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barging in the trees, and casting a faiut
glow on her pale cheek. For. the first
time in his life, ’Duke looked with fasci
nated eyes upon the beauty of n woman,
and, this evening, lie gave a name to the
emotidn that had been agitating his heart
lor some time, and called it—Love!
Marmaduke had not been informed of
Amy's engagement with John Mac
Donald. She did not wish any one but
her sisters to know of’ it till John came.
Arthur and Ormand knew of it already,
as they were present when John spoke of
it to Emily.
“Do you know that you look like a
little snow-drop, this evening, Amy !”
said Marmaduke, breaking the silence
that had been unbroken so long.
“I must, indeed, look well, to win a
compliment from you, ’Duke,” said Amy,
smiling up into his face.
“ ’Tis very true, I am not in the habit
of praising persons; therefore, you will
more readily believe me, now that I say
you are beautiful !”
“What! again, ’Duke? And, how
awkward you are. You tell me right out
what you mean, instead of delicately in
sinuating it,” said Amy, playfully.
“Yes, I am, indeed, awkward, ’’ replied
’Duke, with a slight bitterness of tone;
“but you cannot wonder at that Amy, you
who know how the early years of my life
were spent. I have not the polished
politeness of most noblemen, Amy; but,
trust me, my heart is as true and honest
as that of the most accomplished gentle
man of King William’s Court,”
Amy looked up in astonishment.
“I was only jesting, ’Duke, and you
have taken my words seriously; that is
not like you, at all. Do you imagine
that.l could, for one instant, doubt the
worth of your noble heart?”
“Are you still jesting, Amy ?”
“Jesting ! no ; how can you ask me
such a question ? What is the matter,
’Duke; you are not like yourself* this
evening ?”
“Perhaps, I am only showing my true
self, this evening'. You arc disposed to
laugh at me, because I find your loveliness
so charming; are you not, Afny ?”
“Oh! no, not to laugh at you, ’Duke ;
though it seems strange to hear you call
me lovely. If it were Arthur, now— ’’
“Arthur !” exclaimed ’Duke, starting
violently; “ docs Arthur, then, love
yon ?”
“Love me ! I hope lie does; I am
sure 1 would be very unhappy, if I
thought lie did not,” replied Amy, look
ing at ’Duke in innocent surprise.
“Y->u would be unhappy, if you thought
he did not love you ! \ r ou arc engaged
to him, then V'
“Engaged to him ! What could have
put such an idea into your head? En
gaged to Arthur ! no; nor ever expect
to be. What, on earth, do you mean ?”
“Am I, indeed, so awkward, that you
have not yet discovered my meaning '!
If you had let me alone, I should have
told you, in plain words, what I meant;
but, at the first step, you reproved.me for
telling, too bluntly, my meaning. 1
should not have tried to insinuate my
meaning; my feelings, that have lain
dormant for so many years, are too pow
erful, now that they have been roused,
to be trifled with. Let me, plain man
that I am, tell you my love, in plain
words Oh ! Amy, my pure pearl, you
must know that I love you !’’
“ ’Duke !” exclaimed Amy, and it was
ail she said.
“Have ycu no answer for me, Amy ?”
he continued, clasping her tiny hands in
his, and holding them tighter than he
had any idea of; “you only repeat my
name* I feared that you might love
Arthur; you told me that it is not
so, and i have allowed myself to hope.
Our families are already closely united.
Let us bind them together with one more
tie. Be my wife, Amy, and trust me to
make you happy. I never have loved
before, aud all the love of my strong heart
is for you !”
Amy listened in grief and amazement
to these last words, and, in her heart,
most bitterly regretted that she had not
made him acquainted with her engage
ment as soon as possible after her return
from the Highlands. But it was too late
now, and, in an agony of sorrow and re
morse, she gazed upon ’Duke’s agitated
countenance.
“You do not answer me, Amy; have I
frightened you that you look so pale ?
Nay, take your own time, sweet one; I
can wait—patiently, no!—but, to win
your love at last, 1 can wait, aye, years,
if required!”
“Hush !” murmured Amy; “there is
someone near us. I think it is Sir John
Dalrymple.”
As she spoke, a gentleman came to
wards them, aud, in courtly style, bowed
to Amy. ’Duke could scarcely conceal
his confusion, and gladly complied with
the Knight’s request, that he would re
linquish Amy to him for a short time.
