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VOL. 11.
Renewed.
BY PAUL H. HAYNE.
[From the Home Journal.]
I.
Welcome, rippling sunshine!
Welcome, joyous air !
Like a demon shadow,
Flies the gaunt Despair !
Heaven through heights of happy calm,
Its heart of hearts uncloses,
To win earth’s answering love in balm,
Her blushing thanks —in roses !
11.
Voices from the pine-grove,
Where the pheasants’ drumming,
Voices from the ferny hills
Alive with insects humming ;
Voices low and sweet
From the far off stream,
Where two rivulets meet
With the murmur of a dream;
Voices loud and free
From every bush and tree,
Os sporting forest Hards outpouring songs
of gladness ;
But over them still
With its passionate thrill,
The mock-bird’s jocund madness.
111.
Deep down the swampy brake
Even the poison snake,
Uncoiled, and basking in the noontide
vtanr: * 7 . .
May feel, perchance, on tins auspicious
day,
(All dark clouds rolled away,)
Through his stagnant blood,
Warmed by the sunlight flood,
A faint, far sense,
Coining, he knows not whence,
Os dim intelligence—
The thinnest conscious thrill that human
is, and tender!
IV.
Look!where on the luminous wing
The Ether’s stately king.
The lone sea-eagle, circling proud and
slow,
Towers in the saphire glow ;
From out whose dazzling beam,
His resonant stream,
Heard oven here—a note of fierce de
sire—
Hushes to silent awe the sylvan choir,
Till bird and note, in airy deeps up
drawn,
Are melting toward the dawn!
V.
And hear! 0! hear!
But as if merry pulses tuned their
beating,
The frolic sea waves near,
Dancing along like happy maidens
playing,
When blithe love goes“a-Maying,”
And, wreaking on the shore their
parting blissess
In coy, impulsive kisses;
Whilst he—poor Dullard—cannot catch
or hold them,
Nor in his massive, earthen arms enfold
them,
The laughing virgin waves, so archly,
swiftly meeting !
Vl*
This subtle atmosphere,
So magically clear,
Melts as it were upon my eager lip;
From some invisible goblet of de
light
.Idly I sip and sip
A wine so warm and golden,
(From some enchanted bin the
wine was stolen,)
A wine so sweet and rare,
Methinks a nobler birth
Illuminates the earth,
In my heart I hear a fairy singing;
T et well 1 know' tis but my soul
renew'd,
Re-born and bright,
From grief and grief’s malignant
solitude!
Yet well I know, joy is the Gany
mede,
Who in my yearning need.
Turns to a cordial rich the balmv
air ;
And ’tis but Hope’s divinest
Hope’s return,
Which makes my inmost spirits
throb and burn.
And Hope's triumphant song,
So sweet and strong,
; hat all creation seems with that weird
music ringing!
Augusta. Ga.
[For the Banner of the South.]
ELEANOR STAUNTON.
BY A. SOUTHERNER.
EPISTLE DEDECATORY TO MILES M. FARROW,
ESQ., OF CHARLESTON, S. C.
My Dear Friend: —lt affords me the
sincerest pleasure to inscribe your name
upon my title-page ; and dedicate to you,
who alone stretched out a friendly hand
to sustain the faltering steps of rny
literary aspirations the first success that
I have achieved in my new career.
And I would the effort were a worthier
one, so that it might more closely de
monstrate to the world, the esteem, and
affection entertained for you by
Your ever grateful friend,
The Author.
Elm Cottage , September 10^,1867.
WIXDEMERE pAßK,June,lst,lßG9.
I have been married just one year to
day.
How strange it sounds ! I look back
and it seems as though it had been ages
since last I wrote my name as “Eleanor
Leslie;” and yet in reality one brief
twelve month spans the time.
lam entirely alone. Mr. Staunton left
me this morning to transact some import
ant business, connected with the final
settling of the Lindsay estate, of which
he is one of the executors. He will be
absent a week, or more, which time I will
spend alone. The lamps have just been
lit, and I had opened my writing desk,to
find some means of employing my idle
moments. A few leaves of a diary, kept
before my marriage have suggested a
resumption of it. And though the re
trospection necessary to supply the miss
ing links in the chain of events will be
painful, still I will be glad, after it is
done, and a long quiet week is before me,
in which to accomplish the task.
