[For the Banner of the South.]
Reverie— I The Old Year and the
How swift they go!
Life’s many years,
With their winds of woo
And their storms of tears,
And their darkest of Nights whose shadowy slopes
Are lit ith the hashes of starriest hopes,
And their sunshiny days in whose calm heavens loom
71 10 ,-iouds of the tempest—the shadows of Gloom.
And ah ! we pray
With a grief so drear,
That the years may stay
When their graves are near;
Tho’the brows of To-morrows be radiant and bright,
With love and with beauty, with life and with light,
The dead hearts of Yesterdays, cold on the bier,
To the hearts that survive them, are evermore dear.
For the heart so true,
To each Old Year cleaves;
Tho’ the hand of the New
Flowery garlands weave;
But the dowers of the Future tho’ fragrant and fair
With the Past’s withered leaflets may never compare,
For dear is each dead leaf—and dearer each thorn
In the wreaths which the brows of our Past years have
Yea! men will cling
With a love to the last;
And wildly fling
Their arms round their Past!
As the vine that clings to tho oak that falls,
As the ivy twines round the crumbled walls;
For the dust oi the Past some hearts higher prize
Than the stars that flash out from the Future’s bright
And why not so ?
The old, old Years,
They knew and they know
All our hopes and our fears;
walked by their side, and we told them each grief,
And they kissed off our tears while they whispered
And the stories of hearts that may not be revealed
In the hearts of the dead years are buried and sealed.
Let the New Year sing
At the Old Year’s grave,
b ill the New Year bring
bhat the Old Year gave?
Al;! tiie Stranger-Year trips over the snows,
And iiis brow is enwreathed with many a rose,
Hut how many thorns do the roses conceal
a the roses when withered shall so soon reveal ?
Let the New Year smile
When the Old Year dies,
In how short a while
Shall the smiles be sighs ?
Yon: Stranger-Year, thou hast many a charm,
•W ’• thy face is fair and thy greeting warm,
Ihit, dearer than thou—in his shroud of snows—
Is the furrowed face of the Year thutgoes.
Yet, bright New Year!
O’er all the earth
Lith song and cheer
They will hail thy birth;
L . 'ill trust thy words in a single hour,
| ■' " a l° ve thy face, they will laud thy power,
i' the Xew has charms which the Old has not,
A * the stranger’s face makes the friend’s forgot.
[Written for the Banner of the South.]
Earls of Sutherland
BY RUTH FAIRFAX.
. ( [continued.]
i' conversation was dropped, and
j"; went to the drawing-room. ’Genie
a, * v Ulr were there, but Reginald and
- llli,luke had not yet returned, and,
t away trom Emily, "Genie went to
■' 'em. When Regie left the dining
. iii'went direct to the library, and
r , U \ e found He was sitting
- lit. large writing table, his arms
'] l!! o nn a nd his head bowed on his
Ua 'P ( and hands.
1 ' A-de started violently.
t , 0 think that I wish to in
,oli you; with me your sorrow i #
1 ’ ut at least you will let me sym-
PM Hze With you silently.”
clasped his brother’s hand.
Jk . °, u are all so happy here, you would
' .nuerstand my grief if 1 were to tell
1)1(1 Kc g s e, without lifting his head
“ Happy!” echoed ’Duke. “ Look up,
Regie; look into my face, and tell me if
you think 7am happy.”
Reginald lifted his • eyes' to ’Duke’s
face, and gazed long and earnestly upon
“ You are right,” he said at length, “I
have been selfish, indeed. And you,
also, are unhappy, my brother ?” «
Reginald stood up and put his hand on
“ Even so,” replied ’Duke.
“ And why ?”
“ Why are you unhappy ? is it not
because you doubt ’Genie’s love ? how,
then, do you suppose / feel—l who have
heard my wife say my very name is hate
ful to her!”
“ Oh! surely not !” exclaimed Regie,
“ that is so unlike Amy’s quiet, gentle,
temper. If she were proud, and high
tempered, like ’Genie, now”
“ Oh! then her words would not have
cut me to the heart,” said ’Duke, “ for
"Genie is impetuous and speaks quickly,
often without meaning what she says, but
Amy is not so, she speaks thoughtfully.”
