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VOL. I
For the Banner of the South.
The Might of Right-
BY F. FAUNT LE ROY, OF TEXAS.
“Truth is mighty and will prerail.”
fan man strike out the glory of the sun.
Or bush the swelling “music of the spheres” ?
Full panoplied in all of human strength;
With utmost reach of deep and brilliant thought;
With richest stores of learning known to Earth;
With highest gifts, in best of methods ranged;
Can puny man, by any cunning art—
]iy any magic conjuration—raise
And throw around the circle of the Globe,
A midnight shade to darken and destroy
The pure and all absorbing rays of Truth,
Which blaze, in untold brightness, from the Throne
Os Him whose very nature is the Truth ?
Oh! can this pigmy creature of the duet
Plot out for aye the highest attribute
Os Him who is the Monarch of the skies;
Who gave a spark of his unmeasured fire
To dwell a moment with the clod of Earth ?
If nay, then how can fnortal pen describe,
The God defying insolence of men,
With souls deep sunk in ignorance and vice,
Who see no higher power than themselves ?
With hearts by such reflection purified;
With minds informed and ideas unobscured;
With active thought to farthest tension stretched;
To grasp the distance from ourselves to God;
Now let us turn, and from our higher stand,
Look down into the wicked sphere, and view
The base and silly malice of the worms,
All covered with the darkest perjuries.
Who crawled together in the Nation’s seat
To sting the Right to death, and nurture Wrong;
To gnaw down sacred relics of the Past;
In blasphemy and daring arrogance
To chisel out from the eternal slab
The high decrees, immutable, which give
The form and measure of the just and true.
A glance at this accumulated wrong
is shocking to the upright aud the pure.
Ah, reptiles, venomous and vile, your work
Os filth, and sin, and crime, must come*to naught-
Your sting, your hiss, your bate, will but excite
The pity of the men you would impale.
As Adam was expelled by Heaven’s wrath
For guilty yielding to Satanic power,
So you will fly before the angry voice
Os outraged equity and ruptured law.
Oh, not until all reason is benumbed.
And only when the moral sense is lost,
And order gone, and rules are blotted out ;
And not until the Chief of Fiends is King,
And reigns supreme upon the Groat White Throne,
mb Truth bow down her lovely head and die,
In happy Southland flowed true patriot blood,
As proved full oft in temple and in field-
There fundamental law and Truth Divine
lound high regard, and worship pure and free;
here clustered all the sweets of wealth and ease,
And smiling Plenty spread her richest board
ihere austere forms were not allowed to chill
he glow of friendship or the warmth of love;
there grace lent beauty to a lofty pride,
.md awkward meanness never marred the scene.
ai tins but roused the envy of the tribe
w! 108 P ? rill Sol,ls are colder than the snows;
'Hiose little minds were blistered by the thought
nit Southern people stood on higher ground;
» no would tear down all blessings not their own.
p J s< fj' ,,vleil across the line, and filled with hate,
‘eg,m tinir stealthy, dark, and wicked work; .
P malice ripened into running acts,
And not a pulse of shame the demons felt.
'W viehled to the Wrong, but all for naught- ‘
toearanee with such men was proof of fear
my saw no good that was not iu themselves.
; , oppression, borne for sake of Peace,
i reduced its fruit—the bitterness of War.
Atm l . ern lu ‘ aits - though soft, held flames of fire,
W, a thousand bleeding wounds,
h\ t r 1,1 fmißht aR (,nl . v heroes fight.
Gel hnata v 01 mi ™hers, hordes from foreign shores,
nftllve soil, and all impelled
tiiil trj>n h ri V* lo "’ ™ shed t 0 5100,1 antl spoil;
iC primX i niCk thpir da - on? iu tho darlc:
n bora, p ' ve re swallowed in the flame;
AndaiunY 0 ta ?? 8 were fiiled with woe;
And fell to h< ’ rn ; d l' t ' dß of crime were done;
NoU! 1 i 1 "T 1 held revels in ° llr raidst.
That mV. U< l P , ver uum ber all the pangs
\\e stood a,h lacerat ed Southern hearts.
And fought the F lO fri, ' ,U \ throughout the world,
URilt the bends aud all the ills of Earth.
briv; U ) lt Vo is nd "hty and infernal weight,
The b mvn at t mi an , cl hui W legions fell:
And wretch !d !f> * W ? rd of Lee was yielded up,
The Bosme V-A'' ‘ 10 sorrtw stacked their arms;
Wag ] / , A ’ tdat bore a single star
eml lroui »*s peak, and bathed in tears.
And ling d ’ the wron S mU6t he erased,
The gufifv not i r rU . tl ,\ aßain will he enthroned;
HG,iv thl- ur L H llle °rute must fall
Tin SoutiH?^ fom ‘ of Mind;
Gut an tin- .q /■ > ‘ t H 1 Jet lts height regain,
s , w* rte ? 01 onr ra,, e return.