The last date in my former diary T is
“April 11th,” not quite two months be
fore my marriage. How vividly I re
member all the events connected with
that date ! I had been spending the day
at Delaval Priory, with quite a large rid
ing party.
We returned home by moonlight, and
Lucian Delaval was my escort, and he
beguiled our ride with an account of a
fishing jaunt that he had enjoyed while a
collegian, with my cousin, Percy Howard.
He refused my invitation to spend the
rest of the evening with me, and bade
me good night at the side entrance. I
ran up stairs to my room, and had just
opened my diary to note down the day’s
adventures. I had only written the date,
when Annette came to tell me that my
father desired my presence immediate
ly in the library'. Wondering what
such an abrupt summons portended, I
went down. All me ! The wildest
flight of imagination would not have
readied the truth.
My father was pacing the room in the
utmost excitement, his face flushed, and
his manner bearing all the traces of in
tense agitation. Mr. Morley, his solicitor,
was sitting by the table, with a large
bundle of maps and papers spread out
before him. He rose at my entrance,
and placed a chair fur me, saying “Miss
Leslie has come.” My father came up,
to where I was standiug, and said, as he
took my hands;
“Eleanor, I am a ruined man; there is
a future of shame and disgrace before
me, from which you alone can rescue
me. Will you save my honor ? My fate
is in your hands.”
Stunned, and bewildered, I gazed at
him iu silence, aud he went on rapidly,
almost incoherently :
“U you will give your consent to a
measure that promises happiness and
j com!oit tor yourself, I will be able to
! I( 'd f, ctn myselr, aud stand once more be
fore the world, an honest man. 3L
• daughter, will you save me ! Will yem
1 consent ?” J
AUGUSTA, GA., JULY 31, 1869.
He wrung my hands convulsively 7 as he
spoke.
Mr. Morley now came forward and
said :
“You are needlessly exciting your
daughter,sir; permit me to explain to her
the facts of the case, and what assist
ance she can render you.”
“Yes, Morley, tell her, for I cannot
bear to publish my guiit to my own
child.”
So saying,my father released my hands,
and entering his study closed the door.
And I was left to hear from another the
tale that was to blot out .ill the sunshine
from my future life. I was trembling
excessively,and felt as eo'd as ice.
As soon as we were est alone, Mr.
Morley’s manner changed from the dry
formality of a busine s man to the ten
derness of an old and loving friend. He
led me to a seat, and st od before me. I
was quivering with nervousness, but
waited for a few moments very quietly,
hoping that he would begn his explana
tion unsolicited. At last my suspense
became unendurable, and I said ;
“Mr Morley, if you have anything to
say to me, let me entreat you not to keep
me waiting any'longer.”
“My poor child !” he said pityingly.
“Can you bear it ?”
“Y T es, anything, except this killing un
certainty.” was my impatient reply'.
lie sat down by me,aid began a clear,
succinct narrative of what I had never
dreamed. My father was a speculator of
the wildest, and most visionary descrip
tion. Year after year, he had gone on in
bis ruinous course, against the advice of
all his friends, until now he was involved,
beyond redemption. Every atom of his
available property had been mortgaged
to its full value, to meet the incessant
drains that were made upon him until his
means of rasing funds were exhausted.
Pressing demands were still to be met,
and at last, in desperation, be had taken
steps to procure the necessary amounts
that would publicly disgrace him, unless
some measures were devised and used to
hush the matter up. I only could avert
the consequences of his rashness. And
if I would accept a proposition that he
was authorized to lay before me, the
whole transaction would be buried in
oblivion, and the claims against the
estate could in time be liquidated.
