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VOL. 11.
Nobod3 r ‘s Child.
Alone iu tbe dreary, pitiless street,
With niv torn old dress, inv bare, cold feet,
Al! day I have wandered t<» and fro,
Hungry and shivering, and nowhere to go,
The night’s coming on in darkness and dread,
And the chill sleet beating upon my bare head.
Oh! why does the wind blow upon me so wild ?
It is because I am nobody’s child.
Just over the way there is a flood of light,
And warmth and beauty, and all things bright;
Beautiful children in robes so fair,
re carolling songs in rapture there.
I wonder if they, in their blissful glee,
Would pity a poor little beggar like me,
Wr.ndering alone in tbe merciless street,
yak* and and shivering, with nothing to cat.
Oh! what shall Ido when the night eomos down,
In its terrible blacknsss all over the town ?
shall I lay me down ’neatli the angry sky,
On the cold, hard pavement, alone, to die ?
When the beautiful children their prayers have said,
And mammas have tucked them snugly in bed;
No dear mother ever upon mb smiled:
Why ie It, I wonder ? I'm nobody’s child!
No father, no sister, no mother, not one
Id all the world loves me, e’en the little dogs run
j when I wander too near them—'tis wondrous to see
How every thing shrinks from a beggar like me!
j Perhaps ’tis a dream; but sometimes, when 1 lie
Gazing far up in the dark blue sky,
Watching for hours some large, bright star,
1 fancy the beautiful gates are ajar.
And a host of white robed, nameless tilings
Come fluttering o’er me in gilded wings;
A hand that is strangely soft and fair
Caresses gently my tangled hair,
And a voice like the carol of some bird—
The sweetest voice that was ever heard—
Calls me many a dear pet name,
Till my heart and spirit are all aflame.
For the Banner of the South.
THE LAST DMS OF CARTHAGEi
OR
A SISTER OF FABIOLA.
AFTER THE MANNER OF THE FRENCH.
[coxct.ubed]
CHAPTER XIX.
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE COM
EAT.
Os all the prisoners that had been
made on the same day for the faith, there
only now remained Saturus, Saturninus,
Kevoeatus, Yivia, and Felicity. Two
fad died in prison; the others, to appease
the multitude, had been burnt alive.
They were now all put in the same pris
on room. The time was now fast ap
proaching when the noble remnants of
this sacred army were to gain an immor
tal crown, The torments which they
were to suffer, did not so much engage
their attention as the happiness to which
it would lead them; They looked down
upon their chains and smiled, ana when
they saw, in imagination, the horrible
instruments of death, they sighed as if
the hours passed on too slowly. The sun
was now setting, and one of them re
marked that it was the last time they
would see that beauteous scene. They
might see it arise, bur. before it would
disappear, they themselves should have
passed away. A smile of joy lit up the
sweet face of Yivia. She said nothing,
however, for her thoughts were, perhaps,
too sublime and sacred to find suitable
expression in words. She crossed her
hands upon her bosom, and falling down
instinctively upon her knees, she fell
mto a quiet and subdued ecstacy of love.
After a few moments she arose, and ad
dressed her fellow prisoners :
“ I)o you know I have had a vision ?
1 thought I saw the Deacon Pomponius
oome to the prison. Iran to meet him.
He v, as dressed iu a long white robe, or
namented with beautiful designs of em
broidered gold. ‘ Yivia/ he said, ad
dressing me, ‘we arc waiting for you.’
*j e then took me by the hand and led me
mong a road that was rough and steep
e came to the great amphitheatre and
entered the arena. 4 Fear not,’ he said.
1 will be with you in a moment, and par-
m the glory of the combat.” He
tnen left me. I then prepared to meet
the savage lions, but they came not.
‘ uddeiily, an Egyptian, hideous to be
/ nd. presented himself before me, and
me to contend with him. I shrank
,JCK horror, especially as 1 saw that
'. ‘‘ crs °f the same cast followed him. At
t ie same time, however, I saw a troop of
j"nng men coming to my assistance. I
thought I became suddenly changed. I
was a frail, weak woman before, now I
was strong aud athletic. There was one
whom I had not seen before, standing iD
the group. Ho came forward and com
manding silence said ; ‘lf the Egyptian
gains the victory, she shall be killed
with the sword. If the woman is victo
rious, I will give her this green branch.’
