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All the other guests were gone, and now
Lord Vernon was speaking of going, also.
“I have already trespassed on your
hospitality too long/' he said.
“By no means,” replied ’Genie; “you
have helped us to pass pleasantly what
would have otherwise been a dreary
time.”
Scarcely knowing what he did, Rcgi
nald plucked a solitary rose from its stem,
and handed it to 'Genie. She took it
with a glance of surprise, but said
nothing.
“But the longest visit must end at
last,” said Lord Vernon; “and, as I expect
to leave to-morrow, will you not walk
with me in the garden once more ?”
“Oh ! yes,” answered ’Genie, rising
immediately, and walking away with
him.
“To-morrow!” ejaculated Regie ; “well,
1 wish to-morrow were already here !”
“It soon will be,” answered ’Duke;
and, with my consent, yon conceited Earl
will never enter this house again. You
have not yet told Eugenia of the package
given you by the King—have you, Regi
nald ?”
“No, I have not thought of it since I
came home. Let it rest for a day or two
longer. If she—”
He paused suddenly ; his eyes seemed
turning to stone, so fixed and glassy was
their stare.
“What is it ?” asked ’Duke.
“Look there?”
’Duke’s eyes followed the motion of iiis
brothel ’s hand.
Away off among the trees, stood Euge
nia. Lord Vernon was bending over her;
they could not hear what he said ; but he
seemed to be asking a favor, from his
pleading attitude.
And what did she do ? She took a
rose from her bosom—the rose that Regi
nald had given to her a few moments be
fore—and, iirst pressing it to her lips,
gave it into Vernon’s hand. Her words
did not reach Reginald’s'ear ; but she
said: «
“You beg this rose so earnestly, Lord
Vernon, that it would look foolish forme
to refuse it ; but, as it was my husband’s
gift, 1 will press it to my lips before 1 let
it go.’’
And he took the rose, saying :
“And, as you have touched it with
your lips, I will press it to mine, also.”
And he did.
“Do you mean that as an impertinence,
sir?” asked Eugenia, jhaughtily.
“Dear lady, no—upon my honor, no—
I but did it in jest !” said Vernon,
anxiously.
But let us return to Reginald.
When ’Genic kissed the rose, and
handed it to Vernon, Regie grasped his
brother’s arm as if he had fingers of iron;
but when Vernon kissed it also, and put
it in his bosom, he sprang to his feet with
such a wild fury in his eyes, that ’Duke
clasped his hand tightly.
“By Heaven ! that Js more than I can
bear!” he said, in a ] furious tone; “I
•will make the insolcnjt fool pay dearly for
his impertinence !” (
“Calm yourself,
“do nothing rashly; Have patience a few
moments.”
“Have patience !” thundered Reginald,
vainly striving to /pose his brother's
hand from his; “halve I not had pa
tience !”
“But, Eugenia ; think of her!” urged
Duke.
“I do nothing but think of her !” an
swered Regie ; “I think of her until lam
almost mad with thinking! Would that
I could forget her ! Let me go, brother,
let ine go !”
“Not now ; not while you arc thus be
side yourself with passion. Come into 1
the house with me for an hour—aftcr
tliat, I will let you do as you wish.”
“Only release me now for live min
utes !” said Reginald! pale as death, and
trying to wring Ids hand out of his
brother’s; “Let me g£, 'Duke, or you will
make me very angry with you !”
“Better, even th<«, than that you
should regret a hasty action all the rest
of your life. It I wprc to let you go,
Reginald, you would kill Lord Y ernon!”
said ’Duke.
“Kill him! yes, I would kill him, as
quickly as I would any other venomous
serpent!”
“But, see, lie is gone, now, and Genie
is crojng to the house/ try to calm your
self.”
“Let me go to her then,” gasped Regie,
trembling violently.
“You, surely, would not hurt her ?”
asked ’Duke.
“Hurt her ! no, I think not; I don’t
know. Let us go in, ’Duke. I will go
away from here; I cannot, I will not,
■ bear this any longer ! I will go away,
yes, to-morrow ! The King is preparing
for war ; I will offer him my services ; he
knows me ; lie will be glad to have me
by his side ; who knows, some stray ball
may lay me low 1”
“ Come, then!” answered ’Duke,
“there is nothing to prevent you—you
can go at any time.”
