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VOL.. 11.
[From a Northern Paper.]
G-od Help the South.
God help the South, dear sunny land,
Bv tyrants crushed and riven,
Betrayed, insulted, conquered, taxed—
By Negroes ruled and driven ;
Bright native land of noble hearts,
The Union’s truest glory.
The day will come when Truth shallwrite
Your fair, unwarped story.
God help the South ! Thine arms alone
Can loose the chains that bind her—
Degrading bonds that have too long
Most ruthlessly entwined her;
Lift up the heads now bowed in grief,
Give joy instead of sorrow.
And for these weary hours of gloom
A calm and glorious morrow.
Their father’s God, and now their own,
On whom their hearts still rested,
"When darkest days of grief and woe
Their happy homes invested;
Then was Thine sufficient arm
The power that oft sustained them,
And from more bitter draughts of grief
The pitying hand restrained them.
Still do they turn to Thee, O God!
Give rest from all their sadness,
And pour upon their strife-sick hearts
Thy precious oil of gladness ! <
Give them Thy firm, enduring peace—
A pence that will not leave them.
Then bitter words shall cease to sting
And broken faith to grieve them.
Men call this peace—this wretched thing—
0, falsehood basely spoken !
Because their banners trail in dust,
Because their swords are broken,
Because—ah! bitterest of all—
Their warrior's heads are lying
On battle-fields, too dearly won,
When victory crowned the dying.
Ah! who shall know the mighty hopes
Relentless death has shattered—
A nation’s hopes, all swept away,
Like leaves in Autumn scattered!
They hope no more. They turn to Thee,
For only Thou canst aid them,
To rise, renewed and vigorous still,
From tli’ ruin we have made them.
Written for the Banner of the South.
ELEANOR STAUNTON.
BY A SOUTHERNER.
DEDICATED TO MILES M. FARROW, ESQ., OF
CHARLESTON, S. C.
[continued.]
WindemePce, Park, Sept. 14th.
The season is exquisite; 1 never saw
such a one before. Still, to me, it is
always a melancholy beauty, speaking of
change and death. The brown and “faded
garniture of the fields;” the woods glow
ing with their gorgeous, many-hued gar
ments; the rich dress tints of the sky;
the golden haze in the air; the soft
winds sighing over the dying flowers,
whoso fragrance so late perfumed their
breath; all, all, tell us that this beautiful
reason is but the burial pageant of the
dead Summer.
“September strews the woodlands o’er
A ith many a brilliant color,
1 he world seems brighter than before —
A hy should our hearts he duller?
Sorrow, and the scarlet leaf,
v ad thoughts, and sunny weather,
Aii me! this glory and this grief
Agree not well together.”
How well these musical lines suit the
season, which is to me peculiarity de
pressing. I seem to view everything
tl ] ro ' { he same soft, hazy atmosphere that
clothes the outer world.
Events and incidents occurring daily
around me, are like things done in a
'•ream. A leathargy, something like
described in Tennyson's “Lotus
haters’” has seized me. 1 must rouse
j Myself; this state of feeling is neither
ealthy nor right. I must strive to over
come it.
> Windemere Park, Sept. 16th.
Aunt Margaret has just left me. She
'.os; “You are so much taken up with
your guests, Eleanor, that I can't get a
word with you during the day. So I
come, like an owl, to do my visiting at
night.” The full house gives her many
topics of conversation ; she sees everything,
and knows something amusing or inter
esting about all the families represented
here. She has discovered Lucian’s de
votion to Florence, and her quaint obser
vation about it was this:
“I see young Mr. Delaval devoting
himself very faithfully to your pretty
little friend, Miss Mortimer. lam
not surprised, however, for there was
always a fool in the Delaval family ”
“Why, aunt, how severe you are. Lu
cian is verv far from being a fool.”
“I did not mean mentally deficient. But
don’t tell me that a man is not a fool
who allows himself to fall in love with a
girl, when their united estates would not
pay his tailor’s bill for a year.’’
“There it is again ; always the sordid
consideration of pouuds and shillings to
come between young people and matri
mony,” I said, indignantly.
Aunt replied very coolly :
“A sordid consideration, if you choose,
but still an indispensable one. Bread
and butter, a joint of meat, and ser
vant’s wages, to say nothing of a house
and wearing apparel, are always requis
ite, no matter how much the people may
be in love; and love never yet paid
tailor’s bills or house rent. Genteel pov
erty is the heaviest curse that can be
laid on educated and refined people.
You have never seen the struggle; but
it is none the less terrible, I have wit
nessed it, and, from my observation, I
will say that a poor gentleman is the
most wretched being in existence. Not
that he cannot be thoroughly respectable
and respected; still if he has seen better
days; if ‘he has known things’—as a
broken down gentleman once expressively
styled the constant mortifications and
privations that ho is exposed to,
make life exceedingly bitter, more espe
cially if he has a wife and children
whom he sees suffering with himself.”
“But, Aunt Margaret, it would not
take much to support two people,” I said.
“Probably not, my dear, if they were
certain of always being two people. But
when persons marry they have no right
to expect to remain only two always. In
almost all cases little children come; and
what might support Mr. and Mrs. De
laval comfortably will not pay doctors’
bills and nursery wages, and possibly a
tutor for Master, and a governess for
Miss, or give the one a collegiate course,
or the other Italian or music lessons.”