Mill h. the vivi",’ bu ™ lng 011 °ur shields,
And there ™, :dl ' iu °f the change,
C 1 xpress the Triumph of the Right.
I *' ntton for { he Banner of the South.]
The Earls of SHtfierland.
LY bu'ih Fairfax.
?ART;SEOOND.
chapter XVII.
... ] CONTINUED. 1
M, . 1
I lie ' * vni g on his bod, his face
I.:. ’ , ‘ l .°l ,S of agony bedewing his
go i 1 ca! tl wns pained to see the
a, '-; V A ' ,l;u a( l htbf-n place in him
two hours.
Vfilli;!)., t faithful friend?” said
]?.I" v. extending his hand to
V -in"; wo ; ii l< , n,i over - Reginald, and I,
:‘w>r cue in the world.
am now the most wretched ! \ou knew
my Mary, Reginald—you know what I
have lost !”
“\ou are too kind !” murmured Regi
nald ; ‘I can never forgive myself for mv
harsh words.
“It is all past, and forgiven ; let it be
forgotten Ido not blame you, Regie;
I should have told you all, and advised
with you. Hist ! bend nearer,” whispered
William ; “the Master of Stair knew my
secret V*
“Ah !” exclaimed Regie; “why did you
not tell me this ! I would have found a
way to silence his traitorous tongue !”
“Hush ! we are observed ! Go, leave
rhe now. I have kept you here too lone,
already. Go, I would be alone with my
grief. The Heaven that protects you
will preserve you; you will not take this
disease/’
Reginald bowed over the King’s hand.
“Do not return,” said William; “go
home now. lam assured of your for
giveness, am I not ?”
“It is I who should implore forgive
ness,” said Reginald ; “you have been
kind enough to say, ‘let the past be for
gotten’—let it be so.”
One more warm clasp of the hand, and
the King was left alone with his physi
cian.
Never was sovereign lamented as was
the gentle Mary; not only was she dearer
than life to her husband’s heart, hut very
dear to her people. A vast crowd, clad
in black, followed the magnificent coffin
of purple and gold to its last resting
place. Stricken down in the prime of
her youth and beauty,’the young Queen
was laid to rest among her kindred, leav
ing her heart-broken husband to mourn
a few short years, and then he laid by
her side.
Bitterly reproaching himself for the
harsh words he had used to the King two
years before, Reginald returned to the
Hotel, where Duke was waiting for him.
“Let us not return home immediately,”
said ’Duke; “we might take the infection
there.”
So they remained iu London.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Two weeks passed. London was in
mourning, and there were but few fash
ionable amusements offered to the public.
Eugenia had not come to the city for the
season, as it was likely to be a dull one;
but, to compensate for the loss of the
city pleasures, she had invited a few of
her fashionable friends to Sutherland
Hall. Lord Vernon had not returned to
the city.
There was now no danger of carrying
the dreaded small-pox to the Wall, and
yet Reginald and Marmaduke lingered in
London ! Neither of them cared to of
fend the eyes of their dearly loved wives
by their presence. ’Duke wished to
leave Amy as tree as possible: Reginald
felt afraid to trust his temper while in the
presence of the young Earl of Hastings.
One word from ‘Genie would have re
called him to his home : one word regret
ting his absence, and gladly would he
have returned to her; hut it came not.
Letters, plenty of them, from Orrnand,
Emily, and Arthur; hut none from Amy
or Eugenia.
Emily sent for them to he present at a
grand hall she Lad prepared at Eugenia's
request; but they did not heed it. The
first of February came, and with it a let- {
ter from Ormaud to ‘Duke. “ Come i
home,” he wrote; “Amy is not well—has !
not*been for some time—something evi- j
dently preys on her mind ; come, and we j
will speak of that matter which engaged !
our attention when you were called away." I
'Duke showed the letter to Reginald, '
and they determined to return "to the j
Hall immediately.
“i wiii see the King fur a few mo-';
menU, said Regie ; and as we have but :
ic\\ preparations to make, we can start i
this evening.’ 7
William's door was ever open to RooU !
mild, and no time was lost in seeking an :
AUGUSTA, G_A_., JANUARY 9, 1869.
interview. Their farewells were soon
over, and going to his private desk, the
King drew from it a heavy packet, which
he handed to Reginald.
“Accept this trifling reminder of my
love,” said he, in a low voice, “and be
lieve, my truest and dearest of friends,
that, however unfortunate I have been in
proving it, lam not ungrateful. Do not
think that I intend this as a reward for
your services. I can never reward them.
I ( nly you to accept it as a token of
the love of—Monmouth.”
