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VOIj. 11.
[For the Banner of the South.]
The Loved of Other Years.
when spring's bright flowers are wearing
Their perfume wreathe in air.
4n,l the zephyr’s wings, receiving,
' The love-gifts gently bear;
Then memory’s spirit stealing,
Lifts up the veil she wears,
In all her light, revealing
The loved of other years.
When April’s stars are shining
In the deep blue midnight sky.
And their brilliant rays, entwining,
Weave coronals on high;
When the fountain’s waves are singing
In tones night only hears
Th*n sweet thoughts Visken, biinging
The loved of other years.
Th e flowers around me glowing—
The midnight stars’ pure gleams—
'lre iomitain’s ceaseless flowing—
Kecall life’s fondest dreams;
When all is bright in Heaven,
And tranquil are the spheres.
To thee sweet thoughts are given.
The loved of other years ! Ceeejc.
For the Eamier of the Soutii.
THE LAST DAVS OF CARIHAGEi
OR
A SISTER OF FABIOLA.
A FTF.U THE MANNER OF THE FRENCH.
,CHAPTER IV.
After the sudden departure of Ter
tulliau, Yivia remained motionless and
half-stupefied at the severe words which
she had just heard. Her infant was in
her arms, but she felt it not. Her color
had completely vanished, and a deathly
paleness had ensued making her resem
ble the cold aud frigid aspect of a mar
ble statue. Finally she recovered her
natural composure and perceiving that
her babe was asleep, she laid it care
fully on the couch and set down beside
it overcome with mental anxiety. She
endeavored to banish from her memory
the details < f the scene through which
she had just passed, but in vain. The
severe attitude of the Priest was before
her mind and she thought she heard him
speaking still. Suddenly one of her
servants entered.
‘‘Thank you, Verecundia,” said the
young patrician, “but I desire to be
alone.”
“I came, noble mistress, to render you
my accustomed services, but—”
“Well—never mind, however if my
mother or Rufina comes, introduce them,
but mark, no one else.”
“You will be obeyed, but may I be
permitted tc ask if you have received
bad tidings of your husband ? Surely
he is nut wounded or laden with chains
by those wild Numidians ?”
“No, 1 cannot say that; but for the
last month I have not heard from Jar
bas. Though 1 am somewhat appre
bensive that his reckless courage may
! eud him into danger, still I trust that
be is under the protection of Heaven.”
Why then, contrary to your usual
custom, do you refuse my attendance
close yourself up this way in your
a l-partineiit ?”
fray let me watch near you at least.
-* flis is at least the duty of a faithful
slave.”
“I know your devotedness to me, my
c 'd I erceundia, but don’t be afraid. 1
a!u Q ot unwell ; l only desire to be
alone/’
. that stranger, noble mistress—
“! ,e is something so gloomy in bis look
—something so repugnant in his lace.
io !US olllicted you, for I see the marks
', Ji upon your cheeks. If he comes
-cie again to repeat this scene I—”
iuu know not what you are saving,
n-j v y *7o*
. . i \ erecundia —that stranger is
Ih iest Tertullian, the glory of our
11 . v > hie noble defender of our Faith
y terror of the pagans; but enough
erecundia, you may retire now. I will
, when I need you.” The slave
departed.
The emotions of the young patrician
■ re Midi as to make her shed torrents
| tears. After this outburst of sorrow
-'"Vda period of calmness and refiee
tl() n in which she was enabled to see un
der a different aspect the tenor of her
P a st life. She went over in her mind
all the words of Tertullian, and dwelt
upon them with the full assurance that
they proceeded from a sealed oracle.
The reputation of Tertullian, as a pro
found scholar was now well known, for
his celebrated “apology*’ in favor of the
Christians had already appeared. The
Churches were lost in admiration, and
the enthusiasm of the faithful knew no
bounds. Yivia had read that chef d'-
aniore of eloquence and reasoning of the
Preist of Carthage, and she was thereby
led to regard him as a man raised up by
God to defend the Religion of Christ and
confound the pretended wisdom of an
age, that knew naught but pride and cor
ruption. She was under his influence,
and his words were not heard to be for
gotten but penetrated into her heart and
and remained there as if they were en
graven in characters of gold. She look
ed around her and everything that meet
her gaze was au object which the Priest
had criticised. She looked at herself
and as she beheld her parlor glittering
in pearls, representing the colors of the
rainbow, a crimson blush mantled to
her temples. Everything reproached
her with vanity, and feelings of remorse
took possession of her heart. “All this
must end,” she said to herself, “it I in
tend to embrace the Faith, I must enter
into its spirit and not become a mere ob
server of external forms.”
