Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

VOL. I. [From the Houston, (Tex.,) Telegraph.] “It Shall not Kiss the Dust.” Inscribed to to the memory of the. late George Onder ib>nk, C-j 'or- Bearer of the sth Texas, Hood's Brigade. BY V. CLARKS. “Tlio flag I’ve borne so proudly, To represent the just, I’ll bold aloft, though bleeding; It shall not kiss the dust. “I’ll hold it ’till some comrade'j Shall take the sacred trust, And bear it on to glory, Where it will not trail in dust. “Now take it, friend, I’ru fainting; And hold it high you must, That it may cheer the deadly strife, But never trail In dust.” * * , ? , ... f 1 Then on, the watchword mighty Sped with the sacred trust; And, borne to glory’s pinnacle, It never trailed in dust... [Written for tho Banner of the South.] The Earls of Sutherland. * BY ItUin FAIRFAX. [CONTINUED.] chapter XV. Calling one of his p£gT*£ K .the Prince of Orange sent him to hnnotfrice to the Princess that he wished 'a private view with her, in five minutes. The* Princess was alone with Emily, when the message reached her, and, throwing herself upon her bosom, she besought her friend not to leave her. “But it will be impossible for me to stay if the Prince commands me to leave the room,” said Emily, trying to soothe the Princess by her caresses. “But you are my only friend; you are the only one that has ever lifted a voice in vindication of my insulted honor. Oh! do not leave; he is coming to urge me to give up to him my title to the crown of England. He will force me to it yet!” “Do not give him that right!” cried Emily, with energy; “deny it to him al ways; calm yourself, Madame ; someone comes.” A page entered the room, bearing, on a silver salver, a note addressed to Lady Emily Sutherland. “With your high ness’ permission,” said Emily, hastily breaking the seal, for she recognized Begin aid’s writing, A hit of blue rib bon fluttered out of tho letter, and Mary caught it in her hand. The letter was short—only these two words : “All well. Reginald.” “lour letter is short,” said the Prin cess, as Emily glanced at tho paper, and then looked up. “It is short, your highness,” said Emi ly, holding the letter before the eyes of the Princess. $ “And this ribbon looks like a love ad venture,’’ said Mary, smiling. 1 “It is from my brother,” replied Emily; keep you the ribbon, and whenever ano ther like it is shown you, believe the bearer of it to be as true a friend of yours as I am; you will find it, as a token, only in the hands of my family.” “I will trust them,” replied Mary, put ting the ribbon in her bosom: “but, tell ! lle wndt you mean ; have I other friends t c>ide yourself, dear Lady Emily ?” r . .^ ou have, indeed, most true and outnful friends; your friends because 1, y ) vere ” —Emily put her lips close to t T ai )’ s ear, and whispered—“they were Monmouth’s.” Ah I cried the Princess, with a vio ‘u s^ar t \ “what do you mean; why do ' uu mention that name to me ? surely * uu 110 1 know my past history, or you Hid not thus recall sad memories V * , ’**■ !iUVe heard portions of your sad life, . r T>* a dy,” answered Emily. “Perhaps, then, you knew Mon* “ ! Ah? asked Mary, with a quivering knew and lovedihim,” was Emily’s reply. J Ah ! you loved him ?” “Only as a sister should. Your high ness forgets that I love my husband most devotedly,” said Emily, smiling at Mary’s eager question ; “my brother Reginald was Monmouth’s chosen friend. “His friend?” cried Mary; “Then he shall be my friend, also. He is in Tor bay.’ 7 “He is, and your highness may soon see him.” “Hut, if he is among the Prince’s gentlemen, how will I recognize him ?” “By this; the first word your high ness shall hear from his lips shall be— Monmouth.” “Again that name!” said Mary, anx iously ; “tell me what you know of Monmouth. Some message, mayhap, that reached you, in trust for me.” “\es, your highness ; he told my eld est brother to bear his everlasting love to the Lady Mary, called Princess of Orange. But, lam imprudent; dry your tears, dear lady, I hear the Prince ap proaching, and, as you wish me to remain in the room, I will let this curtain fall before me and, so saying, Emily con cealed hersclt behind the heavy window curtains. As she did so, the Priuco opened the door, and entered