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VOL. I.
[For the Banner of the South.]
A Memory.
Hand in hand, on the beach we walked,
In the Summers long ago;
The waves came up, and kissed the beach,
Then, murmuring, back would go;
The stars shone bright in the tranquil sky,
The moon looked down with a tender eye,
And the sweet South winds came moaning by,
And the still small hours of night drew nigh,
Yet, hand in hand, on the beach we walked,
And of Love's sweet fancies idly talked—
In Summers long gone by.
Ah! how the old, old love comes back,
As I think of it, to-night ;
Strange, such a foolish, childish dreamt
A poor man's heart can blight!
For Love is only a flower of June—
The waning light of an Autumn moon—
The tender notes of a tender tune
That breaks in a dreamy afternoon,
Charming the heart and the senses away,
Alluring us on with childish play,
That endeth so very soon.
We dreamed the dream— ’tis over now,
We have cast the toy away,
And never will touch the broken thing,
The fragments that round us lay.
Yet, oh! how oft, in my dreams, I see
The spectre of things that used to be;
My soul is weighed with a memory
Os music and moonlight, love and thee;
In dreams, we walked on that silvery shore,
Hands clasped in hands, as in days of yore,
When our hearts were young and free.
Oh ! Love is a bird that comes with Spring;
When cold winds blow, it plumes its wing,
And flieth away, yet still will ring
Through air the years its echoing;
The heart will throb and the breast will sigh,
When the ghosts come back from days gone by—
Y’et, ’tis all imagining! * y.
The Earls of Sutherland.
EY RUTH FAIRFAX.
PART SECOND.
CHAPTER I.
With what jov Emily Sutherland bent
over her first-born son, none but a
mother can tell. For the first time iu
many years, the old Hall echoed with the
cry of a child. Most luxuriantly had
the apartments devoted to Emily’s use
been fitted up, and more beautiful than
ever did our sweet Emily look, her bright
eyes softened by the holy light of mother
hood which gleamed in them. And the
cooing infant in the cradle, how lovely he
was; with his mother’s brilliant eyes, and
the soft flaxen curls of his father. He
was the hero of that household, but is
entirely too small, at present, for us to
make him the hero of our story.
Yet, great as was Emily’s happiness,
it was not unmixed with sorrow. Her
husband,, the darling of her heart, was
daily fading away before her eyes, and she
could not look upon his pale brow and
languid eyes without acute pain. Cheer
ful and happy as ever, without much suf
fering,. the Earl of Sutherland seemed
hastening to the unknown land. Other
eyes than those of his wife noted the
change in Ormand’s appearance, and
Reginald, with his wonted energy, de
clared that lie must have a change of
climate. The Spring of the year was ra
pidly advancing, and Emily proposed a
visit to the Highlands of Scotland.
The proposition was hailed with de
light by Ormand, who, immediately, be
gan to prepare for their departure. Amy
was to accompany her sister, and Eugenia
agreed to remain at home.
And now, most urgently, did Reginald
insist that their engagement should be
f.lift lied ; and he appealed to Emily to
? a} it it was not best that she should pre
side over their household as Lady Suth
erland, during her sister’s absence. Emi
ly unhesitatingly declared in favor of
Reginald, and, not unwillingly, ’Genie
consented. Arthur was in a perfect fever
of delight, almost as happy, he declared,
“ a &if he were himself the happy man
hut, as he was Daturally of a most gen
erous disposition, he would he satisfied,
an< ! exult in Ids brother’s happiness.”
Reginald smiled mischievously at his
brothers words, and declared that lie
would not be outdone in and
refused to be happy at Arthur's expense.
But this jesting’ was only pastime, and the
preparations went merrily on. A large
party was to be given in the evening, but
the ceremony was to be performed pri
vately, with only a few witnesses.
And so the time passed on; and the
eventful evening came at length. At
tended by some half dozen of his gentle
men, the King came secretly to witness
the marriage of his friend. And now, see
him in a little boudoir, alone with the
family of Sutherland. Emily, clad in a
rich amber-colored brocade, stands on his
right ; Eugenia, resplendent in snowy
silk and lace, bends, blushingly, before
him, while he places a magnificent coronet
of pearls above the bridal flowers. Re
ginald’s hand rests upon his arm, and he
gazes with beaming eyes, now upon his
lovely bride, and now upon bis King.