It cannot be denied but what Yivia
was virtuous. She had been formed in
the school of Rufina, and had imbibed
the good qualities of her mother. From
the day on which she had renounced all
connexion w ith the idol of paganism, her
faith had never wavered, though she had
not shown sufficient anxiety in pressing
forward to receive the Grace of Baptism.
But in those times many remained a
considerable time in the order ot Catech
umens, and the Bishop was not averse
to this, lest the ties of family, or invete
rate habits acquired among the pagans
and now difficult, to eradicate, might ex
pose them to the danger of apostacy. He
profited by this delay to try their sin
cerity and complete their religious in
struction.
Yivia’s faith however, seemed now to
take a more lively form, and her soul
was filled with thoughts more elevated
and sublime. At the foot of the Cross,
she had abjured the worship of the false
gods, and had asked in all the sincerety
of her heart, to become the humble ser
vant of Christ. The salutary waters of
regeneration were soon to purify her
brow, and nevertheless she continued to
lead a life similar to that which she had
led when still among the pagans. But
now she was somewhat changed, still all
difficulties were not as yet surmounted.
There was Hanno, her falher, what
would he say when be knew bis daugh
ter, whom he loved so much, had aband
oned the religiou of her youth ? Would
be not make l>er feel the weight of his
anger ? And then the proud Jaibas,
what would he say, when returning with
the laurels of victory, he would see her
no longer surrounded with luxury, but
leading an austere mortified life ? He
might grow furious at tlie sight, and cast
her away from him ignominously, to the
dishonor of all the family. Besides that
dear infant, might he not take it away
from her and educate it apart, and then
she would no longer look upon its sweet
face and watch its tender smile ?
This is the state of fallen humanity.
We know what is good, pure and holy ;
we admire it and love it. Our heart as
pires alter virtue, but it is something like
the bird whose wings are broken 1 , it en
deavors to fly upwards into ,those airy
regions through which it lately moved in
delight, but its efforts are vain and it
falls to the ground wasted ami over
come. We experience moments of en
thusiasm, and noble aspirations, but the
flesh is weak and when we come to exe-
AUGUSTA, GA., APRIL 3, 1869.
cute the great designs which we have
formed in the mind, we become listless
and fall into a state of apathy from which
it requires more than an ordinary effort
to emerge. Nature seems suppressed
for a moment, but it is only to rise again
still more ardent and imperious. It is a
terrible combat, and it has been truly
said that man’s life on earth is a con
tinual warfare.
Thus was it with Yivia. She felt the
force of temptation and but for the time
ly admonition of the Priest, it might
have led her, she know not whither.
Now that gentle longing to become a
Christian was enkindled into a burning
resolve and she exclaimed, “No 1 I will
never betray the glorious destiny which
has been marked out for me by the
hand of God ! I make this promise and
if it is necessary to write it with my
blood—behold me ready ! It was a no
ble promise but hard to perform.
CHAPTER V.
THE CONSPIRACY.
Some days after the scene which we
have just described, two men were in
close interview in a house near by and
were meditating upon the means of exe
cuting a scheme which they had already
formed. Tertullian, as we have already
remarked, had met the High Priest of
Carthage issuing forth from the temple
accompanied by his attendants. As soon
as he saw this worshipper of the false
gods, he had cast upon him a look of su
preme contempt and indignation.—
Olympien (the High Priest) was not
slow to remark it. He felt profoundly
humbled, but knowing the celebrity of
the Christian Priest, he thought proper
to disguise his sentiments and bear in
silence the indignity of the affront. But
he nourished in his heart a burning de
sire for vengence, and only waited for a
favorable moment, which he knew would
not be far distant.