“And you will see that every thing is
prepared for my departure, will you not,
brother ? lam totally unfit for it.”
“I will arrange everything—do not
troubfe yourself.”
They were walking towards the house
now, and Reginald was outwardly calm.
“But do you think we can leave to-mor
row, Regie !”
“I think not; 1 have some matters to
arrange that may detain me a couple of
days ”
“But you will see about it immediate
ly, will you not?” asked Regie, anxiously.
“Immediately !” replied ’Duke ; and
leaving Reginald at the door of his room,
he went to seek Emily, and finding her,
requested her to bring Ormand to the
library, whither he was going.
“And now,” said 'Duke, when Ormand
had closed the door; “now tha t we are
alone, we will speak of the matter that
brought me home. I can get a divorce ;
but it is necessary first to get Amy’s
formal consent. Os course, wc know
that she is anxious to be released from
this hateful bond ; but, for the law, we
must have her formal request, in
writing.”
“And must this really be ?” asked
Emily ; “is there no way to avoid it ?”
“None that I know of, unless she will
be content to wait a little while, and
take the chance of my being killed in.
battle,” said ’Duke mournfully.
“In battle ! what do you mean ?’’ cried
Emily.
“Regie and myself arc going to offer
ourselves to King William,” answered
’Duke ; “he is preparing for war, and
will be glad to have us.”
“Regie, also ! no, no,” said Emily; “I
will persuade him not to go.”
“You had better not,” replied ’Duke ;
“it is true, he may fall in battle, but if he
stays here, he may do much worse.”
“How! what do you mean ?’’ asked
both Emily and Ormand at the same mo
ment.
“I will tell you tiuly,” said ’Duke,
earnestly; “Lord Yernon’s life is not
worth an hour’s purchase, so long as
Reginald is near him !”
“Good Heavens ! can it be possible !”
exclaimed Ormand ; “alas ! I have feared
this ; Eugenia surely does not know what
she is doing. Let him go, by all means,
and you, ’Duke, release Amy before you
go ; lor, if you do not, lam persuaded
that you will throw away your life, that
she may be free.”
“Where is Amy—l will go,” said
’Duke, faintly, and clasping the back
of his chair; “I will go to her and tell
her.”
“My dear brother, spare yourself this
trial ; it will be almost more than you
can bear,” said Ormand, gently. “Let me
go to her, ’Duke ; her coldness will but
wound your heart still more sorely.”
’Duke shook his head.
“No, Ormand, I will tell her myself;
I know that I am showing my weakness
now; but, before I goto her, I will so
control my feelings, that she will not
know that I feel at all. She does not
love me ; but I know her tender heart;
she would not give pain to a worm, if she
could help it, still less would she give
pain to me, whom she might have loved
as a brother, had I only been content,
and not forced her into this marriage,
which is hateful to her.”
“I blame myself greatly,” said Emily,
sadly ; “I urged her to accept your
hand, ’Duke, aud 1 now feel the great in
justice which I have done you. I regret
it, but it is too late. I never shall cease
to reproach myself. But, if she does
not love you, ’Duke, she docs not hate
you. You wrong her there, llow could
she hate yeu, kind and tender as you
have ever been to her ?”
“She does not hate me, you say; why,
then, did she say that the very name of
Sutherland was hateful to her
Emily could not answer; and resolutely
crushing back the hot tears that were
willing up to his eyes, ’Duke left the
room, to announce to Amy that he was
willing, and able, to give her a divorce.
And now again darkly lowered the
cloud of sorrow over the house of Suther
land. Once again were the hearts of its
noble sons wrung with anguish—true
hearts, deserving of a far better fate.
But every cloud has a silver lining. XiCt
us hope that this dark one may turn its
silvery side towards our dear friends, the
Earifcfof Surrey and Clare.
[to be continued.]
For the Banner of the South.
A DIADEM.
There is a diadem on the face of the
Earth which transends in beauty, purity,
and grandeur, anything ever before
formed by mortal hands; and this
was constructed, gem by gem, by strong
brave hearts and willing human hands,
though none can doubt that an indulgent
Father aided in the perfection of this
wondrous masterpiece of patience and
perseverance. Kings and Queens may
boast of priceless wowns in which the.
diamond sparkles, the emerald glistens,
the topaz, the amethyst, and the deep
hued ruby glow. They may be beauti
ful, but placed side by side with our Dia
dem, their charms would be as cheerless
as a starless night, as lustreless as a sun
less day. These crowns may have c >st
untold treasure, but ours was purchased
at a far greater price. In exchange for
it were given livers of blood and tears,
multiplied years of toil and self sacrifice,
struggles with hunger, snow, sleet and
ice, in tattered clothes and shoeless leet.
