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*** ~.., iir lI I i- r L ,_ ~~ —— — ~ A jf >. «.- M , , H-, UTI iißirii—ii «w !■ V J M'\a * - #7 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.