“I can wish you nothing that you have
not,” said the melodious voice of Mon
mouth, speaking to Eugenia; “for, in
winning the heart of Reginald Suther
land, you have won the richest jewel the
world possesses; I can wish you no
greater happiness than that of being his
wife.”
The brave Reginald, who quailed not
when menaced by death, shrank from the
praises lavished upon him by the King,
and, as blushes dyed his cheeks, Eugenia
recovered her composure, and answered
the King:
“Your Majesty confers the greatest
happiness upon me by speaking thus of
one so dear to me ; and I can only 7 wish
that I may prove worthy to have in my
keeping this rare jewel, of which your
Majesty spoke just now.”
“Come, then, and secure it,” exclaimed
Arthur ; “you have kept our good Priest
waiting nearly 7 half an hour!”
“Impetuous as usual!” said the King,
smiling upon Arthur; “and, also, as
usual, right. We must not delay, for l
must present your bride toyou, Reginald,
and my time is nearly spent. For the
memory of Monmouth, dear friends, let
us all, here in private, clasp hands as we
were wont to do in the olden times, when
all was so dark before us; when the
exiled Monmouth had no friends hut
those who bore the name or blood of
Sutherland.” As lie spoke, he gently
drew Emily and ’Genie towards him, and
pressed a tender kiss upon their foreheads;
then, clasping the hands of Marmaduke,
Ormand, and Reginald, between his own,
in turn, he looked tearfully upon the
group, who returned with interest his kind
regards.
Aye, gaze on, dear friends; look well
upon your beloved Monmouth, for to you
he will never again he the Monmouth of
yore! Relentless fate, even now 7 , hath
poised her arrow, and it will sink into the
hearts of you all, dividing them, forever,
from the heart of Monmouth. Aye,
loyal hearts though ye are, you will yet
recoil with horror from the *ide of Wil
liam of Orange; and you, Reginald, who
clasp his hand more closely than do the
others, you will be the first one to turn
away from him.
<? So long as I live, the services you
have rendered me, when I was only 7 the
exiled Monmouth, shall live in my heart?”
The King raised his eyes, and, for an
instant, the blood forsook his cheeks,
falling hack, in an icy current, upon his
heart. Perhaps, who can tell, some such
thoughts as we have expressed above,
flashed through his mind, for, bending
over Reginald, who was now kneeling
before him, he murmured in a convulsive
whisper: “Whatever may happen, never
doubt my love for you!”
And what was it that; had paled the
King’s cheek thus suddenly ? Upon rais
ing his eyes, he had seen the face of the
Master of Stair, one of his attendants,
at the open door, and, from the expres
sion of the countenance, the King felt as
sured that the Master of Stair had
overheard liis private conversation.
Monmouths secret was no loyger safe,
lor it was in possession of one who claim-
AUGUSTA, GAY., NOVEMBER 21, 1868.
ed neither the name nor blood of Suther
land.
And how acted the most noble lord
who was thus caught eves-dropping by
bis master ? He looked firmly in the
King’s face, smiled slightly, and signifi
cantly pressed his fore-finger to his lips.
And how thought he? He thought:
“Aha! I have gained a secret this
night that places the King in my power ;
but, what is this secret? warily now,
Dalrymple ; why uses he the name of
Monmouth so freely ? Was he his friend?
Are these Sutherlands traitors ? or what
means this ? Enough,''for the present, for
me to know that there is a mystery,
aye, and a dangerousJofie! See how the
color forsakes the King’s cheek; cau
viously now, Dalrymple;” and the wretch
drew back, cautiously closing the door.
No one had seen him but the King,
who spoke not of it, hut, hastily calming
his agitation, led ’Genie into the Chapel,
where, in a few moments, she had con
ferred upon her the ever honorable name
of Sutherland.
Is it worth while to describe the wed
ding feast ? The lights, the music, the
flowers, the fair maidens, the flowing laces ?
We have all seen these things too often
to care for a minute description of them
here.
Reginald had won his bride; the King
returned to London ; and oriband, ac
companied by*Arthur, Emily, and Ann,
set out for the Highlands.
CHAPTER 11.
Night was fast approaching, when the
wearied horses of our travellers paused in
front of a small Highland cottage. It was
not a peaceful night, either, that was
coming, for the sky had been of a dull,
leaden hue all day, and now the clouds
were deepening into inky blackness.
