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VOL. L [For the Banner of the South.] Reverie— I The Old Year and the New. BY MOINA. 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 worn. 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 skies. 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 relief 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. PART^SECOND. CHAPTER XIII. . ( [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. “ Regie!” 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 him. “ 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 ’Duke’s shoulder. “ 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 late.” “ 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 lease you.” 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 asked : “ Who is there ?” “ It is I,” was the answer. “ And who is I?” ‘‘Your husband,” answered Regie, softly. “ My husband !” Genie laughed scorn fully. “ 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 cold. “ 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 lutely. “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 did so: “ 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, mournfully. “ 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 pleasure.” “ 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 fully. “ Have I said ?” was ’Ge nie’s answer. “ Then you wish me to leave you?” asked Regie, his beautiful eyes misty with feeling. “ 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 could ?” 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 her on. “ 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 the floor. CHAPTER XIV. 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 question. “ 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 Emily, hotly. “ 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?” asked Ormand. “ 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 Emily. “ 1 have reason to believe that she hates me!” answered ’Duke, in a low voice. “ 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 beneath her. “ 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 me.” “ 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 mured ’Genie. “ 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 livered it.” “ 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 company me.” “ ’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 No. 42.