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VOL. 11.
The Burning, of Moscow.
O’er dome and palace, cross and minaret,
The sun, as in the glowing west he set.
Had cast a parting gleam ;
For never on that city, now so bright,
Was morning sun to throw his cheerful
ligljt;
’Twaslike some horrid dream.
As o’er the city night’s dark shadows fell,
The tramp of soldiers seemed to toll its
knell,
Deep silence reigned supreme ;
A silence which, amid that awful gloom,
Resembled most the silence of the tomb.
But sudden, while th’invading legions slept,
From out the gloom where thickest there
upleapt
A tongue of lurid flame !
Like some gigantic pine-torch waved on
high,
Lit up the darkness of the midnight sky,
Then vanished whence it came.
And then, not one, hut fifty fires uprose,
The ministers of wrath on Russia’s foes;
Twas everywhere the same.
And each dim outline in that vengeful
. light
Stood out full boldly to the gazer’s sight.
The soldier, wearied with the city’s spoil,
Has found, in sleep, refreshment from his
toil;
Strange visions rack his brain ! •
‘“Forward! * he seems to hear the bugle
sound,
Once more the hostile squadrons close
around;
He meets the foe again !
The cannon belches forth its iron hail:
The air is thick—his reeling senses fail—
He sinks upon the plain—
But lo! before his eyes there flashed a
gleam,
Twas surely not a vision of his dream!
from house to house the fierv tempest
flew,
Fanned into fury by each wind that tdew,
Widespread on every side,
Like an o’erflowing river, freed at length
From those restraints which chained its
giant strength,
Resistless in its pride.
A sea of flame! The Heavens reflect the
glow,
W bile lolty domes come thund’ring far
below,
Into that raging tide,
Which never ebbs, but flows with ceaseless
roar,
Like wild waves dashing on a rocky shore
And then, from out dim poverty’s abode,
Ihe last of Moscow’s squalid thousands
strode:
I'he aged, lame, and blind ;
The son who, ’mid that sea of raging fire.
Remained to guide the footsteps of his sire,
While borne upon the wind,
I'heard that last, prolonged, despairing
cry;
The mother warning, in her agony,
1 he child she'll never find.
1 hat ghastly crew have passed the citv’s
. ? ate ’
grief not for their own, but Moscow’s
fate.
Fo r still destruction rages far and wide,
* ” “1 nothing stem that all-devouring tide ?
“is this our city's doom?
Moscow’s ruins, by the voice of fame,
-btest her hatred of th’ invader’s name?’'
ho' tar amid the gloom,
its gilded domes and turrets flashing bright,
>° vast and vetlso airy, through the night
the kremlin's towers loom,
hike some grim giant rising in his ire
10 crus n beneath his feet th’ avenging fire.
On every side the circling flamelets close,
' !t . where that pile in majesty once rose,
l hey stay as though in fear—
A niomen t stay their headlong, onward
course;
‘* s t,] °' e’en they were stricken with
remorse:
yet revenge is dear,
•i es - kussia is content to suffer woe,
io avenged upon her hated foe.
And that revenge is near !
pent up flames rush on; they circle o’er,
" lk ‘ dazzling blaze; the Kremlin is no
more!
\y v U l nes *' an d hi silence o’er the waste,
’ ‘ tu liearts subdued, th’ invading legions
As one by one they fell,
They with sorrow, of that city’s
fate.
With sorrow, but ’twas now, alas, too late;
Its ruin toll’d their knell.
Dread Nature, who had laid their legions
low,
Had wrapped them in a winding sheet of
snow,
And few were left to tell,
Os those who saw, decked in her fiery robe,
Moscow, the fairy Queen of half the globe.
J. W. R.
St. Edmund's College , Ware, England ,
April 21, 1869.
Written for the Banner of the South.
ELEANOR STAUNTON.
BY A SOUTHERNER.
DEDICATED TO MILES M. FARROW, ESQ., OF
CHARLESTONS, S. C.
, [continued.]
London, July Ist, 18—.
The days have flown with winged feet.
So different from those I first spent here.
May be, because I have become accus
tomed to all the “ disagreeables” that
impressed me so forcibly on my first
arrival.