“Whatever it may be, I accept it joy
fully from your hand,” answered Regie,
also speaking very softly, “and I will
cherish it to the latest hour of my life,”
“And hand it down to your children,
will you not ?” asked William, smiling.
“Oh ! my Lord ! ’ ejaculated Reginald.
‘ What is it, my friend ?” asked the
King, anxiously.
“Nothing, nothing,” said Regie, si rhino’
deeply.
“Nothing ? and yet you sigh so mourn
fully; come, Reginald, tel! me what it
'is ?”
“Indeed, it is nothing that I can tell
your Majesty,’ 7 answered Regie.
“ r I hen promise me that my present
shall'be handed down to your children,”
said William.
“My children ! aye, it I ever have
any,” said Reginald, turning away.
“Rut why do you say it in such a
tone ?” asked the King.
“Pardou me, your Majesty,” said Regi
nald, turning imploringly to the King;
“pardon me for betraying sorrow to
you, and thus annoying you with an
anxious thought. Pardon *ine, and—do
not question me.”
~“I will not press you, Reginald, said
William, kindly; “but if I can do any
thing for you at any time, remember that
l will be only too glad to do it.”
“I will remember !” answered Regie,
and, concealing the packet which he had
received from the King in his bosom, he
once more hade William farewell.
Short, as was the time he had been
away, lie found Marmaduke with every
arrangement made for their departure.
“Just get me a glass of wine, first! 77
said Regie, wearily throwing himself into
a chair; “I really feel the need of it !”
'Duke poured out a glass of wine, and
handed it to him, Reginald sipped it
slowly, gazing upon the floor with a far
away look in his eyes, as if his thoughts
were wandering.
’Duke looked mournfully upon his
handsome young brother, and mourned
to see the beauty of his face so marred by
sorrow.
“V hat did the King say to you ! 77 he
asked, more for the purpose of rousing
Reginald than a desire of hearing what
the King said. •
“Nothing in particular. 7 ’
“No regrets that you were going
away ?”
“\es: and here”—Regie took the
packet from his bosom—“lie gave me
this.”
“What is it?’ 7 asked ’Duke, taking it.
“I am sure I don’t know. Open it, if
you wish to, he requested me to accept it
as a token of his love, and to hand it
down to my children.”
Duke broke the heavy seals. The
outer cover contained too small packages,
one very heavy, addressed to the “Coun
tess of Clare,” and closely sealed; the
other was a folded parchment; and be
tween them there lay a sealed letter, on
which was written, in . the King’s own
writing, “Reginald SuAerland, Earl of
Clare.”
'Duke unfolded the pajr-hment, glanced
over it. and then looked smilingly at
Reginald.
“Have vou any idea what this is,
Regie?”
“Not the least in the world,” said Regi
nald, indifferently.
“Look there!” ’Duke ludd the letter j
before his brother’s eyes, and Regie re- :
pealed the address aloud :
Sutherland, Earl of Clare.”
What is it Duke—what does the King
mean ?”
*‘Oh ! nothing, nothing in the world;
you are now an Earl, Earl of Clare, that
is all ; nothing worth speaking of, you
see !” said ’Duke, laughing.
Nothing, indeed !” said Regie, push
ing the papers away from him.
“But you surely did not understand
me, Regie,” exclaimed ’Duke, the smile
vanishing from his face; “did you hear
what I said The King has created you
Earl of Clare; and see, here is a package
for Eugenia; it is addressed, ‘Countess of
Clare !”
“Ah ! yes, Eugenia, it will please her,
will it not, brothef ? The coronet will
become her; is it not so ?”
“Os course, it will please her; save it
for a birthday gift—only a month, you
know," suggested ’Duke, glad to see his
brother show a little animation.
1 will—come, let us he gone,” ex
claimed Regie, with feverish energy; “I
long to hear what she will say. Are you
sure it will please her, ’Duke?”
“Why do you doubt it ? What woman
would not he pleased to grace her fair
brow with a coronet ?’’
But, oven while lie spoke, the memory
of one woman, who fok the weight of a
coronet as an iron hand, on brow and
heart, chilled his heart with a cold terror.
“Would Amy ( ’ asked Regie, as if he
read his brother’s thought.
“No; Amy does not value it, because
its lustre is dimmed by the shadow of
my name. The name of Sutherland is
hateful to her !”
And ’Gcnio may scorn my offering for
the same reason,” said Reginald, turning
away.
Duke gathered up his brother’s papers,
and they went down to the carriage.
chapter xix.
Leaving the carriage at the Park gates,
’Duke and Reginald walked up to the
house. The drawing-room was a blaze
of light, and the brothers paused on the
broad piazza to contemplate for an instant
the brilliant scene.
Radiantly beautiful as usual, Eugenia
stood the centre of an admiring group.
Soft pearls gleamed in her hair, and lay
imbedded in waves of lace on bosom
and arms. But, beautiful as she was,
there was a look of unrest in her eyes,
that could not but pain the careful ob
server.