the room alone. Without salutation of any kind, he walked up to Mary, and said : “All my plans working well; even the powerful Earls of Sutherland and Sur rey-have-declared against James, who lias fled to Prance. The way is now open before me, and I am about to march upon London. Has your Ladyship made up your mind to resign the crown to me ?” “I have not,” replied Mary, with as much firmness as she could assume. “You have not, but you will!” said William. “I will not, your highness,” said Mary, encouraged by the knowledge that Emi ly was near. “You will not!” repeated William, in thunder tones; “you will not ? but, ma dame, you shall! 1 ' Mary said nothing. “Do you hear me, Madame? you shall!" for, if you do not, so soon as the drown is placed upon your head you shall die , and I will trust to myself to win aud wear the crown.” “I hear you,” said Mary. “You hear me, and you will not obey me! Then, go, place the Crown of Eng land on your brow, but you shall not wear it. I will assemble au army, and wrest it from you; yet, stop, ere you do go, receive from my hand the pun ishment due a disobedient wife.” His hand fell heavily upon her check, then, as he lifted it again for a second blow, Emily sprang from her conceal ment, and, catching his uplifted arm, cried: “For honor’s sake, forbear, William of Orange ! This is the first English Prin cess whose cheek lias ever been dishon ored by a blow!” “And bow dare you interfere ?” thun dered William at Emily, as she stood de fiantly before him. “I dare, sir, because she is a woman and iny Princess,” answered Emily, haughtily ; “and you, my lord, shall pay dearly for this blow. I have no fear, and dare speak in defence of my royal mis tress ! The Earl of Sutherland, whom you pretend to admire so much, would die, ere he would strike his wife I” Furious with anger, the Prince ad vanced towards the daring woman, when Mary, fearing he was about to strike her, threw herself in his path. “Let your vengeance fall on me, my lord; she loves me, and has spoken—” YV ithout a word, William dashed her to the floor, and turned to Emily, who, without regarding him, lifted the weep ing Princess to her feet, and, seating her in bar chair, stood before her. Aow, my lord, you reach the Princess only over my dead body! The Earls of Sutherland and Surrey, with all their friends, shall range themselves on tho GOV, OCTOBER 24, 1868. side of the Princess Mary, and uphold her right to the Crown of England, and I think you know them well enough to know that they are most powerful foes.” William saw that he had gone too far ; that Emily was truly angry; and he trembled lest he had lost, forever, the good will of the Earls. Pausing a mo ment, to still his anger, the Prince spoke: “You may be right, Lady Suther land, and I deserve your rebuke. I leave you, now, to make my apologies to the Princess. I beg that you do this much for me;” and, bowing low, he left the room. “Oh! thank you, dearest friend !” cried Mary, clasping her arms around Emily’s neck; “but are you not risking too much in serving me so faithfully V i “No, yourhighness,” began Emily, when Mary interrupted her— “Oh ! not your highness, to me, dear friend; call me Mary, the name that Monmouth loved!” “Dearest Mary,” replied Emily, clasp ing the Princess in her arms ; “the mem ory of Monmouth shall ever be a bond of union between us. I cannot risk too much to serve you, but in this case I am not risking much—only my head,” she mentally added. ‘’But, tell me, how it is that William declares the Earl of Sutherland his friend, and you are my friend? Alas, that it should be so ; his friends are not my friends, and when I am hailed C|ueen of England, it will be the signal for ano ther war, and 1 hesitate to subject my loved country to such a calamityffar bet ter for me to give up my right at once!” “Oil! do not give it up now, your highness ; in a day or two, perhaps, but not now.” “If ho were but kind to me,” sighed Mary. “If it were but Monmouth !” whispered Emily. “Oh! if it were Monmouth,” answered Mary, “I would gladly place the Crown on his noble brow, and be called simply Queen Cousort!” “But Monmouth would not accept the sacrifice,” said Emily; “he would at least stipulate that you should be Queen Reg nant, and reign with