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2 train of younger brothers. Therefore, turning to Emily, and smiling, as pleasant ly as possible, he said : “You received letters from the Earl to-day, Lady Sutherland. I hope they were very pleasant ones.” “Very pleasant, indeed, your High ness,answered Emily; “for they assured me of the continued good health of my Lord, and nothing could give me greater pleasure, unless it were to see him.” “The Earl of Sutherland is fortunate iu possessing so amiable a wife !” said the Prince, graciously. “Ah! your Highness,” said Emily ; “the Earl of Sutherland has one weak ness ; he thinks on this subject as you do, and pays too much deference to my unworthy self.” “Ah! indeed!” said the Prince, men tally; “then, to influence the Earl, I must gain the good will of the Countess;” then aloud, “Ah ! Lady Sutherland, such should ever be the case ; and, lam sure, to a noble, true-hearted woman, like your self, too much respect cannot be shown.” Emily could only bow to this wholesale flattery, which was anything but agreea ble to her, particularly, just after having witnessed the conduct of the Prince to wards his own w T ife. CHAPTER XIV. Prince William had reached Torbay, and here he halted for the purpose of making further negotiations with Eng land, and to make one more effort to in duce Mary to resign her right to him. And, now, there appeared three new actors on the scene. Reginald, with Marraaduke and Monmouth, arrived iu Torbay. Reginald appeared in his own dress and name; the others were clad in an impenetrable disguise. Marmaduke had his face smoothly shaven, and the rich curls of a light-colored wig fell over his shoulders. His attire was fashionable in the extreme, and he affected the boisterous manners of an English cavalier. It would have been impossible to recog nize the grave Earl of Surrey in the jolly Sir Edmund Temple. Clad iu a suit of sober colors, with his long, soft hair, tucked under a wig of short iron-grey hairs, his mouth drawn down at the corners, his eyes rolled piously upward, and slouching gait, the Duke of Monmouth presented no bad imitation of the hypocritical Puritan, as, drawling his words through his nose, he announced himself as Hope West. West was strictly guarded by Sir Edmund Temple, who whispered to the host of their hotel, in strictest confidence , that West could give information of great im portance to his Highness, the Prince, and that he, Temple, hoped to receive an am ple reward from Prince William. In spite of the injunction of secrecy, or, per haps, in consequence of it, a dozen per sons soon gathered around West, incited by the landlord to gain all possible in formation from him. Sir Edmund looked on very quietly for awhile, but as soon as he observed West cautiously draw one of the men aside, he grasped his prisoner’s arm, and hurried him up stairs, where he was kept closely confined. In vain West made a great noise; cried out that he was unjustly treated; that they had no right to keep him; and, he would give millions to any one to re lease him. Tired out, at length, of his almost inco herent raving, Sir Edmund declared his intention of gagging his prisoner, and went up stairs for the purpose. As he returned, shortly afterwards, with a tri umphant smile on his face, and the pris oner made no more noise, it is but fair to presume that lie executed his threat in some way. Then, leaving West locked up iu his chamber, Reginald and Sir Ed mund went immediately to Prince Wil liam, and earnestly requested the favor of a private interview. Reginald’s name readily gained them admittance to William’s private saloon, where Marmaduke was gravely introduced as “Sir Edmund Temple.” “And now for your news !” cried Wil liam, impatiently, scarcely having cour tesy to wait until Sir Edmund had finished his greetings. “Are we strictly private, your High ness ?” asked Regie. “Strictly so,” replied William. “Then, my Lord, listen to me,” said Reginald; “my name will assure you that I am speaking truth.” “Aw ! that’s so,” interrupted Sir Ed mund, and William glanced impatiently at him. “Listen to me, then,” continued Regie, not appearing to notice this by-play; “listen, while I tell you that the King of England is, at this moment, engaged in a scheme to deprive you;- Royal Highness of your liberty, that he may feel assured the Crown of England rests firmly on his head. The people of England are look ing, with eager eyes, towards the Prince of Orange, and this the King knows.” “A plot!” cried the Prince, turning pale; “now, I do swear, that James shall not only lose his Crown, but his head! Yet, tell