The banner of the South. (Augusta, Ga.) 1868-1870, November 28, 1868, Image 1

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' *^" — " m ~ mmm ~~ l """""""""^ ""*!-~""~—^*mm—mimmmmmmmmmmmm —»——*— ammmmmmmmmmmmmi -- ; '”' r " "’" '—, ■■ immmmmmmm,mm,m,m, mmmmmmm—mmmmmmmmm. i VOL. I. [From Southern Society.J “Non Judical” BY ALLEYSE HABRY. In a solemn chapel, gorgeously bedigbt, A still form rested in the solemn lighC That streamed through the pictur’d pane, and pass’d, In chasten’d, prismal rays, upon the last, The deepest sleep that e'er was given to man. Two women watch’d—the only mourners there, And they were young, and each was passing fair. One calmly paced the tesselated pave, And, brushing e’en the shadow of the grave, Her sheeny satin robes fell trailing down, As if to mock the sadness brooding round. She was a widow'd bride; still lilies rare Lay in her breast, and trembled on her hair. But one knelt low in mourning raiment clad : Her golden hair fell loose, her lips so sad • Smiled e’en at grief, while hunger unexpress'd Gleam’d from her eye -and, in its strong unrest, Her heart each heavy bursting sob suppress’d And strove to quell the pain yet unconfess’d. Softly her taper fingers now, each tress That stray’d upon his forehead would caress, And oft she kiss'd his pallid brow in Death, Praying she might revive him with her breath. The other gaze’d serene upon it all. With proud dark looks, nor touch’d the sombre pell That hung so near, and with her scornful mein And flashing glance, said: “ Leave me. here with him: My place is by his side, alone, to-night!” She merely raised her brow, like ivory white, And, ’neath the lashes shone the purple light. Her voice so sweet, with deep impassion’d woe, Spoke soft: ‘‘Nay, nay, but ’tis thyself must go ! What was his life to thee, but for his gold ? What is he now, who lies forever cold ? Oh! dio’ the world slialt say thou wert his wife, / only lov'd him all my woman's life! The living thine ? The dead is then my own : Nay ! I will never go!” 1 iieu, with her snowy arms she clasp'd him there, The one most dear; her heart in its despair Breaking upon his own. Her drooping head Bent on the pillow low beside the dead, /-etting her hair in shining glory fall, An aureole of light upon the pali. God saw her anguish, and an angel came To lay a cool hand on the burning flame Os sorrow ’s tide, and gently loos’d the thread That fetter’d life from which all hope had fled. Say! is there aught ol' earth, or yet above, With power so infinite as thine, oh! Love ? Yea! thou art stronger than the King of Death. If mandate can but steal away our breath ; 1.0 e burns anew in the Great Life beyond. Purer and truer there, though scarce less fond; Though it has pass'd the ordeal of the grave, Tis but true metal from the dross to save; And, at the last, more glorious than we dream, Love, in that land, forever reigns supreme. The Earls of Sutherland. I>Y RUTH FAIRFAX. PAHT~SECOISrD. | CONTINUED.] CHAPTER IV. Rain does not. always fall, not even in the Highlands, and at last the sun shone brilliantly. Hay alter day, Arthur and John wei e out hunting'. Ormand was * a *t recovering his strength ; the hue of health flushed his cheek, and the light of happiness beamed m Emily’s eyes. The Summer went on ; and still they lingered. Tut now, at last, time is very near at hand when they must stay no longer. Already, the sharp winds of Autumn make Ormand shiver, and they determine upon a hasty departure. And not only for this reason ; the country was becoming un settled ; the Highlanders had swept Gown upon the Lowlands, ravaging all before them. Ihe Lowlanders had way laid a group of Highlanders and cruelly murdered them. They must hasten their departure. But one more sweet ramble in the woods and mountains can be granted them ; and they rise early one morning, that they may have the full nay before them. They wander through die pleasant glens, clamber over the j ugged rocks, and, at last, reach the lone- V spot where they are to rest. The grand old mountains rise on every hand, da ir sides glowing here and there with Jhe purple heather ; away on the moor amd, a flock oi sheep are browsing on the gotss , a wild stream dashes down the g‘nn, so boisterous now that you may | easily guess what it would be in stormy j weather. And here they rested, and told those j new friends, who had grown to be such dear friends, in those long Summer days that were passed, how they could laugh now at the impressions they had received of the War Donalds. “But you are a