Nor was Amy sorry so have him leave her,
for a short time, though she would have
preferred almost any other companion to
John Dalrymple, Master of Stair.
He had signified to Reginald and
Eugenia his wish to pay his court to
Amy. Reginald would say nothing about
it, but Eugenia encouraged his addresses,
hoping to make Amy forget her High
land lover. The Master of Stair was an
almost constant companion of the King,
and Reginald’s quick eye soon noted the
vast influence he wielded over William.
Our readers will, doubtless, remember
that it was Sir John Dalrymple who
stood at the door while the King con
versed with his friends on the occasion of
’Genic’s marriage.
Amy had noticed his pointed atten
tions, and, therefore, avoided him as much
as possible. Poor Amy, she was destined
to meet with more confusion ere the
close of the evening. For a few mo
ments, Sir John led her about the garden
walks in silence, and then selecting a
seat, where the moonbeams faintly strug
gled through the interlacing vines, he
begged her to be seated, and stood be
fore her.
“I am selfish to keep you here, Miss
Mortimer, when your presence would
add an additional brilliancy to the ball
room,” he said iD a smooth voice.
“1 think I will scarcely be missed, as
long 1 as my sister Eugenia is there,” re
plied Amy.
“Believe it not; she is the bright sun
whose glitter pains the eye, and we turn
with pleasure to the more mildly beaming
Evening Star,” said the Master of Stair,
bowing low,
“A truce to your flattery, Sir Jolm; I
arn not fond of it.” replied Amy, a little
impatiently.
“Only tell me what you wish, and I
will gladly obey,” answered Sir John; “it
is my earnest desire, now and always, to
please you in all things. I ODly ask you
to favor me with your commands.”
“I have neither right nor inclination
to command you, sir,” answered Amy;
and, therefore, you certainly cannot expect
me to do so.”
“But, I am more than anxious to give
you that right, Miss Mortimer. I have
your sister’s permission to offer you my
hand, which I now do, with my most
humble love.”
He said “humble,” but he looked as if
he meant “most distinguished love.”
“l r ou honor me, sfc, by your prefer
ence,” replied Amy, coldly; “hut I am
very sorry my sister gave you permission
to address me, as she must have known 1
would be compelled to decline your pro
posal,”
“But why should you decline ?” asked
Sir John, almost angrily; “is not my sta
tion equal to your own ?”
“Nay, sir; you have no right to ask
me why I decline,”answered Amy; “but
I am willing to admit that your rank is
far above that of the niece of the late
Earl of Sutherland and sister-in-law of
the presest one.”
“You are to remind me of your
relationship to that powerful Earl,” an
swered Sir John.; “I only wonder that I
could have forgotten il a moment, and
still more do 1 wonder, that I should have
lost sight of the coronet that the Earl of
Surreu holds suspended above your fair
head !”
“The Earl of Surrey is my brother, and
cousin, no more,” replied Amy, angrily;
“and you have no right to speak to me
thus.”
“Certainly not , Madame, the Countess ,”
said Sir John, scornfully ; “but you can
not blind me. How could I ever have
thought that you could turu away your
eyes from the Earl to the son of a poor
Viscount ?”
“I repeat it, the Earl is nothing to
me,” answered Amy; “he is worthy of a
far better wife than Amy Mortimer will
make.”
“Tour affections arc disengaged, then ?”
“I refuse to. answer the question,” re
plied Amy, indignantly ; “let me pass,
sir, I wish to go to my sister.”
“You refuse to answer me; you do well
not to persist in your denial, while I see
that glittering circlet on your finger. It
has only been placed there lately, and is
the only one yoU wear. Dare you say
the Earl of Surrey did not give it to
you
“The Earl of Surrey did not give it to
me; he knows nothing about it,” said
Amy.
“What! look you still higher than
Earl? A royal Duke, perhaps, attracts
your attention ?”
While he was speaking, Marinaduke
came near them, and, hearing Sir John’s
words, paused a moment.
“I do not look higher than an Earl,”
replied Amy, her voice quivering with in
dignation ; “your words are impertinent,
but I will satisfy your curiosity. Know,
then, that I am engaged to John Mac
Donald, the son of Mac lan of Glencoe !”
Marinaduke pressed his hand to his
heart, and clung to a tree to support his
almost tainting form. The next words
of Sir John roused him to a full con
sciousness of surrounding objects.
