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now Eugenia stood before her husband
lovelier than ever. .
Merciful heaven !” thought dc \ ere,
I,is eyes fastened upon the silvery curls;
“what lias caused this ?
“Wbat is it, mama V’ asked Regiuald,
claspinir her baud ; “you, too, note the
Count’s likeness to papa, do you not ?”
“Yes,” murmured the Countess; “I
have heard my’ brothers speak of it; but
I dreamed not it was so remarkable 1”
She fell rather than sat on her chair,
and her son bent over her.
“Nay, now, mama,” he murmured,
“look not so mournful, or the Count will
feel himself an unwelcome guest.”
“But he must not feel so; he is wel
come,” answered the Countess, again
giving her hand to dcVerc. “The Count
will pardon me, I know, particularly if he
has ever lost a loved one !”
“I have, Madame, years ago; yet the
pain is as sharp now as ’twas the day
I lost my love,” answered de Yere.
“Ah ! then, you know what I feci,
Count. Will you remain with us long ?”
“Until lam called to battle for my
King,” answered de Yerc.
The Countess clenched her hand tight
ly. and Reginald whispered to the Count:
“Do not speak of battles ; papa was
killed in war.”
“I am, indeed, most unfortunate,” said
de Yere, “my face serves hut to recall
unpleasant memories.”
“Youcannot recall that which is never
absent,” said the Countess, mournfully;
“I have never forgotten him for one
hour.”
“You have done wrong to bring me
here, Reginald, and I had better retire,”
said de Yere, in great agitation.
“But you will return, will you not,
Count V : said the Countess.
“If your ladyship will permit me,” an
swered de Yere.
“I will be most happy to see you,” re
plied the lady, and so they parted. They
who had so loved each other parted with
a cold, courteous how.
[to be continued.]
Selected for tlie Banner of the South.
“ To-Day and To-Morrow. ”
A BKACTII UL LESSON, BEAUTIFULLY TOLU.
I.
A rosebud blossomed in my bower,
A bird sang in my garden:
The rosebud was its fairest flower,
The bird its gentlest warden;
And a child, behind the linden-tree,
Sang: “Think no more of sorrow,
Tint let ns smile and sing to-day,
For we must weep to-morrow.”
n.
1 asked the bird: “Oh! didst thou hear
The song that she would sing thee V
And ran it be that thou shouldst fear
What the next morn would bring thee ?"
He answered with triumphant strain.
Saving, “I know not sorrow;
But i must my best to-day,
For I may die to-morrow!”
hi.
1 asked the Rose, “Oh, teil me sweet.
In thy first beauty’s dawning,
Thou cansfc not fear, from this retreat,
The coming of the morning ?”
She flung her fragrant leaves apart,
The. lovelier for her sorrow,
Saving, “Yet I must bloom to-day.
For I may droop to-morrow.”
iv.
I said, “The bloom upon my cheek
Is fleeting as the roses,
My voice no more shall sink or speak.
When dust in dust reposes;
And, from these soulless monitors,
One lesson I may borrow—
That we should smile and sing to-dav,
For we may weep to-morrow.”
Olii* Uoardinj* House.
First published in the Field and Eirtnidt, April, 18(53
Re-written with addition, by request, for the
of the South.
BY RUTH FAIRFAX.
At least once a month we .see in some
paper or magazine a tirade against
Boarding Houses ; now I propose to offer
a few words in favor of “Our Boarding
House."
First, then, the house was a large, four
story brick—nut brown stone—and then
the situation—how pleasant it was, on
that wide street, with its row of trees in
the middle, casting their shadow even to
the doorstep. The appointments of this
house were all perfect of their kind,
from the Brussels carpet in tiie parlor,
to the large stove in the kitchen. I
speak advisedly, for I, favored mortal that
I am, have penetrated even to those mys
terious precincts. And then our meals!
Good coffee was an every day occurrence,
chickens were no rnythe; we had no
difficulty in finding the oysters in oyster
stew. Now, isn’t that enough to recom
mend “Our Boarding' House ?’’ But,
bear patience a little longer, while I in
troduce to you the inhabitants of this
little world.
First, there was good, kind, Mrs Mur
ray, fat. fair, and forty; I wish I could
say she was an old lady with mild eyes, and
silvery hair, it would sound well, but we
must retain some truth even in our fic
tions, and had it not been for Mrs. Mur-
ray’s big son we would never have
guessed her to be more than thirty.