And not only this wifes were widowed,
children orphaned, homes laid waste, and
country desolated in the course of its
construction. But our Diadem was not
all they sought. It was the legitimate
reward of their toil whether successful or
unsuccessful, and in the end that which
the Diadem would have crowned with a
halo of perpetual glory was lost —lost —
after all their weary struggling for pos
session and perpetuation —lost, but let
us hope not for time and eternity. Those
who hold the priceless heritage may per
chance, at some future day, find or win
that which gave it a place among treas
ures. Oh, ye who have the sacred charge,
it faithfully, and prize it above all
things save life eternal or the glory of
God. We look in vain in our Diadem
fora diamond, a ruby, or an amethyst, yet
it is brighter far than any of these, and its
its setting far more precious; tor although
they have been gathered together in one
“great harmonious whole,” each seperate
jewel is enshrined in a million of living
human hearts.
Thi/ treasure is mine—is yours —and
all haYe a share in its ownership who
agree fVith our country’s ensigns namesake
—and' it is composed of 11 The heroic
deeds of Patriots /”
We loved our cause in the day of its
triumph ; we have loved it more passion
ately, more reverently since the bitter,
bitter end, and we regard the noble band
who fought beneath the stars and bars, a
galaxy of heroes, and their glorious
deeds are to us as apples of gold in pic
tures of silver, suspended upon the walls
of memory, before which we, in contem
plation, with holy, sacred reverence, love
to linger. And though our hearts may
grow sad, and our eyes dim and moist,
when the memory of a past day is re
called; that dreary, dreary day, on which
we first knew that, after years of unpre
cedented courage, the illustrious few
had yielded to the conquering host.
Wc have learned to wear the yoke right
royally, and to turn for consolation and
true enjoyment to our invaluable and im
perishable heritage—The Diadem of the
Great Lost Cause. Nilica Rivers.
For the Banner of the Seuth.
“IT IS FINISHED ”
BY ZEPHYR.
These were the last words of our ex
piring Saviour, as upon the brow of Cal
vary His wicked enemies put him to an
ignominious death. The cross, the crown
of plaited thorns, the blood flowing from
His precious side—all, all rise before us,
and we wonder how we can be so per
verse, so unmindful ot the cause ot all
His sufferings. “It is finished?” What
was finished? The great work that God
had commissioned Him to do; He had
finished the work to which he was appoint
ed. Oh, How he suffered to save human
souls, and yet we slight His love; we for
get His agony; His pierced, bleeding
side! Kind Saviour, teach us to be more
like Thee; more self sacrificing, more
gentle, more humble. These words are
applicable to every phase of life. The
wee, prattling child of a few summers,
after the weary day has closed, gathers to
gether its little toys, and says: “my sport
for the day has ended; ‘it is finished!’”
The young student, wliq for a number of
years has trimmed the minnight lamp in
pursuit of knowledge, has, at last, after
much labor and research, gained a high
round upon the ladder of fame, and he
exclaims: “at last, at last,‘it is finished!’
and I am tree from school restraints, and
at liberty to act as 1 choose.” The weary
matron busily plys her needle; she thinks
that there is no end to woman’s work;
but on Saturday night, after a weeks hard
toil, how happy must she feel while utter
ing the words: “011, how thankful 1 am
that to-morrow is the holy Sabbath; my
weeks work is ended, and 1 can sit down
with a happy, contented heart. W hat
say’st thou, old grey haired pilgrim?
Hast thou fulfilled thy days on earth ?
Is thy long life drawing to a close ? “It
is finished!” Yes, and canst thou give
a good account of thy stewardship on
earth? Will it be well pleasing unto
the Lord? Weary old pilgrim, well
may’st thou exclaim: “It is finished!”
Kind Heavenly Father, teach us to walk
in the path of righteousness ; our paths
are slippery, and but for Iby sustainirg
hand we*will “fall by the wayside.”
