written and signed by your Majesty, is in rny possession,” said Regie, with dignified calmness. “Give it. to t .*me,” said the King, hastily. “Pardon me, your Majesty,” replied Regie, gently. hat ! do you refuse ?” asked Louis, angrily; “then, I command you to give it to me !” “I pray you pardon me,” said Regi nald, bowing his head, “but I cannot !”" “iou cannot? and why can you not, when trie King of France ‘Commands you to do so ?” “Because my master, the King of Eng land commands me not to do so, and, with all deference to your Majesty’s wishes, I must obey my master first ?” said Regie. The King of England!” exclaimed Louis, his face flushing painfully; “he knows, then, of his papier ?” “Ho does,” replied Reginald, bowing profoundly. “And what does he say f” asked Louis, striving to steady his voice. “He calls upon your Majesty to re deem your promise !” replied Reginald. “To redeem my promise !” repeated the King, in astonishment; “King James calls upon me to redeem the promise made to King Charles ? It is impossi ble !” “Pardon me, once more, your Majesty,” said Reginald, with a slight tremor of anxiety in his voice; “I said the King of England, not James, Duke of York.” “ The Duke of York!” exclaimed Louis, excitedly; “the Duke of York ! who, then, in Heaven’s name, do you call King of England ?” “The eldest son of King Charles; His Highness, the Duke of Monmouth,” an swered Reginald; and, by a mighty effort, he kept down the quiver of his heart, and his voice was calm and assured. “The Duke of Monmouth !” echoed Louis; “you deal in mysteries—Mon mouth is dead !” “Allow me to correct the mistake your Majesty labors under; Monmouth is not dead; ’twas a faithful friend died in his stead; the Duke is alive, and calls upon your Majesty to redeem the promise made to his father, and assist him to mount the throne of England!” “Impossible!” exclaimed Louis, start ing to his feet ; “does he expect me to seud armies into the field to vindicate his right to the crown ? He cannot expect it; and, besides, if my memory does not play me false, I only promised—” He paused abruptly, and looked search fogly at Reginald, who, lifting his head, met the gaze of the King with an un flinching eye, as he replied ; TVLJGTISTA, GAL, OCTOBER 17, 1868. “Tell me, then, how do you propose to place Monmouth in William’s position *?” asked the King. “Your Majesty is, doubtless, aware of the astonishing likeness existing between the Duke aDd the Prince ; there is but one slight difference—l say slight, because it can be so easily remedied—the Prince’s hair is long, and of raven blackness, while the Duke’s is rather short, and of a light, flaxen color. With bis hair dyed black, it would be impossible to tell one from the other. But, we do not ask your Majesty to implicate yourself in this affair ; we, alone, will remove the Prince, who is reaching for a Crown to which he has no right, and put the Duke in his place. Monmouth, as William, will march upon London, and be there proclaimed King of England !” The King had listened attentively while Reginald was speaking, and uow asked earnestly : “What, then, do you require of me ?” “Only to take charge of William of Orange, when wc deliver him into your Majesty’s hands, and keep him out of sight. Surely, you will acknowledge this to be secret aid!’ “Do you think, then, that this likeness is so exact, as to impose upon the people, and upon Mary, the wife of William ?” asked Louis, anxiously. “Judge for yourself,” answered Regi nald, drawing a small miniature from his bosom ; “whose likeness is that, your Majesty!” The King took it in his hand, and re garded it attentively for a few moments. “This is the Prince of Orange,” he said, at length. “And this, your Majesty ?” Reginald gave him another miniature, painted on ivory, mounted in gold, and massively set with diamonds. “Oh ! this is certainly the Prince, for he has the royal orders on his breast,” said the King, unhesitatingly ; “I must have been mistaken in the first one !” “Not so, your Majesty,” replied Regi- smiling; “this last one is the Duke of Monmouth ; my sister painted it, and colored the hair black. The likeness, you see, is exact; it has bewildered your Majesty; it will impose upon the people, and the Princess Mary still mourns the death of Monmouth.” “Secret aid; and