“Mac Donald, of Glencoe ! Refused for
a pitiful Highland Chief! If it had
been the Earl of Surrey, I might have
forgiven the slight; but, McDonald, of
Glencoe! Never!”
“Enough !” exclaimed ’Duke, stepping
forward, and grasping Ids arm; “you
have said enough, sir ! If the rank of a
Highland Chief does not rival that of an
Earl, it, at least, equals that of the Master
of Stair, and my cousin’s affection elevates
him far above a rejected suitor !”
“I should have thought the Earl of
Surrey too well bred to taunt a man with
his misfortune; but it seems that I am
mistaken,” said Sir* John Dalrymple,
hotly
“And 1 thought the Master of Stair too
much of a gentleman to taunt, a lady with
her choice of a lover, and—l was mis
taken. Let it. pass. I would not have
said her favored lover was elevated to a
rank higher than that of a rejected one,
were I not sharing your misfortune.”
Then, taking Amy on his arm, ho led
her away, leaving the discomfited Master
of Stair vowing deadly vengeance. ,
“Why did you not tell me this before,
dear Amy V said ’Duke, gently.
“I thought I would wait until y u saw
him. I feared you might feel the same
prejudice that ’(.ionic does, and you would
like him, if you knew him.”
“I will try to like him for your sake,
Amy,” said Marmaduke, and Amy gazed
sorrowfully into his anguished face.
“You will forgive me, ’Duke, dear
cousin ; believe me, I never thought of
this, or I would have warned you. Oh !
how could 1 guess that you cared so much
for me V
“Believe me, I do not blame you Amy;
and I trust that you may be as happy as
/ would have tried to make you. Oh! I
am very wretched, Amy. What shall I
do ?”
“Come, let us go home,” said Amy;
“there is Arthur, 1 will speak to him.”
Dropping ’Duke’s arm, she went to
Arthur, who, with Emily, was walking
slowly towards them.
“Arthur, let us go home.”
“What is the matter, Amy ? are you
not well ? Why, you are crying ! What
is it ?’’ asked Emily, anxiously.
“I will call the carriage !” said Arthur,
hastening away, and leaving them to enter
the house alone.
As Amy turned back to seek ’Duke, he
moved into the shadow,’ and let them
pass.
When they had seated themselves in
the carriage, ’Duke presented himself at
the door, and, in a low voice, asked :
“Is there room for me ?”
“Certainly,” answered Emily, making
room for him by her side ; -“Regie and
Eugenia have gone on in their own car
riage.”
Marmaduke, without answering, took
his seat, and the silence was Unbroken
until they reached home.
Emily immediately went to Lev own
room, and Duke followed her. It was
not unusual for him to spend a few
minutes with his brother before going
to bed; and, therefore, his presence ex
cited no surprise.
Emily stood before the mirror, loosening
the flowers from her hair. The night
was somewhat chilly’, and a fire was burn
ing brightly. Ormand had not yet come
in, and, with careless grace, Emily still
stood there, indolently laying aside her
ornaments. As she stood thus, her
thoughts wandered back to the Past. She
thought of the long imprisonment of Or
mand ; of his triumphant emancipation ;
and of her present happiness; and then
she looked towards the Future. She
painted the life of the little heir of Suth
erland in glowing colors; and, with a
brilliant color on her cheek, .she turned to
’Duke, and said :
“Are we not happy, brother ?”
“Happy!” echoed 'Duke, with a low
moan; “yes, as happy as the outcast
Angel, standing at the gates of-Para
dise !”
“What do you mean, Duke ?” exclaim
ed Emily, dropping a pearl bracelet on
the floor, and going to his side.
“Nothing,” replied ’Duke, mournfully.
“Oh ! but it is something ; tell me, my
brother, what troubles you !’’
“You know that a wounded heart is
hard to bear,” answered ’Duke, looking
up into her eyes.
'“A wounded heart! brother ? You
are not well; let me call Ormand !”
“Yes, call him; I need him now, Oh,
Emily !”
Marmaduke closed his eyes, and his
head fell heavily forward.
“Ormand! Ormand!”' shrieked Emily,
opening the door.
“Here 1 am !” answered Ormand,
springing up the steps; “what is the
matter ?”