me, how know you this, Sir Reginald ?” “I know it from one who is deeply in terested in the plot !” answered Regi nald ?” “He is !” put in Sir Edmund. “Why did you bring this person here ?” asked William, roughly. “Because it was absolutely necessary,” replied Reginald; this person was with the King when the s die me was spoken of, and has been with the person he was speaking to ever since. I am speaking for him, in proposing that you should have an opportunity of questioning our prisoner for yourself.” , “That’s so,” said Sir Edmund, again ;j but, this time, the Prince did not scowl upon him. “You have this person near at hand, Sir Reginald !” “Yes, your Majesty, at our hotel. We would have brought him with us, but he is very angry, and makes a great deal of noise ; therefore, we chouglit best to wait for the shelter of night; we also thought that your Highness might wisli to question him privately, on matters that you might not wish to make known to your Lords.” “Exactly right!” said William, looking gratified ; “you have not closely question ed this person, then ?” “We have not,” was the reply, “and to prevent others doing so, we beg that your Highuess will give us power to as sume entire control over him.” “Willingly,” said the Prince ; but, tell me, Sir Reginald, are your brothers, the Earls of Sutherland and Surrey, with you in your present feelings, or are they for King James ?” “They are not for King James, they are with me, heart and soul, in this enter prise !” “They are !” Exclaimed Sir Edmund; “I can answer for my Lord of Surrey.” “And I for Sutherland!” said Regi nald. “That is well !” cried William, in great delight, and going to a writing table, he asked, “how is this person called ?” “Hope West,” said Reginald. “A canting Puritan!” cried Sir Ed mund, in a tone of extreme disgust. The Prince wrote on, and then read aloud this missive. It ran thus : “The bearer, Sir Reginald Sutherland, is commanded to keep strict watch over the person calling himself Hope West; to let him communicate with no one, and to use such means as he may think proper, even to the death, to prevent his escape. “William, “Prince of Orange.” And this was sealed with his own pri vate seal. Reginald could scarcely sup press a cry of exultatiou, as he concealed this order in his bosom ; and, promising to bring the prisoner at night, to be ques tioned by his Royal Highness, bowed him self out of the royal presence. [to be continued.] For the Banner of the South. “live not FOR THYSELF,” For what do we live ? To satisfy our selfish interests and pleasures? If so, we have fallen far short of the true aim and object of our existence; far below the standard to which God intended we, as immortal beings should aspire. Truly, this world is “not our final rest,” ’tis only a “state of probation,” a short respite which He has given us, in which to prove cursives worthy to inherit that life which never ends. Then, why should we trifle away our few and pre cious moments, seeking the rest, the hap piness which we will never find? rather let us look beyond the present fleeting hour, to where, at last, the weary shall find rest. If we live for ourselves, our light shall go out in darkness, and our memories shall perish with us. Too many live, move, and pass off “the stage of action,” and arc thought of no more; because they left behind them no shining trace to tell the world they had lived in it. No one can point to them as their Benefactor ; they wiped no tears from the eyes of the sorrowful ; they' healed no hearts with their love and sympathy; they give no bread to the hungry ; they offered not even a cup of “cold water” to the weary, world-worn pilgrim, as he passed up and down through the hard, rough paths of life. They flitted gaily along the path of life, engrossed by its pleasures and follies They encountered, often, the miserable, the wretched, the unfortunate, and the distressed ; yet, at the sight, no tears filled their eyes ; no emotion of sympathy throbbed in their selfish bosoms. Truly is sympathy one ofthe purest, holiest, and most unselfish emotions of the human heart. It is adapting our feelings to those of another; uniting our hearts with those who suffer or rejoice—“ ’tis rejoicing with those who do rejoice; ’tis weeping with them that mourn.” Oh, how full ot divine sympathy were the tears that Jesus wept over the grave of Lazurus ! Sympathy for the grief of others, sym pathy for human woe. And, again, we see Him weeping tears of sorrow over the sin«, follies, and ingratitude of the destined city of Jerusalem. Surely, every heart that bears the divine impress .of God, must be touched