At this period, Christianity was mak
ing great progress in Africa. It was op
posed by the researches of science, and
the sayings of oracles, which the pagans
regarded as dogmas emanating from the
gods. Morality was at its lowest ebb,
and this conflicted strongly with the pu
rity and austere discipline of the Christ
ian religion. Persecution had sought
to stifle it in its birth, but the germ was
Divine, and the blood that was made to
flow, only served to give sap and vigor to
the tender plant. Thus the Church in
creased in number and strength, while
the eld religion, wasted and decrepit, was
protracting its miserable existence. The
gods of tiie Pantheon were almost desert
ed and the smoke of incense arose from
its altars, scarcely accompanied by a
single prayer. Something was wanting
to restore vitality to its cold and inani
mate form, aud to re-establish it in its
pristine glory. The disease was cor
roding its vitals and it was necessary to
apply some remedy, and what was better
to accomplish this than the barbarous
games of the amphitheatre, the roaring
of hungry lioni*, and the blood of martyrs
flowing in the arena ?
Carthage had been visited by the
Apostles at an early age. A few poor
slaves at first formed their Church. Af
terwards families of high standing enter
ed into their ranks, and many of the no
bles did not disdain to follow in their
footsteps. Mot only in the City but in
the neighboring provinces Churches were
erected and placed under the direction
of pious Bishops. The Church of Car
thage was the most flourishing of them
all and had obtained the dignity of a
metropolitan see. A century afterwards
the primate could assemble three hund
red Bishops from the provinces over
which he exercised his jurisdiction.
Carthage was far distant from Home
and separated from it by a large ex
panse of water. Its laws and customs
were different, and up to the present
t ime it had not imbibed the persecuting
spirit of the Roman people. The direful
scenes which occurred in the arena of
the Colliseum, had never been intro
duced in Carthage, nor were the Christ
ians obliged to descend into rhe bosom
of the Earth, as was the case in Rome,
to consecrate their sacred mysteries in
secret and in fear. Sometimes indeed
the public opinion would break forth iu
to bitter invectives against the Nnzarenes,
and the Senate, as a matter of form,
would institute an investigation and is
sue sundry restrictions which would
satisfy the people and at the same time
leave to the Christians the free exercise
of their worship. In every quarter of
the town, there was a Christian Church,
a sanctuary, an altar and a priest, and
their worship was conducted in peace
and tranquility. But wounded pride
was soon to trouble their repose, and
disturb this long 1 peace.
There was a certain Jubal residing in
Carthage at this time. He was possess
ed of considerable riches, and wielded a
powerful influence among the nobles of
the City. He was tall and well made,
and attracted by his appearance the ad
miration of every one with whom he came
in contact. His mind was cultivated
and he might be said to have obtained
the limits of that knowledge which
would be necessary to fit him for the
society of that age. His temper, how
ever, was violent, and his anger once ex
cited was almost implacable. He re
cognised the authority of no one to di
rect him through the temptations of life,
and left free to himself, he sought noth
ing but pleasure and amusement. He
was but twenty-five years old and he
had already drank to the dregs the cup
of criminal pleasure. He feared neither
God nor man; once he had conceived the
prospect of vengeance, he could not rest
until he had carried it into execution,
and where he could not accomplish this
himself he had a slave who was always
ready with his dagger to obey the in
junctions of his master.
His father was acquainted with the
father of Vivia, but it was rather court
esy that brought them together than feel
ings of true friendship. They were how
ever, frequently in each others company,
and as they often invited young people
to their banquets, Jubal had had the
opportunity of seeing Vivia before she
had been married to Jarbas.
He was taken with her beauty the
first moment lie cast his eyes upon her.
Her rich and elegant robes, set off" with
jewelled chains, served still more to en
hance her natural charms. He sought a
place by her side, and endeavored to
draw fier into a private conversation.