Bring light to our understanding, for if
we grope in the blackness of darkness
there will be none to guide us, unless
Thou, oh Blessed Saviour, will lead us
aright. Teach us the way, the truth and
the light, that when our work on earth is
finished, we may enter the abodes of bliss,
and sing hallalujahs to the Lamb of God,
that taketh awav the sins of the world.
“Willow Glen,” Dec, I*2/4, 18G8.
LETTERS FROM OUR oW~ CORRES
PONDENT.
Savannah, Dec. 29, 1868.
Dear Danner :
I trust that you have had a merry
Christmas, and that all your subscribers
will “pay up,” thereby causing a “Happy
New Year.” So far as your friend Ruth
is*concerned, the merry part of Christ
mas was a perfect failure. I had de
termined to have a merry time, and those
redoubtable deer hunters having come
in from the country, all was going on
smoothly; egg-nogg was in demand;
Marita Claus had knocked at the door
several times, vanishing instantly, but
always leaving something behind him;
and one of those modern Nimrods was
amusing himself by tying up a bundle of
sand, as a Christmas for your humble
servant, when the door was suddenly
opened, a pale, blood-stained face was
suddenly thrust in, and a trembling
voice cried: “Oh! mother!” You may
well believe our fun was spoiled, and
after the first confusion was over, we
managed to elicit the following facts :
One of the 3’ounger brothers bad been
sent, after tea, to the toy store, with a
message for Santa Claus. Ashe reached
the corner of Liberty and Drayton streets,
he was set upon by three or four United
States soldiers, knocked down, and
robbed, the thieves even taking awat his
hat and shawl. The matter was reported
at the police and military Barracks, but
no further notice was taken of the affair.
By all means, “let us have peace!”
I had hoped that the “Grecian Bend”
would not become epidemic in onr city;
but that hope has been doomed to disap
pointment. I went to church Sunday,
and my attention was attracted by the
rustling of a dress worn by a lady who
came in rather late. She walked slowly
up the middle aisle, her dress looped in
many a heavy fold, and an enormous
something on her back. She reached
her pew door, her knee was bowed in
adoration before the altar, but her head
was turned aside to see if the “Bend”
was all right. The sight presented to my
eye suggested the following question to
my mind: Is the “Grecian Bend” com
patible with the service of God ? I may
be wrong, butl think it is not; for, surely
one can never be entirely forgetful of self
with that hideous creation of vanity rest
ing on the back. Let us have simple
attiro in the house of God, and if we
bend'our heads toward the ground let it
be in humility, and not for fashion sake.
How inappropriate, to see these fashion
decked forms, bowing in worship before
our lowly Saviour! lam very old fash
ioned; we old people cling to the forms of
bygone days with a strong grasp. Who
knows but that, if my hair was still
brown, and my eyes bright with the fire
of youth, I also might be tempted to
make a camel of, Yours truly,
Ruth Fairfax.
REMAINS OF POMPEII.
Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, last year made
journey to Greece, passing through many
of the most interesting portions of
Europe. A written record of her obser
vations during the trip has been published
by Messrs Lee & Shepard, of Boston,
under the title of: From the Oak to the
Olive. The following passages are from
the account <jtf her visits to the Pompeian
department of the museum at Naples and
to Pompeii itself:
“The Pompeian bronzes and mosaics
arc rich in number and in interest. Two
tablets in mosaics especially detain us,
from their representation of theatrical
subjects. One of these shows the mana
ger surrounded by several of his actors,
to whom he dispenses the various imple
ments of their art. At his feet, in a
basket, lie the comic and tragic masks.
Os the personages around him, one is
pulling on his garments, another is try
ing the double tubes of a wind instrument.
The second mosaic presents a group of
three closely draped figures. Actor is
written on their faces, though we know
not the scene they enact. The bronzes
are numerous and admirable. Miniature
art seems to have been in great esteem,
among the Pompeians. Must of these
figures are of small size, and suggest a
florid and detailed style of adornment.