“We fought, and in a moment I had
my heel upon ahe prostrate Egyptian.
The air rang with applause, and those
who had come to defend me, rang loudly
the song of triumph. I approached the
stranger who had promised me the green
branch in the event off victory, and
stretched out my hand to receive the
prize. He kissed me on the forehead,
saymg, ‘Peace be with you.’ I now
awoke, and I found that I found that
I was not contending against Egyp
tians, but against the Spirit of Dark
ness. ”
This vision has been written by the
hand of Vivia herself. Sometime after
wards they were published in the acts
of tbe Martyrs, and publicly read in
tbe Churches.
Scarcely had she finished the recital
of her vision when her father came to
gee her. His hair was grey, and his
noble countenance bore the mark of
years. His eyes were suffused in tears,
and as he seized the hand of his be
loved child he tried to speak, but emo
tion choked" his utterance. At length,
with an effort, he cried out, Vivia,
my child ! my child! let me go on my
knees!—let me reverse the order of na
ture !- let me supplicate you!* Vivia,
do you know to-morrow is the day lot
the spectacle !” And that aged form,
which was already bent with infirmity,
was now bent to the ground with sorrow.
The wild anguish of that heart was visi
ble in the heavings of his breast and iu
the maniac flash of his eye. He was
overcome. Nature gave way, and he
fell heavily at her feet.
Vivia started back, and raised her
hands to heaven, exclaiming: “O, God!
intend unto my help. 0, Lord ! make
haste to help me.”
She assisted her father to rise, and
when his emotions had somewhat sub
sided, she ventured to reply :
“ Father!” she said boldly, and with
a confidence of one that was inspired, “I
know that to-morrow is the day appointed
—but that only fills me with joy. Yes,
to-morrow your child will receive a crown
from the hands of God himself!”
“Am I still your father? Are you
still my child ? 0, Yivia! for the last
mouth you have been here, I have begged
of you, with tears of sorrow, with a
heart filled with grief, to consent to live
for me—for your mother—for your child.
Tears and prayers, you have despised
all; and still you know you are breaking
the heart of an old man who has loved
you so much!”
“ Father, 1 know your tenderness for
me, and I love you as a child should her
parent, but I am a Christian, and I will
not betray the laith.”
“ Blindness ! obstinacy !”
“ Fidelity, dear fa liter—wisdom. It
is God who has given me this strength,
and I must not abuse his goodness.”
“ But, you, Yivia—you who have been
so proud of your birth and rank—how
will you sustain the withering scorn of
the crowd ?”
“ llow have I already borne with it ?
I have learnt that true nobleness consists
in bumbling one’s self at the feet of the
Redeemer.”
“ But, the roaring of the lions! 0,
my child ! that arena flowing with blood
—blood from your veins ! Will you
have courage then ? That strength of
which you boast is not for my feeble
Yivia. You will grow pale, aud trem
ble with horror, and then it will lie too
late—too late. How often have I seen
you shudder at the sight of the Amphi
theatre ?”
” Because Hod had not then prepared
.ATTGUSTiX, GA., IVIA.Y 29, 1869.
me for the glory of martyrdom. Now,
that I have received this power from on
high, I can listen to the savage roar of
the beasts without a sentiment of fear,
aud I can give up my body to them with
out a dread of suffering. The power of
God iv omnipotent.”
“Oh! Vivia, do not kill your aged
father ! There is yet time. Do not,
by a rash act, inflict sorrow and shame
upon the few remaining days of those
who have given you birth. Have pity
upon me- -upon your mother ! Can your
God be angry with you for that ? Sac
rifice then to the gods, and he saved; or,
at least, pretend to sacrifice—go through
the outward form.”
“I am the daughter of Hanno, and I
cannot save my life through cowardice
—1 am a Christian, and I must not deny
the faith.”
“ 0, immortal gods! Vivia, my child,
my own flesh and blood, what can I do
to save you ?”
“ Nothing, father, nothing. I can
never sacrifice to the gods. I must go
to the Amphitheatre, lather—the crown
—the glory of eternal joys—at the foot
of that throne where there are pleasures
forevermore. Farewell, my dearest
father, farewell. May the Lord enlighten
your mind and bring you lo the know
ledge of the true faith !”
The aged man turned aside, and re
mained motionless for a moment, but his
lips trembled as if they essayed to ex
press the deep movements of his soul.