with pity at the sight of another’s sorrow or misfortunes. And yet, ’tis only here and there we see the light of sympathy, gleaming through the darkness ot sorrow, sin, and folly. Elsewhere, the gay revel on, and the sor rowful weep ; the rich rejoice in their prosperity, while the poor languish, un cared for, in poverty and want; the happy exult, while the miserable shed, unno ticed, the tears of anguish. If you would be happy, “live not for thyselfforget selfish interests in the great cause of humanity, and, verily, thou shall be blessed; for who does God say shall be blessed ? not the egotist, not the votaries of wealth and pleasure, not the proud and the great; but he says: “Blessed are the humble, blessed are the poor, blessed are the mournful”. If you would be truly great, “live not for thyself.” In what does true greatness consist ? in gaining the world’s applause for some brilliant act, some daring deed? does it consist in fame or honor, whose sounding applause falls upon the ear without filling the heart, or soothing the world-weary brain, because conscience accuses for the neglect of higher, nobler duties ? does it consist in “power absolute,” gained by the grievous rule, “might is right,” by the practice of which, the liberties of thousands are op pressed, and their, rights appropriated to the oppressor ; by which millions are made to mourn, to satisfy the selfish, soulless purposes of a single individual, perhaps, not so worthy in himself as the lowest of those whom he oppresses, and only the equal of all by the laws of Right ? The proud warrrior, as he returns in triumph from some desolated country, which his ambition has led him to invade, that the world might crown him with the blood stained laurel wreath, and rear to his memory a monument of fame, would from them with horror shrink, appalled, could he but hear the anathemas of those whom his ruthless hand has hurried, un prepared, before the Eternal Tribunal, and listen to the complaints of the living for the endless misery and irrevocable ruin he has cost them —Nay, these are not the truly great. Howard, the colebrated philanthropist, .was performing greater deeds, when he went throughout Europe, “taking the guage of misery, depression, and contempt, than any of those who forced their way through by the sword, followed by their conquering armies.” Y"et, the truly great are those most obscure and are seldom known beyond the small sphere in which they live ; they are those who have contributed most, each accord ing to their ability, to the welfare of those around them; theyare those who have for given most, those have suffered most iu a noble cause. Are they not those who have cheered the sorrowful and suffering, encouraged the weak and doubting ; those who have lightened the burdens of the lowly and oppressed, and in mercy remembered the neglected and forgotten? Then, if you would be truly great, “live not for thyself.” Live to work in the great cause ot humanity; live to do good; live for God; and though thou mayst never be called great among the children of men, thou shall be great in the King dom of God. Though thy name may never be written in the “Temple of Fame,” it shall be written in the ALamb’s Book of Life;” and though no earthly laurels may ever press thy brow, a Crown of Life shall rest upon it in the world eternal. Mattie C. Chapman. Jefferson , Ga., Oct 2 d, 1868. [From the Wilmington. (N. C.,) Journal. Oct. 6,] THE CATHOLIC COUNCIL OF 1869. “The European papers have lately been rife with speculations as to the character and purposes of the General Council of the Catholic Church, to be assembled next year iu Rome. From ex planations by authority, it would appear that the Council is not convoked for the purpose as its predecessors, viz: the same deciding of dogmas, or condemning of false doctrines. Its object is, in the first place, to concentrate the immense moral power of the Church in one solemn pro test, against the unchristian legislation of many governments of the civilized and Christian world. Even in States that profess to be Catholic, the law not unfre quently overrides and defies, not only the discipline, but the doctrine, of the Church. Thus, for example, her teaching, as to the holy, indissoluble nature of the marriage tie, is ignored, or explicitly disavowed in the codes of all Catholic European Governments, except in the Papal States. Perhaps all our readers may not be aware that South Carolina, while she was a sovereign common wealth, alone, amongst her sister States, maintained, in her laws, and enforced, by paiDs and penalties, this same principle of the unity and perpetuity