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2 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