But his style of converse, as well as the
subject which he had chosen, was more
suited to the iiouses of debauchery, which
lie frequented, than to the delicate and
modest ears of Vivia. Vivia blushed
with indignation, and casting at him a
look of supreme contempt muttered
through hor trembling lips, “the lamb
should not be near the wolf.” She then
arose and sat beside her mother. Jubal
could scarcely restrain his rage, mingled
feelings of shame and hatred left him
unable to utter a single word. His lips
trembled and glow livid, and in his im
potent fury, all he could do was to cast a
scowl of defiance at her, who, he imagin
ed, had so deeply insulted him. He
could stay no longer. He did not wish
that any one should notice his confusion,
so he withdrew quietly from the room,
not however without a low murmur of
imprecation upon V ivia.
“ Vengeance ! Ah ! that word is
sweet,” exclaimed Jubal, when he had
regained the street—“lamb ! woit! No
one has ever wounded me with impunity,
and by all the gods in Olympus, 1 will
punish her for her audacity and impu
dence !” His brow grew dark and his
countenance assumed a teartul aspect as
he thought of how he could bring his
nefarious plan into execution. 'Ven
geance! what does that mean.''” he mut-
tered in a low tone —“It means the dag
ger! —but no! her family is powerful
and 1 might not escape the penalty of
the law. Blit then the slave!” he thought
“can I trust him? Ah that is the ques
tion ! Put to the torture might he not
confess? And the vengeance would not
indeed be sweet when I should taste its
sweetness within the iron bars of a public
prison.”
He directed his steps along the coast,
and endeavored to eool his burning pas
sion in the distractions which the beauty
of the scenery would naturally afford.
But all was vain. The image of Yivia
was ever before him. That defiant look
and frown of indignation was still visible
to him, and made him feel every mo
ment still more keenly, the bitterness of
the affront. “Curse that phantom,” he
exclaimed from time to time, “will it
pursue me forever ? Her words, I con
fess, have penetrated my soul, and will
remain there like the poisoned barb of
an arrow fixed in the heart.” Thus he
continued thinking over the conduct of
Yivia, now trying' to banish her image
from his mind, and again exerting all his
ingenuity, with a view to find out some
safe means of taking his revenge. Final
ly a sudden idea struck him.
“By Juno ! I have her,” and a wild
maniac laugh escaped his lips, as his
whole frame shook in the exultation of
his fiendish delight.
“What! How is that V s hurredly ex
claimed an individual, just by his side,
catching him familiarly by the arm,
“Ah, Thermis ! you surprised me.
Glad to see you nevertheless, I have
need of you. 1 know your talent in
executing a delicate mission, and for this
reason I would rather entrust it to you
than to any other. Besides we are
bound together by the indissoluble bond
of a common religion and are not tainted
with the superstitious doctrines and in
famous rites of a public malefactor. You
know what I mean—we are worshippers
of the gods, not Christians.”
Thermis pressed his hand in sign of
friendship, and expressed his readiness
to do any favor for him, that lay in his
power.
“Well listen. I am in love with
Vivia—you know her—the daughter of
Hanno, and I will have her at any
price.”
“Ah! I see your meaning now. I did
not fully comprehend at first—well, it is
enough. Can Ibe of any service in the
matter ?”
“Service? Immense service! But to
make you understand the nature of my
commission, I must go into detail. I
met with her some time ago, and as we
spent evenings together, what was more
natural then that I should become en
amored with hor, especially as her gor
geous attire indicates the highest degree
of oppulence. It was, I assure you, a
combination of riches and beauty, and
you know that a compound of this sort
forms a medicine by no means nauseous
to swallow. Well, matters went on
smoothly until I fancied the time had
come to get more familiar. It will not
take long to tell you the result. She
grew indignant and put on those airs
which women are wont to do when they
quarrel with their lovers. Now the
breach must be filled up and I want you
to do it.”
“By the gods! a delicate affair truly.”
“Yes, I confess it is rather so, and it
is for this reason that I have chosen you
to act as mediator.”
“All I can do, 1 will do—depend up
on that, Juba); but when shall I have to
perform this duty which you have iin
-1 i 9;j
posed upon me .
“This very night. Go now, and bid
the slave at the door tell her mistress
that a stranger desires to speak with her
on a matter of vital importance. When
the lady comes to the door—begin with
out further preamble and say: Jubal
begs pardon—that is—yes—” and here
he laughed ironically, while a savage
No. 3.