The air is unusually cool for this sea
son* and the weather is beautiful. The
sunshine gilase very thing; even the dusty
smoke-stained palings of the Park grows
beautiful in its light.
We leave for home to-morrow. I have
seen a great deal of Miss Templeton, but
cannot say that I think more favorably
of her than I did at first. Percy has
gone home to “Beverly” with Mr. Charlie
Stanhope, and will be there some weeks.
He will be within an hour’s ride of
Windemere.
I am not sorry to go home, though my
visit here has been pleasant and very dis
sipated. Matinees, dinners, and balls,
the opera, and all the other resorts of
fashionable time-killers. But Ido not
care for city life. Indeed, lam a gen
uine rustic.
Windemere Park, July 2d.
Home again, and very glad. We found
the traveling delightful. The roads were
never in better condition.
Miss Templeton is delighted, or pro
fesses to be (diary dear, it strikes'me
that I am waxing very uncharitable),
delighted with her future home. We
arrived just before sunset. So she saw
everything in perfect trim. The rich
light, rosy with sunset tints, gilded turrets
and towers, and bathed woods and park
in golden radiance, and T up the broad
winding river till it looked like a band of
rippled silver, while that great alchymist,
the sun, who alone holds the secret of
transmuting all substances into gold,
was lavish with his favors.. The foun
tains tossed golden sprays into the glow
ing air, and the windows in the western
gallery were a blaze of ruby splendor.
But my pen lags wearily, lam too tired
to indulge in descriptive flights.
Mr. Stanton observed at tea to-night,
how very attractive he thought Percy.
Miss Templeton remarked that he was
an old friend of hers, and had been her
escort from India. ’Tis a little strange
Percy never told me that. She sings
and plays remarkably well After tea
she favored us with some exquisite Indian
songs. One I particularly liked: “The
Hindoo Mother.’’ I would like to have
Percy sing it, his voice; U so very sweet.
Windemere Park, omly 3d.
I was just trying on my hat this morn
ing, preparing to visit my flowers, when
Percy rode up:
“You see, madame, I lost no time in j
coming to bid you welcome home,” he !
cried gaily, as he dismounted.
I turned to lead the way into the '
bouse, but he begged me to show me his !
floral treasures. I assented; and he had I
•[ ust be g un agi .wing description of the
botanical wealth of India, wh:m Laura!
Templeton joined us. With a pretty ;
AUGUSTA, GA., AUGUST 14, 1869.
start ot surprise at the sight of Percy,
she asked when he arrived.
“ Only a few minutes ago. Did you
not see me ? You were standing at a
window as I rode up.”
“But quite oblivious of your august
approach. I was deep in the mysteries
of that charming book of Bailey’s that
has so much about Lucifer in it.”
“That ought not to recommend it to
such an orthodox church woman as Miss
Templeton claims to be.”
“I didn’t think the mere fact of his
Satanic Majesty being introduced, so at
tractive ; but Bailey makes him such a
shrewd, clever, satirical individual, that
one can’t help hilling quite in love with
him.”
“ A most heterodox confession, Miss
Templeton. I shall be constrained to
report you to the Rector.”
They kept up a bantering conversa
tion all the time; but that is all I can
remember sufficiently to write, and there
was no especial reason for my transcribing
even that much.”
Percy staid only an hour or such a
matter. Mr. Staunton treats him charm
ingly, unbending more to him than lever
saw him do to any one else. Though
few have the charm of Percy’s gay,
genial manner, and graceful wit.
Windemere Park, July 20th.
Quite a gap since 7 y last entry. But
I have been too much engaged other
wise to be regular in “posting up” my
diary. And, withal, there lias been no
thing to write about.
Percy has been with us every day.
mostly. Sometimes bringing some of
the Stanhopes with him, but oftener
coming alone. I sometimes fancy, per
haps erroneously, tbit Laura is some
what fascinated by him; and, indeed,
’twould be no wonder, for he is very
charming.