Dear lady, kind heart, will you ever be
forgotten ‘l Many a time lias thy gentle
voice enquired at my’ chamber door, “Is
your head any better; can I do anything
for you ; must you have a cup of tea ?”
Yes, indeed, I would have a cup of tea ;
and, oh! how tho “cup that cheers but
does not inebriate,” would reanimate my
sinking frame and give new life to my
dormant energies.
Did you ever notice that landladies
have pretty daughters ? Our lady was
no exception to the general rule, she had
a daughter, and a very pretty one too,
Sweet, modest Nellie; why were you not
named Yiolet ? the flower is not bluer
than thy eyes. Gentle Nellie, gentle as
is thy heart thou hast encased it in armor
of proof, and not one of the many ad
mirers who bow before thy beauty have
yet found the arrow that can pierce it.
Long may you live in single blesseduess,
Nellie, to singe the wings of those hold
moths who venture too near thy bright
ness.
Nellie had a younger brother, “little
Jimrny.” His was a fair, delicate, face,
shaded by heavy’ cm Is of dark hair,
which he always kept well brushed, for
Jimmy was somewhat of a dandy, aud,
oh! how he loved the ladies, and how gal
lant he was, though barely fifteen years
old. Many a hearty laugh have we had
at thy expense, Jimmy, but they were
all readily forgiven, so kindly was thy
nature.
Mrs. Murray had two sisters, Mrs. Pen
der and Miss Maggie, gay widow and gayer
maid! Do you remember Mrs. P., when
this war first startled us from our lazy
calm; what plans we made to catch the
Yankees should they ever enter our city*/
and how gravely Miss Maggie proposed
that we should form a company ? Oh!
right brave soldiers we would have made
no doubt. Brave as you are Miss
Maggie the day will come when you will
have to strike your colors and surrender;
l mean when that brave soldier comes
home from the war, which I hope will be
soon, Heaven willing. Saucy Lizzie!
charming Liaaie! piquante Lizzie! Does
thy life flow on in an even current now,
or are you still making friends, and
quarreling with them; the next moment
asking pardon with all the impetuosity
of a generous nature, and in another in
staut renewing your quarrel ? Liazie had
a sweet baby and a pair of birds, her
life was found in minding them, dressing
herself, and being admired. Liazie loved
admiration, (who don’t ?) and she re
ceived plenty of it; but then everybody
could see that Lizzie loved it, and many
a sly joke have we passed on her, but
Lizzie was pretty enough to forgive
them all—after awhile.
Lizzie had been married long enough
to know that her husband was no more
perfect tliau other men, and so she pre
dicted would Mrs. Steele also find her
husband before she had been married a
year. Mrs. Steele did not think so, and
would fain have made us believe that h«r
husband was an exception! Dark-eyed
little lady! how gay she was, how active
in getting up theatricals, tableaux, and
masquerade balls. Oh! Mrs. Steele, do
you remember our “Actress of Padua ?”
our masquerade ball ? Those were gay,
merry times; will they ever return?
Mrs. Steele always made it a point to
keep a couple of mewing wretches about
her, allowing them to clamber to her lap
regardless of their claw marks on her
costly silks. I dare say, wherever she
may be now, that she has a cat at her
side or on her lap. I have even heard
that she insisted on paying board for one
of the abominations—a large white cat
that she called “Willie.” How far this
is true I cannot say, but I know that one
day, when Liziie expressed her disgust
on seeing Willie answer the dinner bell,
Mrs. Steele politely requested her t# give
Willie one of her birds, as his appetite
was rather delicate. I cannot describe
Lizzie’s indignatiou, but they were at
dagger’s points for a little while ; so you
see*our “little world” had its wars as well
as the big one.
So much for our ladies—no there was
one more—nor is it possible that I could
her. Graceful, queenly, superb—every
word that expresses elegance—might
might rightly be applied to Mrs. Woburn,
And then what a husband she had! Dear
friend, would that I could tied words to
describe him, e’en his failings leaned to
virtues’s side!—
“None knew him but to love him.
Or named him but to praise.”
May his kind heart never know a sorrow;
may the.* good wishes of his many friends
bring him all the prosperity that mortals
alone hope tor.