Among other objects, we are shown the
semicircular model of a Pompeian bath,
on which are arranged the ornaments,
and water-fixtures just as the}’ were found
One of these imitates a rampant lion
standing on his hind legs, and deliver
ing water from his mouth; another, a
serpent nearly upright. In the upper
story of the museum we see whole rooms
floored with mosaic pavements, removed
entire from houses in Pompeii. The
patterns are mostly in black and white
but of an endless variety. The contents
of these rooms match well in interest
with their pavements. Here, in glass
cases, are carefully ranged, and present
ed the tools and implements of Pompei
an life; the loaves that never left the
baker’s shop, still fresh and puffy in out
line , although calcined in substance; the
jewels and silver vessels of the wealthy,
the painter’s colors, the workman’s
needles and thread; baths and braziers
armor in bronze, and in iron, scarcely
more barbaric than that of the middle
ages; helmets, with clumsy metal net
work guarding the spaces for the ejes;
spades, cooking utensils in great variety,
fruits and provisions as var.’“**s. Among
the bronze utensils, is a pretty and eco
nomical arrangement, which furnishes at
at once hot water, a lire of coals to heat
the* room, with the convenience of per
forming at the same time the solemn
rites of cookery. Hot water, both for
bathing and drinking, seems to have
been a great desideratum with the Pom
peians. The stone cameos, and engraven
gems are shown in rows under glass
cases. This museum contains a well
known tazza, or fiat cup, of onyx entire,
elaborately curved in cameo on either
side. It also possesses a vast double
glass, of which the outer or white layer
lias been cut, like a cameo, into the most
delicate and elaborate designs. The latter
is an object of unique interest and value,
as is shown by the magnificence with
which it lias been mounted on a base of
solid silver, the whole being placed
under glass. * * *
“To the gates of Pompeii you ily
partly by steam, and partly by horse aid.
* * * Here was the house of
Diomed, rich and very extensive. The
skeleton of Diomed, (as is supposed,) was
found at the garden-gate, with the key of
the house, and a purse of money In one
of the subterranean rooms is shov\ n the
impression of his wile’s figure, merely a
darker mark on a dark wall. Seventeen
similar impressions were found. I think
it is in this house that the walls of one of
the rooms have an under coating of lead,
to keep the moisture from frescos, which
are still brilliant. The luxe of fountains
was, as is known, great and universal in
Pompeii, and the arrangement ot the
leaden conduits is ample and skillful.
Besides the well known frescos, with
their airy figures and brilliant coloring,
we are shown a bath, whose vaulted root
is adorned with stucco reliefs, arranged
in small medallions, octagons alternating
with squares. * * *
“We are shown the quattro morli—
the four dead bodies whose impress on
the hardened cinders which surrounded
them has been so ingeniously utilized,
it is known that the masses of cinder
within which these bodies had slowly
mouldered were tilled with liquid plaster,
and the forms of the bodies themselves,
writhing in their last agonies, were thus
obtained. One of these figures —that 0!
a young woman—is lull ol pathetic
expression. She lies nearly on her tace,
her hand near her eyes, as it weeping.
Her back, entirely exposed, has the fresh
and smooth outline of youth. Ihe forms
of two elder women and one man com
plete the sad gallery. Os these women,
one wears upon her finger a silver ring,
the plaster having just fitted within it
This figure and that of the man are both
swollen, probably from the decompos lion
that took place before the crust ot ashes
hardened around them into the rigid
mould which, to-day, gives us their
outlines.”
The Gulf Stream. —There is a rivet
in the ocean. In the severest drouths it
never fails, nor in the mightiest Hoods
overflows; its banks, and its bottom arc
of cold water; while its current is ot
warm. The Gulf of Mexico is its foun
tain, and its mouth is in the Arctic Sea.
It is the Gulf Stream. There is in toe
world no other so majestic a flow 01
water. Its current is more rapid than the
Mississippi, or the Amazon, and its vol
ume more than a thousand times greater.
Its waters, as far out as the < aroiina
coasts, are of an indigo blue. They are
so distinctly marked that the hue 1
junction with the common sea wamr nrq
be traced by the eye. Often, one-halt <>.
the vessels may be perceived floating 11
the Gulf Stream water, while the ot;a
half is in the common water ot the se e
so sharp is the line and want ot ailnup
between these waters* and such, too, th'
reluctance, so to speak, on the p alt f
those of the Gulf Stream, to mingle w m
the common water of the sea. In !Ul |
tion to this, there is another pecmiai i.e
The fishermen on the coast otNonwo a
supplied with wood from the tropic*. ;
the Gulf Stream. Think ot the
fishermen burning upon their health.'* > -
palm of liayti, the mahogany of B :
ras, and the precious woods of the Ani
zon, and Orinoco I