I was a little amused this morning, and
also a little disgusted, at something
Laura said. We three were alone in the
library, and were dis^uUsing convention
alities and the forms f society. Some of
them seeming so unn pessary, and yet,
if you examine to tb e root of the matter,
all founded on rules f gdod sense and
good taste. And Lu .ra turned suddenly
to me and said :
“Mrs. Staunton, wdl you dispense with
a formality, and call v e Laura ?”
‘ Certainly, if you wish it.”
“ Indeed, Ido wis> it. It will sound
so much sweeter, an more motherly." 1
This was said w h the most earnest,
simple manner. Percy smiled quizzical
ly, and, before I coull reply, said:
“Sound more motherly! I rather
like that! Pray, Mi s Templeton, how
old do you imagine Mrs. Staunton to be ?”
“ I really have no idea, Mr. Howard.”
“Then, permit me to enlighten you.
She was just nineteen on the first of
May. Exactly five years my junior, as
by some strange coincidence, our birth
days are the same.”
“Indeed ! I bq Mrs. Staunton’s
pardon for my over-estimate,” was her
haughty response, a.s she left the room.
“Well, that was too ridiculous ! Miss
Templeton is so absurdly jealous.”
“Jealous, Percy ! Os what?”
“Os your bewitching grace—of the
admiration you excite, and of .”
“And of what else ?”
“Why, anything else you choose to
supply. Your fascinating cousin, may
be.”
‘ Read conceited for fascinating, Percy,
and your description will be rather more
life-like,” I retorted.
At dinner, in replying to a question
of Laura’s, I called her by her name.
“Taking your first lessons in maternal
tenderness,” whispered Percy, mischiev
ously.
I am afraid Laura (and I don’t like to
call her so overheard him; for
she flushed a du'sky red for a moment or
s >: and, by the Tvay, a color becomes
her.
WINDEMER.E Park, July 22 d.
Laura Templeton (you see I will use
her name, feeling as though it put a
greater distance between us) was sing
ing a little song this morning called
“Woman’s Love.” The words were so
tender and self-abnegating, that they
excited some remarks, which led to a
discussion of the subject at length.
Percy turned to Laura and asked:
“What sacrifice, Miss Templeton, could
you make for the man you loved ?”
“The sacrifice of everything, without
limit or reservation,” was her almost im
passioned reply. “ And you, cousin ?”
“Everything but conscience,” I said,
quietly.
‘‘You are right, Eleanor; holding to
such principles, you will always be
spared self-reproach,” Mr. Staunton spoke
with grave earnestness.
Laura said jestingly, though rather in
bad taste, I thought:
“A most proper reservation to make,
during cool discussion, Mrs. Staunton;
but, under the progress of strong temp
tation from within, and without, may be
you would prove mere weak mortality
after, all.”
“I think you are mistaken. Miss Tem
pleton; I would trust my wife to any
temptation, confident that she would
preserve intact the dignity and purity of
an English gentlewoman.”
“Mr. Staunton spoke so gravely that
Laura said:
“I beg your pardon; I did jest im
prudently. no doubt.”
The jest was in rather questionable
taste. But that might be said of more
than one spark of Miss Templeton’si
Life at a military station does not im
prove a woman’s tongue, apparently.
But I grow so uncharitable —when I
speak of an orphan guest too.
Windemere Park, July 26th.
Percy had not been over for three
days, until he came this morning to say
“Good-bye.” He in going to visit the
Lakes with some friends. He stayed a
very short time, and was very much
preoccupied, and—l was going to add,
disagreeable. He called me “Mrs. Staun
ton’’ twice; and, when Laura asked if he
would not keep up a regular correspon
dence with me, so that we might enjoy
his trip second-hand, he said, almost
rudely:
“1 do not intend to write to any oue.”
“Then, you must intend to make a
flying visit!”
“On the contrary, I shall stay until
the last of August, possibly until the
first week in September,” he brusquely
retorted.
1 was astonished at his ill-temper; and,
with a touch oi my old time waywardness,
the moore moody and silent he became,,
the more gay and exquisitely courteous
1 was. I asked him to stay to luncheon
with elegant formality; and finally con
cluded my prank by regretting that “my
husband was out”—a ceremonious title
I had never used before. Percy rose in
the midst of my remarks, and so soon as
1 concluded, bowed and walked oil'
Laura laughed a little, and said :
“What a charming mood Mr. Howard
is in—so spirited and manly.”