Count D’Or.say! Almost unconsciously
my peu passes over the paper with a
softer touch, and I feel like stealing a
glance in the mirror to see if my hair
is in perfect order when I think of the
one whom we nick-named Count D’Orsay;
perhaps I should say Mrs. Steele called
him so, and we all followed suite. Inim
itable Count! Chesterfield might have
taken lessons and been benefitted. How
dignified, how elegant he was! 1 remem
ber one evening he came into the parior
clad in a suit of brown homespun; how
well he looked; and I heard Mr. Steele
whisper to his wife, “I must have a suit
like the Count’s,” as If he graceful boy
ish looking man that he was could ever
look like the elegant Count. The Count
was not rich, oh, no, but be had the air of
a prince, and all he wore looked well
’Twas the Count who was always the
“Brigand,” or the “noble lord,” in all
our evening diversions; ’Twas the Count
too, who always smoothed away our dif
ficulties, when our voluble female tongues
and hasty tempers brought us to the
verge of anger.
Never did mortal possess a more ap
propriate name than did the Count’s
friend ’Gusty. Gusty he truly was;
quick to be angry he would pat his foot
rapidly on the floor and twirl his mous
tache in a truly awful manner, but then
it was only a gust, and over in a moment.
Mr. and Mrs. Steele and Gusty, how in
seperably they were, aud wbat friends.
Though she would scokl him herself, she
always defended him from Lizzia’s venge
ful attacks when he was absent; when
he was present he needed no assistance,
his blue eyes would sparkle, and many a
polite quarrel has he and Lizzie had. to
the amusement of the lookers on.
There was one subject, however, upon
which the friends could never agree—
cats! Gusty despised them, they would
get under his feet and how could he help
hurting them ? Then the treacherous
creatures, despite his conciliatory pat and
“poor puss,” would run to their mistress
with a howl as if they’d had their eye
teeth extracted. Many were the anathe
mas Gusty bestowed upon these pets.
Thus stood “Our Boarding House two
years ago ;uow let us see where are they
all.
Fair Nellie is still at home, as amiable
and as beautiful as ever. Little Jimmy
—little no longer for he is a soldier now
—is in Virginia. May the God of
the fatherless keep him from harm, and
bring him back to his friends. Lizzie,
charming as a wife is still more charm
ing as a widow; but I suppose she does
not think of that, for she has lo?t her
baby, and must bo very lonely now.
Her husband fell at the battle of rfharps
burg.
The whereabouts of Mr. and Mrs. Wo
burn I do not know.
Count D’Orsay is captain of a gallant
company, and more than once have we
heard of his bravery, lie is married
now, and perhaps when this war is over
and lie returns we will all see his wife.
Gusty! Alas! the gay voice is hushed,
the geueious heart is still forever! He
fell mortally wounded in one of the bat
tles before Richmond, fighting for our
liberties! Jimmy tells us that on the
morning of the battle he said to him: “To
day, Jimmy, 1 will carve myself a name
in the annals of glory, or to-day I will
fall!” Prophetic words. A ball struck
near that same kind heart; he lived near
ly an eutire day, and, doubtless, during
those long weary hours of pain, his
thoughts often wandered to his gay, yet
kind friends. His restless form is still
now ; Gusty is no more. Let us hope
there is no heart so ungenerous that it
cannot forgive the dead : letusdrop a tear
to his memory, my companions, a»d pass
on.
Mrs. Steele has a little daughter now,
and very likely has less time to attend to
her cats, though when I last heard of her
she was taxing her ingenuity to the ut
most in the endeavor to make her cat live
peaceably with a white rabbit.
Mr. Steele has been in the army but
is home now, with a constitution much
impaired by exposure. Fortunate it is
for them that they have enough and to
spare of this world’s goods.
1 have been so unjust as to omit one
person who, although occupying an hum
ble situation in the house, held a high
place iu our regards. Did we want a
favorite collar done up, Mary was at hand
to do it; did we want our hair brushed,
and dresses hooked, the ever ready Mary
would come with a smile upon her honest
face declaring : “sure it does me good to
wait upon you!" We never feared to
leave our money on the table, or our
jewels ou the bureau, for Mary was that
rari avis, an honest chambermaid.
Heaven willing, 1 hope to spend next
Winter in “Our Boarding House/’
* * df * *
Six Years ago! Oh! what changes.