This was the substance of the com
munication. I sat for a few moments iu
stupefied silence ; when I recovered the
use of my faculties, I said :
“What can Ido to save my father
from the dangers that threaten him ?”
A pause of a few moments elapsed be
fore my 7 inquiry was answered. Then
Mr. Morley said :
“You are acquainted with Mr. Staun
ton, of Windemere Park, are you not ?”
“Yes, I have met him frequently. But
what has he to do with this affair !”
“Simply this: Mr. Staunton is your
father’s heaviest creditor, and holds his
honor, nay', possibly his life, in his hands.
Aud I have the following proposition,
made by Mr. Staunton, to submit to
you.” He took a letter from the table
and read the following extraordinary
communication. I give it word for word;
every line is engraven on my memory :
“ To the Hon. Hugh Leslie.”
“Sir, your nefarious transactions have
been discovered, and there is only 7 one
thing that can deter me from treating you
as your perfidy deserves. If you can
obtain from your daughter, (without com
pulsion,or resorting to unworthy devices,)
a promise to be my wife, I will forgive
your conduct,will give your daughter, as
a marriage settlement, all the claims I
hold, or can purchase, against your estate.
If she refuses to marry me, the only
hesitation I feel in exposing you will be
removed: and I shall place the affair in
the hands of my lawyers, to be dealt
with severely as the law permits. I give
you twenty-four hours in which to make
| the decision.” “Edward Staunton.”
The cessation of sound apprised me
that Mr. Morley had finished, and I sat,
aghast and speechless, until he said :
“This is Mr. Staunton’s liberal offer.
Os course, you accept it ?”
I started up, exclaiming passionately:
“Never, sir ! I do not love him; I have
no reason to suppose that he loves me ;
and I will not outrage my womanly dig
nity, by permitting my 7 self to be disposed
of as a mere piece of property. I do
not love Mr. Staunton, and I will never,
never, be his wife.”
Excess of agitation precluded further
utterance. Mr. Morley poured out a
glass of wine, and, holding it toward me,
said earnestly :
“I know you must have time to decide,
and how very repulsive such a marriage
must be to a refined sensitive woman;
but, my 7 child, you must accept it ; you
cannot dare to refuse.”
I waved the wine impatiently aside,
and said :
“I do not recognise the necessity. If
my father is embarrassed, let him take the
property left to me by my mother, and
meet his obligations with it.”
“You know that your father was your
guardian, and ” he paused as though
unwilling to finish.
“And what ?”
“Why, I suppose you will have to kuow
ail sooner or later—your father took ad
vantage of his trust, and you are penni
less. And, moreover, he has used money
that he had even less right to, and which,
if not replaced, will leave the rightful
owners utterly destitute. He was
trustee for the fortune of two little or
phan girls. You may have heard him
speak of them ?”
He paused inquiringly.
“The Lintons?” I said wearily.
‘Wes; their property was all in your
father’s hands. He, trusting to be able
to replace it before they became of age,
applied it to his own purposes ; and. if
you do not accept Mr. Staunton’s offer,
they will be reduced to beggary.”
“But, Mr. Morley, can nothing else be
done ? Why should I sacrifice all my
life ? My father, as a Leslie and a gen
tleman, could not have done anything"too
disgraceful to fear exposure. Let Mr.
Staunton take his own course,” I said,
with a desperate feeling, as the last atom
of solid ground was slipping from be
neath my feet.
“My poor child, I sec I must tell you
all the painful truth ! When your fath
er fouud difficulty in raising monev
through the usual channels, lie applied
to Staunton, requesting a heavy advance,
and reminding him of a similar favor
he had conferred on his father in former
days. Mr. Staunton furnished the re
quired sum, not once, but several times.
At last, wearied with empty promises, he
refused to sign a note fur your father :
and he, pressed for the money, in a mo
ment of infatuation,forged Mr.Staunton’s
name for a large amount, and is conse
quently liable to be prosecuted for
felony.”
“Impossible,” I exclaimed starting to
my feet. “You forget, sir, that you" are
speaking of my father.”