“ That is true,”- murmured Regie,
“ and I may have been too hasty myself;
I will speak to ’Genie, it may not be too
“ I think it is not too late, but with
me all hope is fled,” replied ’Duke.
“ But, may you not be mistaken ?”
asked Regie; “ why not ask her if she
loves you ?”
“ Ask her ? Why should I ask her ?
I have heard her say that she regretted
this marriage, that she could wish that
she had died, when she was so near death.
What more is necessary Regie ? I have
said to her, ‘ Take courage, death will
release you, and it may come ere you
think it is near. I know the tie that
binds you is hateful to your heart; but,
have patience; I hope the obstacle to your
union with one who is worthy of you
may soon he removed !”
Eugenia opened the door while ’Duke
was speaking, his words fell on her ear,
and held her spell bound. The first
words she heard were, “ Death will re
She listened with dilating 'eyes and
paling lips until he ceased speaking, then
closing the door, as silently as she had
opened it, she went away to her own room,
and locked the door.
Tearing the jewels from her',hair and
bosom, she dashed them to the floor, and
stamped her tiny foot upon them.
“ Lie there!” she cried ; “ if you were
as false as the love that offered them, you
would be crushed to atoms!”
Have our readers been deluding them
selves with the idea that our ’Genie was
faultless ? If they have, with one stroke
of our inky wand wc dispel the illusion.
Rehold the monsters that threaten our
beautiful ’Genie’s happiness; aye, and
not only her’s, but our Reginald’s, who
is, indeed, nearly faultless. These arc
the monsters: Pride and Suspicion.
Yes, ’Genie was very proud—not of
wealth, beauty, or rank, but in this way
was she proud—she would rather have
died than have any one believe she loved
them, if she thought they cared not for
her. Thus : She preferred being blamed
for treating Regie unkindly, to being
pitied as a neglected wife. I think she
would almost have been tempted to strike
any one who pitied her. Not that she
was either blamed or pitied, but I have
said such was her disposition that she
preferred censure to pity, at any time.
But to return.
Again and again she struck her foot
upon the jewels she had cast on the floor,
until the fine setting was crushed and
ruined, but still the sparkling stones re
flected the light unhurt. Nay, they
wounded the foot of their would-be de
stroyer, but she headed it not, the pain in
her heart was so sharp she felt no other.
Clasping her hands above her head, she
moved restlessly about the room.—
“ What were they saying? his brother
as binding him hope for my death!
AUGUSTA, CTvY., JANUARY 2, 1800.
Reginald! oh, Reginald! how I
loved him, and what 1 do suffer !’
She was truly suffering fearfully; the
tears fell over her cheeks, and she dashed
them away impatiently.
“I will not weep, and for him. No! 1 will
crush all love in my heart, if it kills me!
Oh! wretched fool, to let any one to take
possession of my heart thus ; ah! but I
will prove to him that I do not care for
him; if J cannot touch his heart, marble
as it is, I will at least hurt his pride.
Oh! yes; you are very proud, Reginald,
but 1 will humble it! .>nd I have been
deceived, deceived. I L *,ve allowed my
self to he fooled by soft words of love!
But I am not deceived now; no I heard
them myself. His brother said: ‘ I hope
the obstacle to your union with one who
is worthy of you may soon be removed !’
I heard it, and Reginald heard it; helias
deceived and betrayed me. Will they
plot against my life ? will become to me
with honeyed words, and ”
A rap at the door interrupted her.
She paused to crush back her tears, and
smooth her disordered hair, ere she
“ Who is there ?”
“ It is I,” was the answer.
“ And who is I?”
‘‘Your husband,” answered Regie,
“ My husband !” Genie laughed scorn
“ Reginald Sutherland, then, if that
pleases you any better.”
‘‘ And what does Sir Reginald Suther
land want?’ asked'Genie, calmly.
“ I want to come in; open the door.”
There was no answer.
“ Will you not open the door ?”
“ No !” the answer came, short and
“ Why not ?”
“ Because I do not want you in here.”