that is all the Duke asks for.” “ And in what way does he require it ?” Reginald hesitated. “Speak out!” said the King, “I pledge my royal word that, if I do not give the aid you ask, I will yet keep sacredly, in my own heart, all that you say to me.” “Your Majesty encourages me to hope, by your gracious kindness,” said Reginald, “and I do hope”—his always musical voice was rendered more softly harmo nious by the thrill of emotion that quiver ed in his tones—“Oh ! gracious King, take into consideration the almost unpar alleled misfortunes of my royal master, and extend to him your protecting hand. He is good, brave, generous; make him your friend ! King James is your enemy ; you hate him. Well, \Yilliam of Orange is about to wrest the Crown of England from him. Is William of Orange your Majesty’s friend ? lie is a more ‘deadly enemy than King James, because a more powerful one ! Itemove William, then ; put the Duke of Monmouth in his place, and, as King of England, he will extend to you the right hand of friendship !” Reginald spoke eloquently, for he felt deeply, and the King was evidently favorably impressed by his manner; for, looking kindly upon Regie, he said, with smiling lips : “The Duke of Monmouth has chosen an eloquent advocate, albeit an inexperienced one; for, beneath the well supported calmness of your manner, I can detect the deep feeling of your heart. You are a near friend of the Duke ?” “I have been his daily companion for two years,” said Reginald, proudly, “I know, and love him . “What !” cried the King in surprise ; “she loved Monmouth ?” “These are his Majesty’s family secrets,” said Reginald. “Nevertheless, you seem to he very well acquainted with them,” said the King, smiling; “yet, what you have said, sim plifies the matter greatly. What do you propose to do witli the present King and Queen of England ?” “Nothing, your Majesty; we will leave them to take care of themselves.” “Not so,” replied the King; “they might give us trouble; I must have them under my own eye, not as prisoners, oh ! no! but as honored guests. Monmouth will secretly furnish money to support them in a style befitting their high rank, and I will keep them here. You, without in any way endangering his life, or using my name, will bring William to me; I promise that you shall not be troubled by him, In this way, I redeem my promise. Do my words please you ?” “Oh! more than please me,” cried Reginald, joyfully ; “it is just what we would have asked of your Majesty !” “You say we,” said the King, with in terest ; “how many are engaged in this plot ?” “Only four, beside the Duke and my self.” “And who are these ?” asked the King, with still more interest in his voice. “My three brothers, and my sister,” answered Regie. What! all of the House of Sutherland!” exclaimed Louis, in evident surprise; “then, as you are so deeply in the Duke’s confidence, perhaps you can tell me who was generous enough to die for him !” “My brother,” replied Regie, his lip quivering, and the very color flying from his cheek. “Still another Sutherland 1” cried the King, still more astonished; “you grieve for your brother, and yet you are all risk ing your lives for the Duke !” “We know it, your Majesty,” said Regie ; “but we love those for whom we have suffered, aod we have sworn by our brother’s bleeding body, that his sacrifice should not be made in vain ; that Mon mouth should yet be King of England !” “Will you bear a message from me to Monmouth, King of England ?” asked Louis, every sentiment of his chivalrous heart enlisted in favor of the unfortunate Prince, and his faithful Ambassador, who now stood proudly before him, his heart filled with exultation, and his brilliant eyes beaming with the most heartfelt gratitude. “Gladly !” replied Reginald, kneeling at the King’s feet. “Then tell him,” said Louis, extending his hand to Reginald, “never to slight a Sutherland; to marry his children to Sutherlands ; to make a Sutherland his Prime Minister; and, if I am ever in trouble, to send me, in return for this good advice, a Sutherland “Your Majesty overwhelms me with your kindness,” exclaimed Reginald, his voice trembling with joy and pride , “and if my royal master does send you a Sutherland, I shall petition him to let that one be Reginald !” “Do so !” said the King, much gratified