Could 1 but have looked into the future
would the above sketch ever have been
written t 1 think not. ihe dark sor
rows that lay waiting for us would have
chilled my" heart; I never could have
spoken so lightly of the past. Now,
then, let us again look ou that past, aDd
name once more our friends. They arc
all living, not one has entered the silent
tomb. The war is over, we people ot the
South have been overcome by superior
numbers, aud not only brave our men
been conquered, but our women, also,
(some of them) have vowed allegiance to
hearts that throb beneath a coat of blue.
Fair Nellie is a rebel no longer; no
longer docs she busy her little head with
traitorous thoughts and plans, for she has
cast in her fate with one of the boys in
blue, and has returned to her first faith.
And Lizzie! Who can tell the trials
that fell in her path ? who can tell how
sorely she, also, was tempted to join the
ranks of those who married with those
boys in blue, when all her wealth was
swept away as Savannah fell ? Who can
tell the grief of her proud spirit as
friends fell away when wealth had tied ;
when those who had courted the wealthy
petted wife, turned the cold shoulder on
the widow who had lest all. Oh! Many
and great were her trials; but let us hope
they are all over now. She did not
marry one of those who had marched un
der the “stain and stripes,” but a proud
rebel, who’s greatest glory was his coun
try’s cause, and his favorite dress a plain
grey jacket! It may be that Lizzie’s
heart has been somewhat hardened by
the fierce trials that have wrung it; it
may be that she has lost trust and con
fidence in friends, having found so
many of them false, but we still trust in
the future and hope that all may yet be
well.
And Mrs. Steele ? Clouds have dark
ened around her pathway, storms have
raged above her head; the soft, petted
child of luxury has had to face starva
tion, alone with her little ones in a
little country place, her husband far
away over the sea, or, perhaps, in prison.
She has seen the Confederates in their
hour of direst need, and her heart has
bled for them as if they were her brothers.
And then, too, her wealth was nearly all
swept away, yet one more straggle was
made to regain the lost. All went well for
a time, but again they tottered on the
verge of ruin. And here I must speak
of the Count D’Orsay. I told you be
fore of his grace and elegance; now lis
ten. while I whisper in your ear of the
fine gold of his true heart. Listen, while
I tell you that when all other friends were
false, this one, this one alone, was true.
When Mr. Steel saw naught before him
but a ruinous sacrifice of his propeity,
’twas the hand of the Count that was
out-stretched to save; twas the hand of
the Count that snatched him from the
precipice and placed his feet on firm
ground. Oh? how his elegance bears a
new grace, now that we know it. is but a
fitting casket for the shining soul within.
May Heaven’s choicest blessings descend
upon his noble head, and may he long
live to enjoy the prosperity which he now
feels, and so richly deserves. Not only
tiie Count has shown the true gold of his
nature in these years of trial. I have
seen my model of womanly grace, Mrs.
Woburn, prepare a dinner with her own
fair bauds, and land a grace even to that
humble employment because she did it.
What are trials and losses to her so long
as is left her the treasure of her heart—
her only son? You will know what he
is to her when I say that my most ear
nest wish is—may he never change?
And thus I have told you of the in
habitants of our little world. Oh! where
will they be in six years more. What
griefs lie in wait for them in the vears
to come ? What has fortune in stoiu for
them? Who can tell? God alone knows;
and ’tis his mercy that hides the future
from our view. Well for us that it is so,
else our hearts would grow taint, and we
might seek to cast aside the cross that
(rod has placed on our shoulders, before
the appointed time.
THE MURDERED MRS, SURRATT.
The following petition was presented
President Johnson from the devoted
daughter of the murdered Mrs. Surratt,
asking that her remains might be give*
her to be placed in consecrated ground:
His Excellency the President of the
United St odes:
The undersigned most earnestly and
respectfully addresses your Excellency
on a matter which has been for more
than three years to her a source of great
affliction. She seeks the privilege of
removing the remains of her deceased
mother, to have them interred in conse
crated ground.
She fondly hopes that your Excellency
will not allow your authority in the prem
ises to expire without granting this re
quest, prompted only by filial love and
devotion to the memory of her dear
mother. Annie E. Surratt.
Upon this petition there B the follow
ing endorsement:
Annie E. Surratt
Asks authority lo remove the remains of
her deceased mother.
Received February 4, 1869.
The Honorable Secretary of War will
cause to be delivered to Annie E. Sur-
ratt the remains of her mother. p
Surratt, for the purpose* set forth i t
within communication.
Andrew Johnson
February 5, 1809—L R. B. 60s
The Washington Chronicle of Tu* s
day last gives the following description
of the location of the bodies 0 f tb,'
victims of Stanton’s court-martial, and
of the disinterment of the murdered Mr.