“ I will not keep 3’ou long, Eugenia;
be kind enough to grant me a few mo
ments,” said Reginald earnstly.
“ I will not!” answered "Genie, reso
“Eugenia, youwillj!” exclaimed Regie.
“I am your husband, though you laugh
the name to scorn, and I demand five
minutes conversation with you. I have
my key in my pocket, and will open the
door myself if you do not.”
There was a moment’s pause, and then
’Genie unlocked the door, saying, as she
“ If you are determined to force your
self into my presence, Sir Reginald, I can
not help it.”
Regie locked the door and put the key
in his pocket befor he answered; then,
going towards her, he attempted to take
her hand. She drew back shuddering.
“ Am I, then, so hateful to 3'ou that
you shudder at my touch ?” asked Regie,
“ I am ready to listen to what yon
have to say,” said ’Genie, coldly.
“ Tell me, ’Genie, why do you treat
me thus ? What has caused this cold
ness ? You loved me once!”
“ Why do you ask me, Reginald ? you
know as well as I do how it commenced ”
“ And how was it, ’Genie?” said Regie,
gently. “ You wounded%ne by your un
kind suspicion; and, must I say it, did
not believe me when 1 explained my
conduct to you. Is not that so ?”
“ No!” answered ’Genie,angrily; “you
avoided me; you shrank from my pres
ence; you would go nowhere with me!
Do you think I was going to sue for your
love ? No! a thousand times no. When
I saw your love waning, I let it go, and
with a mighty effort, crushed my own!”
“ Stop, ’Genic; you wrong me. Why
did I avoid you ? Because I saw that
you preferred the company of Lord
Vernon to mine, I would not mar your
“ I went with him because you would
not go with me; but it matters not now,
it is too late!”
“ Too late, Genie ! then do you no
longer love me ?’’ asked Regie, mourn
“ Have I said ?” was ’Ge
“ Then you wish me to leave you?”
asked Regie, his beautiful eyes misty
“ I do.”
’Genie had great command over her
self, for her heart was crying out in its
wild agony, and she could scarcely keep
the cry from her lips; but she kept re
peating to herself, “ what an actor he is;
1 would believe he were in earnest, had
I not heard what ’Duke said.”
“ Oh! Heaven of mercy! this is al
most more than I can bear!” gasped Re
gie, pressing his hand to his brow. “Oh!
tell me, my wife, is it true that you no
longer love me ?”
For one instant} but only an instant,
’Genie’s warm love burst ail bounds, and
she started forward, but Regie’s next
words checked her.
“ Would you, my own dear love, break
the tie that binds us together, if you
The scene in the library flashed to her
memory, and hastily drawing back, she
answered, “I would!”
Never, in all her life, had Genie said
anything half as false; but the demon
pride was raging in her heart, and urged
“ You mean it, then ?” groaned Regie,
his beautiful face convulsed with anguish.
“ I mean it!”
“ Then, Heaven help me!” moaned
Regie, reeling from the room, and as the
door closed, "Genie fell insensible upon
When Marmaduke was left alone in
the library by Reginald, he rang the bell
and sent a servant for Ormand and
Emily. They came at his call, with
anxious hearts, t
“ Where is Regie !” was Emily’s first
“ Gone to Genic,” answered Marma
duke ; “but it is not of them I would
speak now. I beg of you Emily, not to
judge me harshly; Ormand I know will
not. I have been thinking most earnest
ly of my unfortunate marriage. You
can all see that Amy is very unhappy—
why should this be so? The laws of
England will grant her a divorce, and I
wished to speak with you about it.”
Marmaduke tried to speak calmly, but
his heart throbbed so violently, that he
could scarcely control his voice.
“ You wish, then, for a divorce ?” said
“ Were I to say that I wish it, I would
not be telling truth,” answered ’Duke.
“ But you know, Emily, I married Amy
to make her happy. I find that I cannot
do it, and I am willing to release her
from her vows.”
“ Have you spoken to Amy about this?”
“ Not yet; I thought it best to speak
with you first.”
“ Do you think she will consent?”