wild race !” exclaimed Arthur, laughing ; “come, tell us whence you sprung ; from some wild ‘son of the mist,’ I’ll ventiuo to say.” “Or from Diarmid, ‘the son of the morning,’ ” said Emily. “From neither ” answered John ; “the McDonalds originally sprang from one Godfrey, who had four sons ; from these four spring the various branches of the McDonald’s, the Chiefs of Keppoch, Glencoe, the McDonalds of Sleat and others. Where was there ever a warrior like the founder of our race ? he dashed upon the Lowlands like an eagle, and never returned to iiis home empty hand ed; never was he known to take an insult; never was a stranger turned away from his door.” “L can well believe that,” said Ormand; “and the trait has been handed down to his descendants. For though we do not call ourselves strangers row, yet we were when we first sought shelter in your house.’* “Yes, and you have only stayed long enough to make yourselves dear to us. and now you are going away !” exclaimed John, starting from his seat, and excit edly pacing the uneven ground. “Rut we hope to meet again, soon,” said I Emily, who, also, felt grieved at the#pros ! pect. of parting with these true friends. | “We hope—to yes,” repeated John, | emphatically ; “but how know we that our hopes will be realized ? Laugh at me, if you will, my friends, but a dark flits before me, and I fear that when we i part, it will be to meet no more!” “I can not laugh at such a feeling, thougli I do not share it,” said Emily, rest ing her hand on his arm; “you are too much grieved at our departure, dear friend; but will you not listen to our entreaties, and return to Sutherland Hall with us !” “Nay; rather will not some of you re main here with us ?” answered John, shaking back the hair from his brow, and looking down upon the group before him. “How can we?” said Emily; “you know Ormand could not brave your fierce Winter, and I must go with Or mand. If you can persuade Arthur and Arny to stay, I will not object,” “To tell the truth, I am too anxious to see ’Regie to delay my departure,” answered Arthur;” but you inay rest as sured I will be back in the Spring, if I live till then.” “You will not blame me, John; you see I have not used my influence to in duce them to go with me. and yet they have decided to go.” ♦ “They! I haven’t heard any one but Arthur refuse yet to stay,” replied John, a faint flush mantling his brow. “Amy!” exclaimed Emily; “she does not wish to stay ;” and she turned to wards Amy. But Amy turned her crimson cheek away, and said nothing. “\ r ou do not answer me, Amy: do you wish to stay ?” asked Ormand. And still Amy answered not; her fin gers were nervously pulling the tiny wild flowers to pieces. “And it she wished it, would you con sent?’ - asked John eagerly, his fine eyes fixed upon Ormand’s face, and bending forward with an air of anxious expecta tion “You seem to be a good deal more in earnest than you were when you were pleading for my presence,” said Arthur, laughing; “what say you, Amy; it shall he as you wish ?” “1 would like to go home, and then— then return !” .-aid Amy, ig a low voice. “Return!” echoed Emily and Ormand, while Arthur laughed a little low laugh to himself.” GUV., NOVEMBER 28, 1868. “Oh. you blinder than moles!” he ex claimed at length; “there sits Amy with cheeks like damask roses, and there stands John near her, his whole face beaming with light and love, and yet you echo return! as if you had never heard the word before 1” “Love !” excaimed Emily; “impossi ble!” * * “And why impossible?” asked the usually timid Amy, rising to her feet, and looking steadily at her sister. “I don’t know,”, answered Emi ly; “no, not impossible, I suppose, but so —sc —improbable I” “But why ?” persisted Amy; yet her cheeks were crimson, and she now looked appealingly to Arthur. “Because you are so little, Amy, and he is such a giant; I expect that is the reason,” laughed Arthur. “Oh! no; that is no objection,” said Emily, smiling. “Then, what is your objection ?” asked Arthur. “I have none,” replied Emily. “You have none! you do not object to my loving Amy,” exclaimed John, catch ing Emily’s hand; “tell me then, dear lady Emily, you will give your sister to me! Oh ! I will cherish her as I would my heart’s blood!” Amy walked away with Arthur, while John spoke with ! ,r sister. “You need not give me that assurance, John; I believe you would care for tier as I could wish; but, would Amy be con tent to live in.this almost unbroken soli tude ? would not she long for the society she has been so long accustomed