The moon peeped out for a moment, and
then retreated, as if alarmed at the sight
presented her. Deep thunder echoed
among the mountains, and sharp flashes
of lightning lit up the scene. Hastily
springing from his seat, Arthur opened
the carriage door, and alighted. The
door of the little house was closed, but a
faint smoke curling through the crevices
of the roof, betrayed the fact of its being
inhabited. Arthur knocked loudly for
admittance, and, in a moment, the door
was opened by an aged man, who asked,
in trembling tones, his visitor’s wishes.
“Rest and shelter,” replied Arthur;
“night is upon us, and I think we must
have lost our way 7 . If you will give us
shelter and food, we are willing to pay
for both,”
“I canna’,” replied the old man.
“We will pay you,” said Arthur, elevat
ing his voice, thinking the man might not
have heard distinctly.
“It is na’your money the auld man
wants, and 1 am no deafened, that ye
maun halloo in my ear,” replied the
Highlander.
“Why, then, can you not give us
shelter?” said Arthur, a little impatient
ly, and glancing at his brother’s pale face,
as lie leaned eagerly out of the carriage
door.
“Because my poor hilt is na’ fit for the
bonnie leddies; ye maun go on a mile
further, and ye will find the Castle, where,
an’ ye be of honest mind, ye may find
shelter.”
“And whose is the Castle ?” asked
Arthur.
The Highlander stared at him in scorn
ful surprise.
“An’ where did ye come frae, man,
that ye dinna ken the Castle of the
Chief o’ Glencoe—our master, Mac lan ?”
“And you think the Chief of Glencoe
will us shelter ?” said Arthur, turn
ing towards his carriage.
“Ye’re daft, and ye think lie will not!”
was the unceremonious answer.
“It is only a mile more; shall we go
on ?” asked Arthur of Emily.
“Ask him how far we are, from Arro
char,” answered Emily.
Arthur repeated her question.
“Ye are more na twenty miles frae
Arrochar; an’ye were going there, ye hae
come a lang road to reach it, an’ ye had
best bo on to the Castle, ere the storm
breaks.”
“We have lost our way!” exclaimed
Emily; “twenty miles from Arrochar,
and we thought ourselves within a mile
of it! Get directions from him, Arthur,
and let us hasten on.”
Arthur spoke a few words with the old
man, and then taking his seat beside tha
driver, he urged the tired horses ou
wards.
The storm was rapidly approaching.
Broad flashes of lightning lit up the sky,
and were now their only light; for, night
had suddenly closed in upon them, and
the road could not be seen six feet in ad
vance of the horses’ heads. The road
wound along the side of a mountain,
gradually ascending, and, sometimes,
turning abruptly around a spur of the
mountain to avoid a fearful precipice.
Amy crouched, tremblingly, at her sister’s
side, and Ormand, wearied out, leaned
his head upon Emily’s shoulder. His
breath came gaspingly through his pale,
parted lips, at every jolt of the carriage,
and Emily’s heart was wrung with anguish
to see him suffer so intensely.
The storm increased in fury; the skies
were rent asunder, and the rain poured
down in a thick sheet; the wind howled,
and roared, and whistled around them; the
thunder echoed, and re-echoed, among
the mountains, in the most appalling
manner. Suddenly, a deafening crash,
that made even the brave heart of Emily
quail, rent the air. The lightning had
struck a rock just ahead of them, splin
tering it into a thousand fragments. The
affrighted horses dashed forward, and
Arthur was hurled headlong from his
seat. Amy screamed wildly, and hid her
face on Ormand’s shoulder. Emily, not
knowing that Arthur had been thrown
from his seat, called to him again and
again. Receiving no answer, she rose
from her seat, and, leaning forward, tried
to reach him. At this moment, the car
riage was hurled against a rock, and
overturned; the horses broke away from
it, and galloped wildly off. Unhurt,
Emily hastily extricated herself from the
wreck, and felt anxiously for Ormand.
His low voice assured her that lie was
“only scratched;” and her next thought
was for her little boy and her sister.
She laid her hands on Amy’s face; it was
very cold, and, in the terror of the mo
ment, Emily screamed aloud, and, catch
ing her wailing child to her bosom, cried,
“She is dead !—oh ! where is Arthur ?”
The storm was passing away, and the
cheery voice of Arthur, calling her name,
gave new life and energy to Emily.
Pressing her babe into Orrnand’s arms,
she clasped Amy’s hands, and felt, In the
darkness, if, unhappily, she might find a
wound.
Arthur was rapidly approaching, and,
oh ! cheering sight, there came one with
him who here in his hand a ditn light.