“A strange choice of terms, Laura. I.
would have said cross and disagreeable.”
Why, you think ill-temper a masculine
characteristic.”
“Your severity surprises me, Airs.
Staunton. I did not think Air. Howard
could offend you.”
The tone was so marked and disa
greeable, that I replied quickly, looking
her steadily in the face while I spoke:
“Air. Howard, or any one else, can
offend me by forgetting the respect due
my position.”
She laughed slightly, but I know she
felt the intended rebuke.
A groom rode over from Beverly this
evening to bring some books that Percy
had borrowed, and a superb bouquet of
flowers “For the ladies, with Air. How- 1
ard's compliments, and the party had
gotton off.” With a charming exhibi
tion of what was meant, I suppose, for
girlish vivacity, Laura took the flowers
and examined them in every possible
light.
“All! a note!” she said exultingly, at
last. “It is directed to you Mrs. Staun
ton. Shall I read it to you V 1
“If you choose,” I said, indifferently,
although I felt a little provoked.
She broke the seal hastily, and read
the following :
“ I cannot leave, Eleanor, without
apologising for my bearishness this morn
ing. It was so entirely unjustifiable, that I
can offer no extenuating plea. So I
throw myself upon your mercy alone for
forgiveness. Ever faithfully yours,
“Percy Howard.”
“That is all,” she said.
“And that is quite as much as there
was any necessity for,” I replied.
“If you have no use for the note, I
will tear it up,” she said, suiting the
action to the word.
“Are you destroying a copy of ‘re
jected addresses,’ Miss Templeton ?”
asked Mr. Staunton, who came in at that
moment.
“Oh, no; it is a note from Mr. Howard
to she paused mysteriously.
“Indeed ! when will my authority as
guardian be appealed to ?”
.“.Not all. The note was to Mrs.
Staunton, and I thought it had be t be
destroyed,” she replied, provokingly.
Thoroughly vexed at her making so
much of a trifle, I said, rather haughtily:
“Miss Templeton is pleased to make
herself merry over a very trifling courte
sy. Mr. Howard came over this morn
ing to say “good-bye. He was out of
temper about something that he did not
see fit to explain, and, think he had been
deficient in politeness, wrote, briefly
apologizing. I did not see the note; and,
if Miss Templeton had spared herself the
trouble of destroying it, you would have
been at liberty to inspect it.”
“Thankyou, Eleanor; but you know
that examining your letter is a privilege
that I have never availed myself of, feel
ing quite assumed that Mrs. Staunton
would never receive a communication
that her husband could not see.”
His marked expression of confidence
was meant more lor Laura than for me.
She never leaves an opportunity unim
proved for saying tilings—jestingly, it is
true—that would make divisions, or
rather misunderstandings, between Mr.
Staunton and myself, it he was more in
love with me, or I less frank and open
with him.
WINDEMERE ?ARK, August Ist.
Mr. Staunton bestowed a stronger
mark of confidence on me this morning*.
I was in my dressing-room, reading, when
someone knocked at the door. Sup
posing it to be Annette, I merely said :
“ Come in;” and to my surprise, in walked
Mr. Staunton. I rose to receive him,
and he had just commenced some expla
nation of his coming, when bis eye fell on
a small copy of Miss Percival’s portrait,
that I had taken and placed over the
mantel. He started at the sight, and
grew white to the very lips. And then,
mustering himself by a strong effort,
said :
“ Eleanor, do you imow the history of
my connection with the original of that
picture ?”
“Yes; Aunt Margaret told me,” I
replied.
“ I am glad to hear it, for it simplifies
my task very much. I received a letter
this morning from what was once Au
g'usia 1 ercival. She is ill in Havre,'and
entreats me to come and sec her, thatjslu*
may hear her pardon from my own iips.
i havo come to tell you, and to hear \ uur
wishes upon the subject. If you object,
of course I will not go. W ill you see
the letter
‘Ao, I thank you. lam grateful for
this mark of confidence; and, of course,
No. 22.