of the mar riage bond. It is not unlikely that, in view of the present state of modern society, the ex pediency of severing all connexion be tween Church and State, will be maturely weighed in the Council. Thinking men begin to say, that the Church seems to lose everything and gain nothing, by her dependence on the State. It pensions her Bishops, but claims the right to ap point them; it defrays the expenses of solemn pageants, but tramples on her laws and discipline. Any motion to free the Church from State trammels will, doubtless, receive the warmest support from the. Bishops of this country, and of Canada, Great Britain and her dependen cies. “Another practical question may be raised as to the election, nationality, and residence of the Pope in future. As his independence is essential, in order that his laws or decisions may be respected by those who acknowledge his jurisdiction, the best means of securing it will proba bly comemp for discussion. The Pope must be Bishop of Rome; but it is not necessary that he should be an Italian by birth, nor a resident of Italy. “There have been already held eighteen General Councils of the Catholic Church. The first, that of Nice, in the year 325 ; the 18th at Trent, in 1545. The first eight Councils assembled in Eastern cities; but since then they have been held in the West, mostly in Italy, but some in France and Switzerland, as those of Lyons, Vienna, and Constance. The authority of Councils is not de termined by the number of Bishops who may be present. Sometimes there are few, sometimes many, who take part in the deliberations. The first Council (Nice,) had only 318; the second (Con stantinople,) only 150; and the last, of Trent, about 220. Perhaps the most nu merously attended Councils were the fourth, of Chalcedon, and the fourteenth, of Lyons, held in 1274- The Council of 1860 will far outnumber all those which have preceded it. Over a thousand Pre lates, including Cardinals, Patriarchs, Archbishops, and Bishops, from the cen tres of civilization and from the ends of the earth, will assist at its deliberations. Os these more than one hundred will come from the New World, and fifty-five of that number from the region that lies between Maine and California.” From the above it will be seen that the Council to be held in Rome, in 1869, will far surpass, in grandeur, those that have preceded it. The questions that, iu all probability, will be agitated, will excite the deepest interest in America, as well as Europe, and the grand cavalcade of Cardinals, Bishops, and other dignitaries of the Church, will distinguish this, the nineteenth (19) Council, by that profound erudition ever found among her Prelates. Every country will be represented, for in every clime the Gospel of Christ has been preached, aud the American Catholic Church will be ably represented by the learned and Rev. Dr. James A. Cor coran, who, formerly from Charleston, has been for more than four years Pastor of the Catholic Church in Wilmington. The choice made is a proof of the con servative spirit of the American Catholic Church, in selecting its theologian from the South, while the immense majority of the Bishops are from the North and West, where abound flourishing congre gations aud institutions of learning, talent ed professors and divines, etc., Few other denominations, if any, under such cir cumstances, would have chusen a South ern man, but the Catholic Church ig nores politics and sectional differences, as her whole conduct before, during, and after the war, has plainly shown. In conclusion, we would state that the Rev. Doctor is now on his way to Rome, having sailed from Baltimore on the first instant, on board the steamer Baltimore for Bremen. His absence will be felt by all his friends, North and South, but his late congregation will feel deeply their loss of a kind Pastor and devoted Father, who has identified himself with their ex istence for more than four years, and to them remains the sorrow of his absence, ami his memory will be cherished by them who knew so well how to appreciate his worth. From the Lexington (Ky.) Observer Reporter. THE NEW CATHOLIC CHURCH. A splendid Edifice. — Description, — The Grand, Festival. —A grand Fair to be held in the beautiful, and spacious audience room of the new Catholic Church, on Short street, will begin next Monday night, and continue during the week. In view of this fact, and for the sake of those of our readers who have had no oppoi-m nifcy of seeing this handsome Hall, \ve wifi attempt a description. Last year, the spacious room, 84 \ r 60 feet., seemed, with its bare brick wal? s and unfinished roof, a cheerless, h Uo - e ill-shaped place, many complaining that the width was too great for the length! Now, however, the scene is Entire]-- changed. The large room is divided in' to nave and aisles, by two lines of stately pillars, seven on each side, which support the arched roof of the nave at a heights sixty feet, and which, by their magnifi. cent architectual effect give an air of com pleteness to the whole interior, and by their graceful perspective, give to the room an appearance of length it would not otherwise possess. The roofs of the aisles are supported partly by the?