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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.