Surratt :
The President issued an order
day morning for the delivery of the
mains of Mrs. Surratt to Father Wakey
of St. Patrick’s Church, of this eitv
aud yesterday afternoon at three o’clock
that gentleman, in company with Mr
Townc and Harvey & Marr, undertakers
proceeded to* the Arsenal, and the re'
mains were at once disinterred.
Immediately after the execution, \K
Surratt’s remains, with those of p a j li(l
Harold* and Atacrodr, executed at the
same time, were placed in boxes and
interred in graves near the scaffold L r
body being at the north cud of the row
and the others adjoining her remains in
the order named above. In the b. x
el b dy there was also placed
the name of the party, written ori parch
ment,, enclosed in a bottle. The body
of Booth was also buried near there •
that is, inside the old penitentiary build
ing. near the middle door of the warden'*
residence. The burial of Booth Wa *
quietly made, in the presence of Secre
tary StantOD, General Lafayetee (’
Baker, and two of his officers, and Col'
Benton, commandant of the Arsenal ■
and after the grave had been filled and ;»
portion of the bricks relaid over it, th-.
windows of tho ware-room were boarded
up and the door locked. The body of
Wirz, the Andersonville jailor, was
placed in the yard adjoining the body of
Atzerodt. For some time the bodie*
were allowed to remain in this position.
A wooden fence was erected around the
graves, and a wooden head-board, witn
tire name of the person hurried below,
placed at each grave. In tho fall < f
1867, when the demolition of the peni
tentiary building was determined on, it
became necessary to remove the bodio.
and they were buried in the wurehov
known as No. 1 (the second building be
low the principal office), the bodies
placed under the flagging. Mrs. Sud
rate’s was laid next to the north wall of
the building, and the others
the following order : Paine, Hero!-!,
Atzerodt, Wirz, and Booth. There th
bodies of all have remained until yester
day.
The coffin, when lifted, was in toler
able condition, and when opened the re
mains were found to bo in an excellent
state of preservation. The face, though
black, was yet perfect in features, and
the whole body compact and firm. The
dress looked well, and the gaiter shoes
appeared to be not the least soiled. Upon
the day of her execution her daughter,
Annie, who visited her, took from her
own bonnet a steel arrow and stuck it
upon her mother’s dress close up to her
neck, and which remained where it had
been placed by the daughter. The bottle,
with the name of Mrs. Surratt written
upon a piece of parchment within,
also in the coffin, and without shifting
anything the coffin was placed in the
undertaker’s wagon and driven out to
Four-and-a-halfstreet to Maryland avenue,
alomg Maryland avenue to the Capitol,
passing around to the left of the Capitol
to New Jersey avenue, out New Jersey
avenue to II street, and from thence to
Mount Olivet Cemetery. Father Walter,
who had preceded the remains, wa- there
iu waiting to receive them, and they
were taken from the coffin in which they
were transferred into a handsome walnut
coffiu, and then placed in the vault until
to-day.
Annie Surratt, her brother Isaac, a
lady friend of the family, Father Mailer,
and Mr. Towne will be present at the
funeral, which takes place to-day at -♦
o’clock. It is intended that the inter
ment shall be conducted with the sir:
est privacy, and, with the exception ot
the undertaker and those mention*-
no others will be present.
♦ ♦
Ou January 10th, the meet ot
county hounds die Curraghmort-. t""*
place at 11:30, at Bellevue, county ' ■
Waterford, the charming re-mdenee '■’*
Nicholas A. Power, Esq., -U P. The wea’”' *
was, remarkable to state, somewnat I
pitious, and there was consequent a- j
large “field" present, to the number •
sixty, among whom were: —-nr. • "
Briscoe. J. P„ Tiiivmie House, the galuy
master, in his usual health anu 'Ft-A ,
Marquis of Waterford, 1 1
Beresford, Karl - i' IPs ’, »roug ( .
Donoghmore, Messrs. X. A-
Bellevue; A. Power, ditto; G.
soa.P. Power, Pembrokestown; h- ‘ 1 .
do.; P. Power, Woodland-; Hm.
Sargeant, J. E.Strangrnan, vita g*- v,i q
the officers of this garrison and the '■
rounding stations, with the ger
locality and many well-known an*.
Nlmrods from town. Citcten.