- 1 pillars, and partly by the same number of attached pillars, which are supported by an equal number of buttresses ou the exterior of the wall. These roofs are not however, simple arches, but are composed of many transverse arches, the whole roof having a groined or ribbed appearance, the ribs terminating above, in a beautiful moulding, and springing below, either from the pillows, or from finely moulded corbels attached to the walls on a line with the tops of the pillars. The chancel at the east end, which is semi-decagon in shape, is also surmount, ed by a groined roof, the ribs of which are supported by five attached pillars. The Church is lighted by seven large windows on each side, placed between the buttresses, while the clear-story of the nave, near the roof, has seven small imitation windows on each side. Ou each side of the tower, at the extremity of the aisles, is another large window, the largest window in the Church being placed in the tower oVer the main entrance. These windows are composed of beautifully stained glass, which admits a softened, and subdued light, in harmony with the holy quiet that should reign in God's Church, and in the bosoms of the worship pers. The walls are plastered in imitation of massive blocks of stone, and the whole interior may be said to be finished in the Gothic style, the most striking feature, and that which has the most pleasing effect, being the graceful lines, and the pleasing, varied forms of that system of arch architecture, elaborated and system atized by the masons of the middle ages. All our citizens are familiar with the exterior of the Church, with its solid but tresses, and tall spire, which, at a height of 210 feet, holds aloft the sign of Redemp tion—a Cross like that which appeared in the Heavens as an omen of good to the first Christian Emperor of Rome, and the imagination can picture beneath it, those encouraging words: “in hoc simo vinces .” Exalted, as it is, it is the first object that strikes the view of the trav eler, as he approaches the city, and the last on 1 which his eye rests on. leaving it. How just, and how appropriate! and how suggestive of what the Cross should be, in,the eyes of all good Christair.s—- the first object to rouse their piety, ou their entry into the world, and the list on which their eyes should fall, when death comes to remove them. Although the whole of the scaffolding is not yet removed, everything will K in readiness for the reception of guests on Monday evening. No pews will be placed in the Church, until the dedication, which will take place ou October 18th, so that the room will be clear. Seldom indeed does it fall to the lot of Fair-goers to meet in a hall as beautiful as this, aud we would advise them to not lose the opportunity Dext week, of having a full, and un in structed view of one of the finest Church-s --in the country, erected at a great expense, by a poor congregation, a fact that speaks volumes for their piety, their generosity, and their public spirit. ELOQUENT EXTRACT, Writing of the “closing scenes” in the history of General Lee’s army, J Q li: ; man Moore, Esq., thus thrills a ch r * that will vibrate forever—thin- boqueath a gem to the literature of the South : “There stood the mournful remnant- • ■ that once glorious army, that had dipped its conquering banners iu the crimson tide ot eight and twenty sanguinary ' ties, and strewn its heroic, slain from ieet ot the Pennsylvania moun'mii-- : the gates of its own capital city , ]' * gave Manassas to Beauregard, an 1 tva; : the fame ot the Seven Pines’ baffle m -* laurel wreath of Johnston: that hy : caused the waters of the Shcnaml :u eternally to murmur the name oi >tc’ • wall Jackson; and, stretching its r>:> arm out to the distant West, had planted victory on the drooping bmum i : 1 Bragg; that had witnessed You. gig;'!y campaigns, and through all their shinii - and tragic scenes, and, under all difictm ties and dangers, had remained .i< a* ! l ' and faithful To the last. And, after hav ing witnessed the rising of the Southern