“ ’Duke 'is ill !” gasped Emily, return
ing to the room.
The Earl of Surrey looked as if he had
breathed his last; his lace was as white as
marble, and his lips painfully pressed to
gether.
Ormand clasped bis arms around
him, but his little strength was not enough
to move the insensible form of his brother,
for, as we have already said, ’Duke was
not a small man, and Ormand was
“Gall the servarts !” he said to Emily.
“They must have taken advantage of
our absence, and left the house; I have
rung the bell several times, and received
no answer; they did not expect us so
soon, and have not yet returned.”
“Call Arthur, then; we must have
help!”
Emily ran downstairs; the merry laugh
of Arthur in the drawing-room betrayed
his whereabouts. She opened the door,
and stood face to face with John Mac
Donald.
'‘John!’ she exclaimed, giving him %
her hand ; “come, Arthur, ’Duke is very
ill; perhaps, dying.”
“Gome, John !” Arthur rushed from
the room. John followed, with hasty
steps
Ormand was still supporting ’Duke in
his arms, and so terrified was he that he
scarcely could give John a word of wel
come.
“Lift him up, and put him on the bed,”
said Emily.
John stepped forward, and, lifting
’Duke in his arms as ii' ho were a child,
laid him gently on Emily’s bed. Arthur
left the house to seek a physician ; Emily
went into the next room to change her
dress, and John assisted Ormand in re
moving the Ball costume of Marmaduke.
“Your arrival was most opportune,”
said Ormand; “I am too weak to move
him an inch.”
“This is your eldest brother, is it not ?”
asked John, gazing, with admiring eyes,
upon the noble form of the Earl of
Surrey.
“This is my eldest brother,” answered
Ormand; “can you think what is the
matter with him, John ?”
“I cannot, indeed; he is in a deep
swoon; has lie been ill ?”
“No; he was perfectly well, this, even
ing ; this is very sudden. Look, he is
opening his eyes ! Brother, look at
Die !” ’■
'Duke languidly lifted his eyes to his
brother’s face.
“Are you in pain?” asked John,
gently.
“A pain in ray heart; it is gone, now,”
answered ’Duke, turning his eyes towards
John.
“Heart disease!” murmured Ormand.
i 4 Where is Emily? call her,” said ’Duke,
wearily.
“I am here,” answered Emily.
“I will leave you, now,” said John;
“unless I can be of service to you ?’’
“You will stay’- with us,” said Ormand ;
“come, I will show you to a room.” *
Two of the servants now showed their
terrified faces at the door, and Ormand
directed them to attend the Lord of
Glencoe.
Arthur soon returned, but 'Duke re
fused to sec a Fhysiciau. He said lie
was getting better, and wished no prying
eyes around him. •
|TO BE CONTINUED.|
pastoral" letter,
For the Promulgation of the Second
Plenary Council of Baltimore.
Augustin Yeuot, by the grace of God,
and the favor of the Apostolic See,
Bishop of Savannah and Administrator
Apostolic of Florida.
To the Clergy and Laity of Georgia and
Florida , Health and Benediction:
Beloved Brethren: The Plenary
Council held two years ago in Baltimore,
having now received the sanction and
confirmation of the Holy See, through
the successor of him to whom our Sa
viour confided the Keys of the Kingdom
of Heaven, promising to bind and loose
in Heaven what he would bind and loose
on earth, we deem it our duty to give
an authentic notice of the fact to our
flock, and at the same time to point out
one or two articles, the necessary conse
quences of the promulgation of the
Council.
A great portion of the regulations of
the Council being intended for the
Clergy, we wish our venerable brethren
engaged in the Sacred Ministry, to ac
cept in a more formal manner all the de
cisions and regulations of the Chief Pas
tors appointed by flic Holy Ghost to rule
the Church of God, that so they may be
observed with greater fidelity. For this
purpose, wc convoke our yearly Synod
lor the 11 tli day of January next, in our
Cathedral of Savannah. We recom
mend in a special manner to the prayers
of the faithful, the success of the Synod,
that all the wise and holy regulations of
the Council being known and cherished
by the leaders of the people of God, the
wish of St. Paul be realised in every
Priest of tfie Diocese, “that the man of
God be perfect, furnished to every good
work.” Tirn. 3, 17.