to ?” “If she wished it, I would live in Lon don, or with you ; I would bend my will to please her. Only say that you will give her to me, lady Emily, and you shall say where we must live !” “It would be almost useless to refuse, for I see that Amy wishes me to consent But do not think my hesitation has been caused by reluctance. I was so much surprised, that I scarcely knew what to say. Let her return with us, John, and you may come after and claim her!” “Oh! how can I thank you!” exclaim ed John; but, without even trying to do it, he sprang away with a bound like a mountain deer, to seek Amy and Arthur. Arthur soon returned to Emily’s side, and declared himself delighted at the turn affairs had taken; ands though Emily could not restrain a few tears, yet she ac knowledged that no nobler heart could be found than the one that beat in the bosom of John McDonald, of Glencoe. And so it was settled ; and, the next morning, their journey homeward was commenced; ere long, they arrived safely, but greatly fatigued, at their house in London, where Regie and Eugenia were already established, and anxiously awaiting their arrival. CHAPTER V. “Amy, what shall 1 wear?” asked Eugenia, turning suddenly from the window, where she had been looking list lessly forth for nearly half an hour. "What shall I wear, Amy ?”—still Amy did not answer; her cheek rested on her hand, and her elbow was supported by the arm of the chair in which she was sitting. Her eyes had that misty far away look that we see in persons whose thoughts are wandering far away from the place where they are. Eugenia looked smilingly upon her, and repeated her question a third time: “What shall I wear to Lady Mary Howard’s ball, Amy?” “Yes, certainly,” replied Amy. “You think the costume would be very elegant, do you not, Amy ?” “Oh! yes,” answered Amy, roused, at length, and trying, in vain, to recollect what her sister had said before. “Hew stupid I am!” said Eugenia, smiling; “was it green or blue, I said, Amy? I really have forgotten.” “I— 1—” said Amy. “Why don’t you tell the truth, Amy, and say that you did not hear what I said ?—here you are pretending to know what costume I proposed to wear, and I merely asked you what I should wear.” “I confess it, sister, I was in a deep study, just then; I did not hear what you said.” “You were thinking of that Highland Chief, wore you not, Amy ?” “You were asking me what you should wear, ’Genie ?” said Amy, without no ticing her sister’s question. “Y r cs, I wish to consult your taste,” answered ’Genie, smiling at her sister’s confusion. “Rut let us call Emily; she can direct you better than I can.” "No, rather let us call Regie; his taste is most exquisite.” “Who is thinking of her Chief, even if he is not a Highlander ?” said Amy, not sorry of having an opportunity of re turning Eugenia’s raillery. “Oh! I acknowledge it—l think of my lover all the time : for, though six months a husband, Regie is still a lover. I hope you may he able to say the same of your Highland lover, after you have been mar ried six months !” “You have never seen him yet, ’Genie; when you do, you will be satisfied with my choice; as it is now, I more than half suspect that you do not like the idea of having a Scotch brother ?” “I do not like the idea of your marry ing a stranger, Apry ; there are so many noble lords here, who are sueing for your hand, and you might find a more— well, to tell the truth—a more civilized husband than the son of Mac lan, ot Glencoe !” Amy laughed outright. “You have not seen him yet, ’Genie !” “I know I have not, and I am not in any particular hurry to make his ac quaintance. Why, Arthur says he is more than six feet high, and has, oh! such enormous hands and big eyes !” “Arthur is only teasing you, ’Genie; John is very handsome, and—” She paused, as ’Genie cast'a look of comic horror upon her. “Handsome ! a man over six feet high, handsome ! Nonsense, Amy, I know he is a perfect bear.” “Who is a perfect bear ?” asked Ar thur, entering the room. “Why, that Highlander, John Mac lan, or MacDonald, Glencoe, or whatever you call him,” answered ’Genie, with just a little bit of a pout, “why, the man’s name is enough to condemn him. ’ “But you can’t expect everybody to get as pretty a name as your own!” said Amy, good-naturedly. “No, not everybody ; but you could.” 