him.” “I believe you,” answered Mary, sigh ing, “but, unfortunately, Monmouth is not Prince of Orange, and William is ; I must be content to drag out a Weari some existence until death releases me.” “But that is not all,” continued Emily; “thousands must suffer with your high ness; for it needs not to tell us, William will be a cruel and despotic King; those who seek to bar his way, be it right or wrung, must fall ; and I, your friend, will be the first to feel hia anger, when lie holds the power to punish in his own hands.” “Oh ! what can I do ? tell, me Emily, what can I do ?” cried Mary, weeping bitterly, “tell me what to do, and I de clare to you I will do it.” “Come, then, to your own room, and rest, while I think about it; to-morrow I will give you my advice,” and she led Mary away. chapter xvi. The Prinoe ol Orange was seated in his private cabinet, impatiently awaiting the arrival of Reginald, Sir Edmund, and their prisoner. Soon, a confusion, very unusual in the Royal household, was heard in the ante-room ; the page threw open the door; Reginald and Sir Ed mund led in their prisoner, who, not withstanding he was bound and gagged, struggled furiously, and tried to speak. Sir Edmund locked the door, removed the gag from the prisoner’s mouth, aud then took up his his position behind the Prince’s chair ; Reginald stood a little to the right. “So this is the man,” said William, gazing* at the prisoner, who now stood quietly before him; “this is the man, who, at the bidding of the King of England, is to deprive me of liberty, nay, certain - ly, of life also. Tell me what you know of this plot, and you shall go free ?” The prisoner answered not, and the Arince spoke again. “Tell me all you know, and, my royal word for it, you shall go free.” Thus encouraged, West raised his head, and spoke : “The King of Eng land does not intend to take your life, but only to keep you in solitary confine ment.” “And is not that death ?” said William ; “but does James of York, hope thus to securo his Crown ?” “No, sir,” answered West; “James, Duke of Monmouth, is to wear it,” “Why, this is a madman you have brought me!” exclaimed William; “he speaks of the Duke of Monmouth, Sir Reginald.” “He is not mad, your ’highness; pray question him,” was the quiet reply. “No, I am not mad,” said West, “and I beg your highness to pay attention to my words. The Duke "of Monmouth will take from you your Crown, as you took from him his love!” “Insolent,” cried William, furiously, then, throwing open the door, he called aloud to the gentlemen, who stood be yond the ante-room: “My Lords, if this person, whom Sir Reginald Sutherland has brought here, attempts to escape when he is taken hence, kill him , as yeu would a mad dog?” and, having thundered out this or der, without waiting for a reply, he shut the door with a bang, and returned to his chair. When he first opened the door Regi nald’s face became pale as death, and pressing one hand to his heart he laid the other on the hilt of his sword; but, when the order was giveu he gave a great sigh of relief, and toyed, ahsenstly, with his sword. Sir Edmund looked care lessly on, yet so violently had he grasped the back of the Prince’s chair that the frail crown of filagree, on the back, gave way in his hand. “You have heard my order,” began William, his voice hoarse with passion; “and, therefore, you had better curb that traitorous tongue of yours, before it gets you into trouble. Now sa_y what you mean, for the Duke of Monmouth is dead.” “He is not dead!” answered West; “and you will yet address petitions to him, and call him King of England!” Reginald silently placed himself be tween the Prince and the door. “Out upon the traitor!” cried William, in a tone of concentrated passion; “seize him, my Lords, seize the traitor !” “Yes, seize the traitor, my Lords!” said, Monmouth in his natural voice, and scarcely had the words left his lips when Sir Edmund, or rather, we should say, Marmaduke, who still held the gag in his hand, thrust it into William’s mouth, aud clasped him in his arms, as in a vice. In wild affright William, glanced from one to another of the three men before him. Reginald softly locked the door, and then said to Monmouth: “Doff those garments, your Majesty, and I will