At length he raised his clenched hand,
and raising his eyes to heaven, he mur
mured bitterly between his teeth: “Gruel
God of the Christians! thou shalt never
be my God !” A second after, he had
disappeared.
During the interview, Yivia had made
a powerful effort to restrain her feelings,
but, now that she was left alone, she al
most poured forth her soul iu sorrow.
Was it that she regretted not having
sided with her father ? It was because
her father grieved and could not appre
ciate the glory of martyrdom. Ilis last
words had filled her with deep affliction.
Her dear father should never see the
light of faith ? Ah ! she would pray for
him wheu she should be in heaven, and
there her prayers would have more force
than here below in this pilgrimage of life.
The custom was to entertain the pris
oners to a supper the evening before the
plays of the Amphitheatre. It encoun
tered the opposition of many in the Sen
ate, on the ground that though they were
guilty, the law ought to protect them
agaiust the excited passions of the mul
titude. But the majority decided in
favor of the custom, and the prisoners
were forced to appear in public aud en
dure the scoffs and insulting jeers of the*
pagans. Crowds assembled to witness
the spectacle.
The repast was served in a sumptuous
manner. The table was covered with
viands of the most delicious kind, and
the fruits were such as to please the most
fastidious. There was wine in abun
dance, and of the first quality. It was
supposed that its exhilerating effect would
have some influence upon their unbend
ins obstinacy, and lead them to sacrifice
to the immortal gods.
They 7 sat down to partake of the sup*
per. Their serious looks and gravity of
manner, contrasted affiictmgly with the
splendors of the epicurean f east that was
spread out before them. They thought
not of pleasure, but of the trial of their
moral strength to which they were sub
jected, and the eternal recompense re
served for victory.
“ May the name of God be blessed
from henceforth and forever, said Satu
rus, in making the sign of the cross.
“Amen!” responded all.
They ate sparingly, but no one tasted
the wine. The bystanders looked on in
astonishment at their simplicity of man
ner, and were deeply touched at the pro
found serenity which was imprinted on
their features.
Suddenly, however, there was a voice:
“The cowards! Fear has destroyed
their appetite. Ah! ah ! to-morrow!
The Amphitheatre!”
Felicity shuddered, and closed her
eyes.
“ Who is that calls us cowards ?” de
manded Saturus, in an indignant tone.
“ It is true, we despise these luxurious
dishes. We do sot need them. We are
not like your criminals, who want to
render thernselvess less sensible to pain
by intoxication. We can look death in
the face, and, so far from shrinking from
it, it is the object of our most ardent de
sires. Those who accuse us of feat and
cowardice, let them be present at the
Amphitheatre to-morrow.”
These words were not lost upon the
crowd. Many were filled with feelings
of compassion, and some even who had
come to insult them, felt themselves re
strained by mingled sentiments of fear
and respect.
“Look at us well, resumed Saturus
—scan our features, in order that you
may recognize them at the terrible day
of judgment, when Christ will come to
judge all men. To-day, you blaspheme
his name, because you know it not. You
have demanded our death because, de
spising your impure divinities, we re
serve our homage for the true and living
God. But, at the last day, you will
tremble before the wrath of this inexora
ble judge. Words of malediction will
resound in your ears, and you will hear a
sentence that will condemn you everlast
ingly to punishment—you, I mean, who
have neglected the means of arriving at
the truth. Your ignorance is not inex
cusable. Then, too, will you see those
whom you persecute now, crowned with
glory and enjoying the sweets of the
beatified vision !
“ Some appear moved with pity, but,
perhaps, they will rejoice in our agony
to-morrow. Let them reserve their pity
for themselves, for it is only the transient
feeling of the moment. From the day on
which we enrolled ourselves under the
standard of Christ, wc have offered to
hiiu the sacrifice of our lives, and we
have beeu accustomed to look upon our
selves as victims destined to death. By
a word w T e might avert the impending
danger and save our lives. Your tri
bunals have endeavored to extort from
us this word, but their efforts have
been all in vain. We have been laden
with chains, buffeted, and tortured in
every way, but you have not heard a
murmur escape our lips. To-morrow is
the day to which we have long looked
forward, and after which we aspired
with a dread lest the sacred cup might
be dashed to the ground untasted. Come
to-morrow to the Amphitheatre, and there
you will see us drink it to the dregs in
transports of heavenly joy.”