The Council has deemed proper to give
an additional mark of respect and IOVel OVe
to Her whom the Son of God selected
for His earthly Mother, and whom the
Angel saluted “full of grace,” by decree,
ing that the Feast of the Immaculate
Conception of the Virgin Mary would be
observed everywhere as a Holy Day 0 f
Obligation, similar to the other eight
festivals kept in the Diocese, and having
ail the obligations and privileges of Sun
days. This festival of the Immaculate
Conception is kept by the Church on the
Bth day of December, which this year
will fall on a Tuesday, which day, (Tues
day this year, and afterward on whatever
day of the week it comes ) must be ob
served as a festival of obligation, with
annexed duty of hearing Mass and ab
staining from servile work. The reason
of this new regulation is that Mary bit
maculate in her Conception, has been se
lected by previous Councils as the Pa
troness of the Country, and it was ineet.
iu a spirit of love and gratitude, to honor
the day of that benevolent and glorious
Patroness, a.s much as possible, by giv
ing it the privileges of Sunday, so that
our people may have more ample Oppor
tunity of returning thanks, and recom
mending themse.ves to this glorious
Mother of Mercy. We trust that this
additional tribute f respect will render
her protection over the Country yet more
efficacious and plentiful, by dissipating
more and more the black mist of bigotry
and prejudice which, whilst on tiie one
side, it deems it piety to disparage the
Virgin Mother, on the other, grants to all
children the privilege which the Church
claims exclusively for her, by denying
original sin and sending all children to
Heaven, whether they be baptised or not.
We would, also, remind you, that it is
not in vain we claim protectors, advo
cates, and patrons in Heaven; those pa
trons really pray for us; wc must, there
fore, supplicate our glorious Patroness
to obtain new blessings for our Country.
Alas! The late war has left us in a dis
tressing state of poverty, suffering, and
moral anxiety worse than anything else.
May our Heavenly Patroness obtain a
healing balm for these deep wounds,
arising from the imprudence or the malice
of men! May we sec the day when ail
men will understand theoretically and
practically the forbearance, kindness,
charity, and help which they owe to their
fellow-beings, specially to the and
the poor! May contentment, peace, and
prosperity, pervade all classes of society!
May order reign everywhere, with in
dustry, sobriety, morality, and the faith
ful observance of all laws, human and
divine!
Another point earnestly recommended
by the Council, we deem necessary .to
place before your eves in reference to
Marriage. In view yf the sacred ness of
that holy alliance, it has always been the
custom in the Church, and it is the cus
tom now in every part almost of the
Catholic world, to perform it in the
morning, and to receive, immediate!)
after, a solemn blessing during the Mass,
which the Church has appointed specially
for the married couple. The Benedic
tion given at Mass ought, to be viewed as
exceedingly precious, and the harbinger
of invaluable advantages during the
whole duration of married life. This
solemn Mass is the bright testimony that
the Catholic Church bears to the sancti
ty and excellence of Christian Marriage,
which the Apostle represents to be
formed upon the model of the union
which Jesus Christ has contracted with
his Church. “This (Marriage,) is a
great Sacrament: I speak in Chrid in
the Church. Eph. 4, o'J.” And hence
that Nuptial Mass cannot be celebrated,
and that special benediction cannot be
given in second and third nuptials, as
they represent badly the union of Christ
with his Church. That benediction is
also refused during the penitential sea
sons of Advent and of Lent, at wiiic i
times the solemnization of Marriage is
forbidden. What Misfortune that the
habit should have crept into the country
to celebrate marriage at night, at the very
time when wordlings give way to then'
gay, foolish, often criminal amusements,
at a time when the heart is so ill-pro
pered for piety and religious impressions,
and under circumstances which assinr
latc marriage to balls, dances, and the
atrical representations! What pity tha
young and fresh hearts select that kind
of nuptial ceremony which tli • Church
has appointed for widows and widower-,
and for the penitential season of Advem
and Lent. We think it will awaken ni 1
zeal and piety of the timorous daughters
of the Church, to transcribe here toi
them from the Missal, the Solemn Bent -
diction, which the Driest, at the Altai,
whilst the Holy Victim is in a
immolation, pronounces over them. '
ter the Consecration, and immediate.}
after the Baler , the Priest interrupts the
offering of the Holy Sacrifice, an;
turning around towards the mar'.H *
couple, he says : “O God, Who by tie
1 power of Thy might didst create all thing-