“ I think she will be glitd to give up
my name. She told me that the very
name of Sutherland was hatefnl to her,
therefore she will gladly give it up.”
“ Oh !” cried Emily, “did she say that?
Then, indeed, I can excuse her no longer.
Forgive me, ’Duke. I thought ’tvvas
your love had waned, and that you were
willing to get rid of my sister!”
“ Oli! what do you say, Emily ? Can
it be possible that you have so misunder
stood me ? I love Amy with ten-fold
more devotion now than I did a year
ago. Did she love me, I would consider
myself the happiest of men.”
“ And she does not love you ?” asked
“ 1 have reason to believe that she
hates me!” answered ’Duke, in a low
“ This is truly terrible,” said Emily;
“ but, ’Duke, there is one thing you have
forgotten. Though the laws of England
may grant you a divorce, the laws of the
Church will not.”
“ I have not forgotten it, Emily; but
I have hoped that, under the peculiar cir
cumstances, it might be allowed to us.”
“ Perhaps so,”said Emily, musingly;
“ but, a divorce, ’Duke! think what a
stain on the name of Sutherland !”
‘ I have thought of that, too; but I am
willing to sacrifice everything for her.
Why torture me thus, Emily? you must
know that you wring* my heart with re
newed pangs by your words.”
“ I will say no more!” answered Emily.
“Ho to your own room, ’Duke ; we will
speak of this again to-morrow.”
“ As they were about to separate, a
loud, peremptory knock sounded ou the
hall door. They waited to* know who it
might be that demanded admittance at
this late hour of the night. Presently a
servant came to the door.
“ A messenger from tho King,
madame. He wishes to see Sir Reginald.”
Have you taken him in, and given
him-refreshment ?” asked Emily.
“ He has come in, but will take no
thing until he lias seen Sir Reginald.”
“ I will call him,” said Ormand, and
lie went up to Regie’s room. He
knocked, but received no answer, and
finding the door slightly ajar, went in.
Reginald was not there, ’Genie lay upon
the floor in a deep swoon, her fingers tan
gled in her hair, her rich dress crushed
“ Good heavens! here is more trouble.
What can this mean ?” exclaimed Ormand,
lifting her in his arms and placing her
on the bed. The motion roused her, and
she opened her eyes.
“ What is it, ’Genie?” asked Ormand,
bending over her, “shall I call Emily?”
“ No! no!” gasped ’Genie, “stay with
“ What is the matter, ’Genie?”
“ I don’t know; I’m not well.”
“ Where is Reginald?”
“ I don’t know,” said ’Genie, wearily ;
then, with sudden energy, “do not speak
of this, Ormand—promise me that you
will tell no one!”
“Do not excite yourself, ’Genie; I
will not tell any one; I must leave yen
now to seek Reginald; the King has sent
a message to him.”
“ Don’t send any one to me,” mur
“ I will not,” and Ormand went out.
He was soon convinced that Reginald
was not in thv house, and went into the
garden to see him The air was chili,
for it was late in the year, and Ormand
shivered as the cold air fanned his cheek.
Yet, chill as it was, lie found Reginald
seated on one of the garden benches,
with uncovered head and feverish cheek,
courting the cool air.
“ Why, Regie! what on earth arc you
doing out here ? You will kill yourself.’’
“ No danger!” replied Regie lightly.
“ Come in; the King has sent a mes
sage to you, and the messenger will
neither eat nor drink until he has de
“ Ah! he lias sent for me! Ho is in
affliction then. Well, 1 will go him.
Where is ’Duke ? I will ask him to ac
“ ’Duke is in the library, hut I did not
say the King had sent for you, only sent
a message to you.”
“ It is all one,” said Regie; “he would
not have sent any word to me unless he
wished to see me.”
By this time they had entered the
house, and the King’s messenger pre
sented Regie with a sealed which
he opened immediately.
It is as I thought,’ ho said, casting
his eyes over it, and then handing the
paper to Ormand. It contained only a
few words; “Redeem \'our promise.
Come.” ’’ ,
“ Let-us seek ’Duke. I want him to
go with me if he will.”
Emily and ’Duke were still in the