“ To-morrow ! to-morrow !” cried out
the same voice that had spoken before,
44 0, Yivia! my eyes will see thy blood
flow iu the arena, and I shall see thee
torn to death by the teeth of the infuri
ated ]ious !”
Yivia thought she knew that voice.
Felicity grew pale, and lent for support
upon the shoulder of her noble mistress.
Her lips grew vivid aud trembled with
deep agitation. Finally, she whispered
in a toue scarcely audible,
“ 0, Yivia ! it is my father—my un
happy father !”
chapter xx.
AMPHITHEATRE.
For days past, Carthage had become a
scene of activity and movement. All
anxiously looked forward to the exciting
spectacle of the sanguinary combats
which were to take place in the arena.
Public business was suspended and the
posts were abandoned. The public mind
was intent upon one tiling alone, and to
accomplish it they were ready to sacri
fice their material interests. The cry
*was “The Christians to the lions.” That
| portion of the crowd indifferent to reli
jgious belief, were joined by the fanatics
| --the. former to taste the pleasure of the
; thrilling scene, such as they would en
joy the illusion of a tragical performance;
the latter, to appease the wrath of the
unpropitious deities, and assert their
anger at the progress of the Christian
faith.
The sun ascended, and its rays shot
through the pure aud balmy atmosphere.
The guards now gave the signal to issue
forth from the prison. The martyrs had
previously assisted at the celebration of
the holy mysteries, conducted by Saturus
and Saturniuus, and Revocatus, Vivia,
and Felicity, had received from his hands
tlie bread of angels. It was, indeed,
their viaticum. Before they followed
the guards they fell on their knees be
fore the priest and asked his blessing,
and then they gave each other the sacred
kiss of peace.
Saturus went first. His mild and
benevolent countenance at that moment
cairied the impress of nobleness and ma
jesty, and his eyes frequently directed
above, beamed forth an indescrible
glance of happiness and joy. Saturninus
and Kevocatus came next, and it was
evident by the movement of their lips
that their souls were absorbed in prayer.
Felicity could not restrain her feelings,
and wept aloud for joy that God bad
permitted her, though unworthy, to as
cend to heaven by the shedding of her
blood. By her side walked Yivia. That
beautiful face was rather pale, but it had
assumed a quiet and subdued expression.
Those blue eyes, too, which were wont
to beam forth her love for her husband,
her father and her mother, we.# now
modestly cast down, and nothing but the
glitter of those britliant gems which were;
soon to adorujjher crown. Her step was
firm, and her movement as graceful as of
old, but it did not now proceed from
pride, but from the assurance that she
was the beloved spouse of Christ. Her
semi was filled with the divine fire, and it
yearned with impatience to escape from
its mortal tenement of clay They stood
within the arena. Before Yivia entered
she knelt down.
“ Mother! darling mother! bless your
child, it is the last time !” and a lady
bent forward and embraced her.
“ Yes, Yivia, my beloved ! my first
born ! Your mother blesses you. Take
courage, show that you are worthy of
Christ, the living God! I will pray fur
you in your—in your—agony!”
She then hauded to her daughter the
blood-stained veil of Polamiena. Yivia
reverently pressed it to her lips and
covered her head with it as the sacred
aegis of final perseverance. She then
turned round and entered boldly the
dread enclosure.
“ The Christians to the lions!” cried
out the infuriated mob. The cry was re
peated and repeated until its echo re
sounded far and near.
“ Glory and benediction to the mar
tyrs !”
And the man who had uttered these
words rose to address the multitude.
But the excitement was at its highest
pitch, and his voice was unheard amid the
deafening roar of thousands. It was just
as well, for he would have paid with his
blood for the imprudent ardor of his zeal.
That man was Tertuliian.
They were ordered to put on the scar
let robe and the hand around the fore
head. The former was for the men, and
was the insignia ol the priests of Saturn;
the latter for the women, and the sacerdo
tol mark for the priestesses of Ceres.
But they loudly protested against wear
ing anything that was polluted in the su
perstition ot paganism.
“ We came here, ’ they sad, “only to
preserve our liberty. We are Christians,
and we have publicly confessed it, and it
is on these grounds that we have been
condemned. We sacrifice our lives wil
lingly, and you have no right to make
us do anything contrary to our holy iaith.
TSTo. 11.