Reginald contemplated his lovely wife
with feelings of love and pride. ’Duke
was thinking that he had not seen so
cheerful a look on his face for some time,
when it suddenly died away, and a
shadow crept over his brow.
“Come, let us go to your room; we
will change our dress, and go into the
drawing-room,” said Reginald, pulling his
brother away from the window.
“I will take ’Genie by surprise,” he
said*to himself; “if she loves me, if she
is glad to see me, she will betray it.
She does not expect me.”
Your plan might do very well, indeed,
Reginald, if no one had seen you, but
Emily was standing very near the win
dow, and heard 3011 when you spoke to
'Duke. Making her way to Eugenia’s
side, Emily whispered in her ear. ’Genie
was taken by surprise, and she did be*,
tray herself; but, alas! Regie was not there
to see the glad smile break over her
face, and the joyful look in her eyes.
Had Reginald been present then, lie must
have seen, what he so longed to see, a
loving smile on her lips.
Hut he was not there, and, by the time
he came, Genie had conquered all agita
tion ; eye, lip, and voice were under
her command. He came up behind her,
bowing to the guests as ho went, but
going straight towards ]p*r. ’Genie was
waiting for him. She felt that he was
near her, and yet moved not. His hand
was extended to touch her, when she
spoke to the gentleman at her side.
Yes, certainly, my lord, it will give
me great pleasure to go with you. Let—”
“Madame !” Reginald was bowing
before her.
“Ah ! Sir Reginald !” said ’Genic,
carelessly, though her heart gave a
great bound at the sound of his" voice,
and extending the tips of her fingers to
Regie, she turned again to Lord Vernon.
“As I was saying, Lord Vernon, let us
go early, that we may have -the whole day
before us.”
Dear reader, do you expect me to ex
cuse Eugenia? I cannot do it; I only
tell you what she did, and, as nearly as
I can, what she thought. \ou have heard
what she said ; now I will tell you what
she felt. When she turned so coldly
away from ’Regie, she felt that she would
have sacrificed anything, except her pride,
to be folded for one brief moment to his
heart. Never had she loveiF him more
deeply than in that moment, and she
almost held her breath to hear what he
would say in answer to her cruel recep
tion.
Reginald felt as if a hand of ice had
been laid upon his heart; hut he gave no
sign. Lifting her fingers coldly, hut
courteously, to his lips, he released them,
and asked, in a calm voice*with a pleasant
smile :
“You are preparing some excursion of
pleasure, are you not ?”
Eugenia’s self-possession had nearly
deserted her; hut, with one mighty effort,
she conrpiered her emotion, and an
swered :
“Yes, we are going to the Falls, where
Amy and I went, oh ! ever so long ago.
llow is the King ? Why, it is an age
since 1 have seen you ! Do you not fiud
these rooms insufferably warm, Lord
Vernon ?”
“Let us go into the garden,” replied
Vernon, offering her his arm. Gracefully
resting her hand upon it, ’Genie waved
her fan at Reginald, and moved away.
“It is almost too warm to dance,” said
Reginald, going up to Emily; “hut if you
can persuade any one to join me, I think
I would like it.”
“No need of persuasion,” answered
Emily; “these giddy young folks are
always ready to dance. Go, choose your
partner; I will let the others know.”
“Oh ! how Regie’s heart ached as he
led his partner in the gay dance, but who
would have guessed it, while looking at
his smiling brow? Not Eugenia, who
was now standing at the upper end of the
room, wishing with all her hear that the
guests were quietly in their rooms, and
she at liberty to seek her own. But she
did not betray thD feeling in her looks;
no, she smiled upon the young E ;rl at
her side, and listened to his flattering
words, as if they were the sweetest music
to her ears. Shall we tell the truth?
She scarcely heard what lie was saving.
She looked around for Emily, hoping that
she would relieve her; but Emily had
stolen away unperceived, to see Duke
for a moment. He had sent her word
that he felt too weary to join her in tiie
drawing-room, and she wished 9* assure
herself that he v.a- well.
And so the h airs crept away. ‘Genie
had never found :::? evening so long. Rut
it was gone, at la-t.
The latest linger r in the drawing-room
had left it, and Eugenia was free.
Hastening to her room, she exchanged
her heavy dress fur a loose dress, that she
thought far more becoming, loosened the
rich braids of her hair, and brushed it
into heavy ringlets. Then she sat down
to wait for Reginald. The sound of
closing doors had long since ceased, and
still he came not At last, she heard his
step; he was coming; he reached her door,
paused a moment, passed it, and entered
the next room !
CHAPTER XX.
One morning, about a week a! <*r their
| return, 'Duke, Genie, Reginald, and
i Lord Vernon, were sitting in the garden.
]STo. 4:3.