help my brother exchange them for the royal robes of the Prince.” Quickly they were off, and while Mur mad uke clasped the Prince round the body so eloseiy that he almost fainted, Regie and Monmouth hastily disrobed him, and then clad him in the sombre Puritan’s dress. His long hair was closely cut; the gag pushed still further back within his jaws, and securely fas tened; his arms firmly pinioned, and then this prisoner and the regally robed Mon mouth stood facing each other. Marmaduke gathered up the long silky curls that lay upon the floor, and stowed them away in his pocket with one hand, while he carefully arranged Monmouth’s with the other. Much more kingly did Monmouth look, with his noble air, and more like a canting Puritan did William of Orange, with his sullen, downcast, look. “You|will remember, my Lord,” %aid Reginald to the captive Prince, “that I was not in favor of James of York, and that my brothers were with me. I con sider Monmouth the rightful King of England, and him I serve. Your high ness, doubtless, observes the astonishing likeness between your cousin and you£ self. It was this first suggested the pre sent expedient to our minds. You must see that we have risked all to gaiu all, and you peril your life if you attempt to escape.” ”f were useless to remind my cousin of his treatment to myself, when an ex ile said Monmouth; “go, you, my Lord of Surrey, deliver your prisoner to the person we wot of, and return as speedi ly as may be. You have my authority to use such means as you may think proper to prevent his escape; but, if I mistake not, you have written orders to that effectthen, throwing open the door, Monmouth called aloud: • “My Lords, should the prisoner at tempt to escape, do as I have command ed !” They bowed silently, for the imperious temper of William was well known. Once, indeed, the unhappy Prince strug gled slightly, as he was led away, but a half a dozen swords gleamed in the lamplight, and he was forced, by his own order, to remain still, and submit to be led a prisoner out of his own house. Post horses were awaiting Marmaduke at his hotel, and rot for one hour did lie pause in his journey, until ho had deposited his prisoner in the future habitation assigned him by the King of France. What Louis did with him afterwards, it is not for us to say. By many it was supposed that the famous Iron Mask was the Duke of Monmouth, but we prefer to adhere to our statement—we don’t say it is correct, that Monmouth entered London as the Prince William of Orange. As soon as Reginald saw his brother safely into his carriage, he returned to Monmouth, who was pacing up and down the room, like a caged lion, the lords in waiting seeming every moment to expect some violent outbreak of temper. But as we have forever dismissed William from these pages, and given his name to Monmouth, we must call him by it. So, then, William received Reginald, and anxiously enquired about the prisoner, ‘ Gone, your Majesty,” replied Reginald, “and bow it only remains to he seen if your gentlemen will know you. Allow me to summon the Lords of the Bed chamber: it is time for your Majesty to retire.” The lords were summoned, and, in a few words, William told them that, here after, Reginald Sutherland would be num bered among his personal attendants. The night toilet proceeded, and the Prince laid himself to rest, secure in his new position, not even the secret-revealing night toilet had betrayed him; not a shadow of suspicion entered the minds of the lords in waiting. The next day William cautiously transacted all business brought before him, and listene ! with such unwonted kindness to the suggestions of his nobles, that many were emboldened to offer ad vice they would otherwise have withheld. And all passed off well. CHAPTER XVII. Emily had not yet seen her brother, and she was anxiously awaiting the even ing, as the Prince usually came into Mary’s drawing-room before retiring Li the night. She did not dream of Regi nald’s rapid movements, and was still anx iously pondering in her mind how the exchange was to be effected, when the Prince was miles array, on his journey to France. ffhe evening came, and Mary, dressed with unusual care by Emily, anxiously awaited the Prince’s appearance, he hav- No. 32.