by Reginald’s answer; “and this chain shall be a token between us”—he took a massive chain from his neck, and threw it over Reginald’s neck—“there are but two in the world; you have one, I have the other; one link of mine shall call you to my aid; one of yours will he sufficient to call forth all my power to aid you!” “And not only between you and me, your Majesty,” said Reginald, pressing the King’s hands to his lips; “not only between you and me, but it shall be a link binding our children together, in the years to come !” “Thanks !” said Louis; “greet my Cousin, of England, for me; and, now, farewell. Success attend you !” Who shall say with what feelings Reginald returned to Sutherland Hall ? Success, beyond his highest hopes, had crowned his efforts. CHAPTER XIII. The high rank of Lady Emily Suther land secured for her, without difficulty, a position near the person of Mary of Orange. This Princess, still young and beautiful, was too near broken-hearted to take particular notice of any new comer in her household, Not only separated, in early youth, from her lover, hut com pelled to wed a man, whose stern temper, and brutal manners, were extremely re pulsive to her sensitive feelings, Mary of Orange had shrouded her heart, and lain it away in the tomb of Monmouth. His likeness to the Duke at first attracted her, and she might have learned to love her husband in time, had not his unfeel ing conduct immediately repelled her. Ilis infidelity was notorious, and the contempt showered upon her by his favorite, Elizabeth Villiers, had bowed her fair head with shame ; yet, deeply humiliated as she was, she still had spirit enough to deny to her husband, that which he insolently demanded should be given up to him, her right to lie ruler of England, should the Crown he tendered to them. In vain he stormed and threat ened ; she was firm; for, too well the un fortunate woman know, that if she were to resign to him this right, it would only he to place the favorite in a more elevated position, and enable her to treat her royal mistress with increased contempt. Not all William’s coaxing, not all his threats and expostulations could move her. All this, Emily saw, and she saw, too, that the party spirit was rising high. Some were contending for William as the most fitting ruler, while others stood by Mary’s right. More than this, she saw the position held by Elizabeth Villiers, and the indignant blood crimsoned her cheeks, as she witnessed her scornful be havior. Emily had been in her new home nearly two weeks, before the attention of the Princess was attracted towards her And it happened in this wise : One even ing, the Princess, accompanied by Lady Sutherland, entered the private drawing room, where she often sat, surrounded by her Ladies. The Prince iiad entered the room a few moments before her, and now rose and bowed before her, as did all the Ladies in the room, with the exception of Elizabeth Villiers, who kept her seat, almost turning her back on the Princess. Mary’s check flushed, as this new act of insolence passed unreproved by the Prince, and she exclaimed : “\ou do not observe my entrance, Madame Elizabeth ?” “I saw you !” replied Elizabeth, with an impudent toss of her head. “Absurd !” cried the Prince, looking angrily at his wife, "you are making an unnecessary noise about nothing !” “Pray forgive her, your ILghness !” said Emily, smiling blandly, and bowing to the Princess ; “doubtless, she knows no better.” “How dare you say so ?” cried Eliza beth, angrily. “Because, in my country, only Ladies of high birth arc permitted to be around their Sovereign, and they know their duty. I supposed you were unacquainted with Gonrt etiquette !” said Emily, quite calmly, considering how angry she was. “True,” said William, “it is not eti quette; you will not repeat your manner of to-day, Elizabeth, but observe a )x - coming behavior towards her Highness'” Rising from her scat, Elizabeth cast lightning glances at Emily, and swept from the room. The Princess looked anxiously at the Prince, but not observ ing the expected cloud on his brow, she ventured to give Emily a grateful glance. No; the Prince was not angry; he could not afford to be, just now: for, lie wished to secure, on his side, the powerful Earls of Sutherland and Surrey, with their ISTo. 31