11 1 could ; why, is there another name that you think as pretty as Sutherland ?” “No, indeed ! but you could get that name, if you wished; here’s Arthur, why—” “Why don’t I ask him to marry me ? is that what you were going to say? Come now, ’Genie, that would be worse, even, than martring the Highland Chief.” “ “Fray, don’t ask me !” cried Arthur, laughing; “I don’t want that giant's lingers round my throat, or his big green eyes ‘glowering’ at me!” “For shame, Arthur ! It is you who have frightened ’Genie so about John !” exclaimed Amy ; and, what if he is big, you can’t expect the world to be made up of little men like you and Or mand ; yes, and Reginald, too !” glancing a little spitefully at ’Genie, as she spoke. “Well, don’t say any more about it; he will be here before long, and ’Genie can see for herself,” said Arthur. “I can wait,” answered ’Genie ; “but Arny has not yet answered my question; I asked her what I-should wear to Lady Mary Howard’s ball. If she will not an swer me, I must call Emily, and consult her taste, as Regie has not yet come in.” “Oh! the peerless Reginald !” said Arthur, in a mocking toD(*. “No one thinks him more perfect than you do, Arthur, although you are pretend ing* to sneer at me,” said Eugenia. “Seriously, then, ’Genie; I do think him very near perfect, and, upon my honor, you need not fear that you will blush to own your Highland brother-in law. He is almost a giant, it is true, and our pretty little Amy will be a bonnie wee bride for him ; but what of that ?—a man that has as handsome a form as he has can afford to have plenty of it.” “Then, lie is not ugly?” asked ’Genic, with so much anxiety in her voice, that Arthur laughed heartily, and Amy, to put an end to his teasing, took up a small box from the table, and emptied its contents into her lap. “Those are my patterns, Amy, and I want you to help me select a dress.” “Select a dress from those tiny bits of silk?” said Arthur, lifting them iu his fingers. “These are only samples; as soon as Amy selects one, I will send it, and get the dress.” “I like this,” said Amy, holding* .up a bit of blue brocade, with tiny silver flowers scattered over it. “Oh ! yes, that would look well for you, but my style requires something brighter. You take that blue, Amy, and I will get this rose pink, and aim it with falls of ricli. lace,” “I prefer a plain white dress for my self,” answered Amy, and will get one like this white silk. It will do very well for von, ’Genie, who are a rich man’s wife, to dress so expensively; but the one I expect to marry lias not the wealth of Reginald, and I must keep my own little fortune untouched to offer him.” “John doesn’t want your fortune, Aim*, and would be the first one to condemn such a proposition as you made just now. Get whatever you wish, dear child, ami do not believe that the Earls of Suther land will ever let one of their family go dowerless to the house of a stranger,” said Arthur, earnestly. “But I do not want anything very ex pensive, Cousin Arthur; and I think John would prefer the white dress to any other.” “Oh ! you sly little puss, that is the reason why you want the dress. I thought you were getting very economical ! Let it be white, by ail means, if John likes it best.” “Why do you tease Amy so much about John ?’’ said Emily*, who had entered the room, unperecived ; “you are too mis chievous, Arthur.” “Well, Ivnui’t help it, Emily ; Amy has been trying to make us believe she wants to get a white dress, because it is cheapest, but the real reason has come out, at last —John likes white the best, and site is expecting him.” 4, “And I have decided on the ro-e-color ed silk,” said Eugeni;# “You have done well,” replied Emily; “it is just what I would have chosen for you; trim it with wide lace, and wear your diamonds.” “You ladies are forever talking about dress. Come, Amy, let us go into our library, where we can talk in peace !” Arthur lose from his seat, and Amy gladly granted his request. The days wore away, and the evening came at length, when Lady* Mary How ard’s rooms were to be crowded with well dressed, frivolous gentlemen and still more frivolous ladies. Eugenia moved a very queen of beauty among the fairest; but the timid, retiring Amy kept near her sister Emily, until the Earl of Surrey*, with a much brighter smile than usual hovering around his lips, came and besought her to walk with him in the gardens. More than willing was Amy to get away from the glare and glitter of the ball-room. The cool air of evening lifted the curls from her brow, and never had she looked as charming to the eyes of our grave friend, Duke, as she did then, standing among* the flowers, the pale light of the moon struggling with the bright'radiance of the colored lights No. 37.