“I was thrown from my seat, sister,
and, happily, fell just in front of a cave,
where this stranger had taken shelter
from the storm.”
Emily glanced at the stalwart form
that towered far above her head, and
exclaimed, in a pleading voice, “Oh! sir,
is my sister dead ?”
“Oh! surely, we hope not!” answered
the stranger; and, casting his Highland
bonnet at his feet, he knelt beside the in
animate form of Amy. “She is not dead!”
lie said, after a momentary hesitation;
“let us go on to my father’s house, which
is not very far off. Can you walk?”
“Oil! yes ; I am not hurt. But, you,
Ormand—can you walk !” asked Emily.
“I can, at least, try,” answered Or
mand, faintly, staggering to his feet as he
spoke.
Without a word, the young stranger
lifted Amy in his arms, and, resting her
slight form on his broad bosom, as if she
were a child, he folded his plaid around
her, and urged the others to hasten on.
“The storm will return upon us with re
doubled fury, within the hour, and we
must hasten to our shelter.”
Ormand leaned upon Arthur’s arm,
and Emily held her child in her own
arms; the terrified nurse, who had not
unclosed her lips since the accident,
tremblingly followed her mistress. The
driver was not to be seen.
Oh, what a dreary walk that was; and
when, at last, they reached the broad
stone steps, Ormand fell, fainting, upon
them, unable to reach the-desired haven
of warmth and light.
A loud cry from their guide brought
a host of servants and dogs around them.
Ormand was tenderly lifted from the
cold, wet stones, and the whole party
ushered jDto a long, broad hall, where a
fire burned brightly in the capacious
chimneys at either end.
For a few moments, all was bustle and
confusion; but this instantly subsided
when the door opened, admitting a tall
and stately old man. His hair, as white
as snow, flowed around his shoulders; his
face was as fair and ruddy as a lad’s, and
his blue eyes beamed with youthful fire
and energy. Advancing towards the
group, he bowed with stately dignity, and
immediately turned his attention to Or
mand, who was lying on a low couch,
drawn up before the fire-place.
The younger man placed the still insen
sible form of Amy upon another couch at
the other end of the hall, and, leaving her
to the care of her sister and his mother, a
dignified old lady, fit mate for his father,
withdrew.
“Now, then, for the broken arm !” he
said to Arthur.
“Yes, it was, indeed, true; Arthur’s
left arm hung helplessly by his side, and
his lips were pale, with suppressed
agony.
His coat sleeve was cut away from the
swollen and discolored arm, and, with no
little skill, the stranger set the broken
hone, rested the arm comfortably in a
broad handkerchief, and brought forward
an easy chair, that he might rest com
fortably. As Arthur looked up, his eyes
met those of Ormand, who was gazing
lovingly upon him. In an .instant, the
usual, cheerful smile beamed upon his
face, and he laid his right hand, caress
ingly, upon his brother’s brow. And thus
Emily found them when, at last, she could
leave Amy, who was most joyous when
she found herself safely sheltered from
the storm, which was now raging without
more furiously than ever. She was not at
all hurt, but had fainted from terror.
Emily had not thought that Arthur was
hurt, and was deeply grieved to see the
bandaged arm. As Arthur leaned hack
in his chair, she could not help but note
the striking resemblance he bore to Or
mand, and so, also, did their hosts notice
it, as their eyes rested upon the pale
fac<’S of their guests. Turning her eyes,
at last, from Arthur, Emily looked upon
the stately old gentleman and his son,
and, in graceful terms, thanked them for
their kindness.
“No, no,” answered the old gentleman,
with a strong Scottish accent that was
not noticeable in his son; “No, no, you
owe me no thanks; the home of Mac lan
is ever open to strangers, and we count
ourselves lucky to have you here. My
son, Alexander, has done me a good turn
the night ”
“We will always gratefully remember
the kindness of the Chief of Glencoe,” an
swered Emily; “and I beg that he will
allow me to present to him my husband,
Ormand, Earl of Sutherland, and his
brother Arthur.”
Mac lan bowed with dignified courtesy,
and held Ormand hack on his couch, as
he attempted to rise. The Chiefs wife
now came up, with Amy by her side, and
was duly presented to the young Earl
A dainty meal of oaten cakes, hot tea, and
fresh butter, was spread before them, to
which they all did ample justice. Then,
a cup of hot, spiced wine was ordered for
all hut Arthur, and they were shown to
jNTo. 36.