“No, I remember it only too well.
Were the facts of the case different, no
one would reject such a marriage for you
sooner than I would. But, Miss Leslie,
there is no escape ; there is no way that
prosecution can be avoided, except that
pointed out by Mr. Staunton, who would
be the prosecutor; and his terms you must
accept. Your duty as a child, your hon
esty as a Christian woman, your pride as
a Leslie, make it imperative upon you to
sacrifice yourself in any way, save your
fathers’s character and life, to replace
the fortune of the helpless little orphans,
and to redeem the name of your ances
tors from the shame that threatens to
blacken it. Child lam an old man ;
I have grown gray in the service of your
iiouse, as my father did before me; I am
isolated and alone ; every hope, every j
interest, every pride, I have in life, is j
connected with your family, that I Lave 1
so long served and honored. It would
break my heart to see the old name dis
graced, the ancient name that has weath
ered the storms of centuries unspotted
and unscathed.”
He came and stood entreatingly be
fore me, taking both of my hands in his.
I drew away from him, and walked rest
lessly up and down the room, striving
vainly to comprehend the magnitude of
the evils that had overtaken ms ; stun
ned and bewildered by the terrible
circumstances in which I found myself
placed. I was only casually acquainted
with Mr. Staunton, and had never
thought of him as a lover. "Whatever
day dreams I had indulged in, were
filled with another image. Still I only
realized the shame and horror of my
position.
I suppose half an hour had elapsed in
silence, when Mr. Morley said :
“Time progresses, Miss Leslie; your
answer must be sent to Windemere by
daybreak.”
With the desperateness of a wretch
forced to the wall. I knelt down by the
table and wrote the following :
“Mr. Staunton :”
“Your proposition has been submitted
to me; aud, influenced solely by the pen
ality attached to my refusal, I write to
signify my acceptance of it.”
“Eleanor Leslie.”
I handed this to Mr. Morley, and
said :
“Give.it to my father,” and staggered
from the room.
The lamps was burniug brightly in my
chamber; on my desk lay my diary with
the date only written, and, beside it, a
letter bearing the well known Calcutta
post-mark,and directed in Percy Howard’s
bold, graceful caligraphy I took the
the letter; and,without breaking the seal,
held it with an unfaltering hand m the
blaze of the lamp until it was consumed;
as the last blackened fragment fell from
rny grasp I said: “good bye to the happy
past and all its associations : henceforth
my life exists in the present moment.”
I almost feel tempted to stop —the
mere writing of those heart-sickening
days brings back so vividly the wretched
feelings connected with them. A dull
despair, the wild, impotent hope that af
ter all some means of escape would he
found for me ; all, all, comes rushing
over me again.
Two days after my acceptance of Mr.
Staunton’s offer he came over to Leslie
Hall to see me. lie was alone in the draw
ing room when I entered, and received
me with marked courtesy. After a few
indifferent remarks, he said:
“I received a note the other day, bear
ing your signature ; were you the writer
of it ?”
“Yes, sir ;” I replied briefly.
“In it you pledged yourself to many
me ; when will you be ready to redeem
the pledge ?”
“As soon as you choose to demand it.
sir; I am only a piece of property, trans
ferrable from my father’s hands to your's
whenever it is deemed advisable.” I
said rather bitterly.
He looked keenly at me for a moment,
and then said :
“Will the first of June be inconven
iently early ?”
“No, sir I replied calmly, though
witii a deadly sinking ol the heart.
“I do not wish to hurry you, Miss
Leslie ; but I wiii be compelled to leave
the country after a few months, and
would preier to be married before I go;
although of course, I will postpone the
day, if you choose.”
“I have uo objections to offer to the
first of June !” I said.
“Thank you,” he replied. “The rest
can be settled between your father aud
my solicitor.”
L went to my room, and threw myself
down in an agony of grief. 1 his cold
business transaction was all the wooing I
was to receive ; and in so short a time
I was to be married to an almost
3STo. 20.