“But, aunt,” I began, seeing the force
ot her argument, yet striving to put it
aside.
“But, neice,” she said, not allowing me
to finish, “you have not a word to say.
Pacts are stubborn things, and must be
looked steadily in the lace before a step
is taken that may prove disastrous and
unhappy to more people than the per
petrators thereof. And the evil conse
quences of a foolish marriage, very rare
ly die with the husband and wife.”
Aunt Margaret is right. But, poor
children! I still hope, like Wilkins ‘Ali
cawber,” that “something will yet turn
up,” and enable them to find their happi
ness in their own way.
Windemere Paek, Sept. 20th.
The days are speeding by very fast,
and very pleasantly. The gentlemen
declare that it is an incomparable hunt
ing season; consequently, they are out
nearly every day. I fancy that to some
of the girls time lags wearily until the
gentlemen appear.
For my own part, I have occupation
enough. Mr. Staunton lias lately given
me a beautiful horse, and insists on my
riding, morning and evening. He rides
with me frequently himself; and, when
that is impracticable, deputes Percy to
be my knight of the bridle rein. Very
oiten some of the young people go with
1 us, which makes it much pleasanter, as
AUGUSTA, GA., AUGUST 21, 1869.
Percy then exerts himself to be agreea
ble. Generally, when we are alone, he
is moody and taciturn, riding my side
for an hour and sometimes without
making a dozen remarks. If his tone
was not so pleasant when he does vouch
safe to open his mouth, I would think I
had offended him in some way.
Windemere Park, Sept. 28th.
Air. Oliver Stanley has been nominated
as the member for this county at the
coming election; and he has been work
ing very hard to secure his seat. They
have given several popularity balls to
the middle classes, and the bait to catch
the gentry is a large breakfast and
archery meeting.
Mrs. Stanley and her son, Cornet Har
ry, came over this morning to secure us
all as guests. We will all go, (D. V.)
Percy insists on being permitted to pre
sent us with our equipments, and we
have made many virtuous resolutions
to practice daily in the archery ground
ground.
“You should not need much practice,
Eleanor, for you shot remarkably well
last Spring,” said Air. Staunton to me,
while at luncheon.
“I taughtN ell the use of the bow and
arrow, and pride myself no little on my
successful method of ‘teaching the young
idea how to shoot’ with accuracy,” re
marked Percy.
“You allow nothing, then, Air. Howard,
to the intelligence and aptitude of your
pupil,” said Air. Staunton, laughingly.
“Allow anything to the intelligence of
my pupil! 1 like that—it is so refreshing
ly cool. When Nell is remarkable for
I suppose I cannot, in civility, use
a befitting term—but not extreme bril
liancy. Everything commendatory about
that young person is solely attributable to
the careful training that I bestowed upon
her; and it is not so much that I overtax
my modesty in claiming it,” was his
saucy response.
“Eleanor, I will leave you to punish
your cousin’s audacity as you see fit.”
“Percy knows that he is safe, belong
ing, as he does, to that class of beings
who are privileged to say anything
they please with impunity, their weak
ness tying our tongues.”
“And what favored class may that be,
madarne, that has the honor of enrolling
me as one of its members?” queried that
irrepressible young gentleman, with a
pleasing affectation of ignorance.
“Hush, Howard, don’t ask such a
question; ‘where ignorance is bliss’—you
know the rest of the quotation,” laugh
ingly observed Mr. Stanhope.
Everybody was in unusually gay
spirits, and the ball of badinage was
kept in motion all the evening.
When I retired to-night, Florence
Mortimer followed, and asked lor a few
moments conversation. I bade her be
seated, and unlocked my jewel casket to
put up the ornaments that I had worn.
When I rejoined her. she was crying
softly
“Why, Florence dearest, what is the
matte r?” I asked.
“Nothing, except that I am so foolish.”
“Only foolish, love,” I said, teasingly,
taking up her soft white hand, and hold
ing it so that the lamplight was diffused on
a handsome diamond solitaire.
“And also very happy; Luciau pro
mised to tell you.”
And Lucian did follow me to the
drawing-room door, to whisper, “Con
gratulate me, dearest Mrs. Staunton ; I
am the happiest of men, and Florence
the dearest of women.'’ Was that what
I was to hear ?”
A laughing, blushing, confession of the
old, old, stor}\ love’s sweet dream, fol
lowed; and we talked late into the
night.
‘‘But, Florence, you do not think of
marrying now ?*’
“Not "just now, but we can wait,” she
answered, brightly.
Poor children! I hope their proba
tion will be brief.
Windemere Park, October 6th.
I can’t make myself like Laura Tem
pleton. Sometimes, when she tries to be
agreeable, I think I like her; but, just
as soon as the glamour of her presence
is removed, the old aversion returns in
full force. Aunt Margaret said to-night
pretty much ihe same thing.
“Don’t undertake to sum up her good
points, my love, for they don’t alter my
opinion a bit. I knew her mother’s peo
ple, and slippery souls, every head of
them proved, women as well as men, and
most unprincipled and selfish. ’Twas a
bad infusion upon the honest old Tem
pleton stock.”
Annette told me that Miss Templeton
received a letter this morning, brought
up by a groom wearing the Leslie livery,
and that Bianca, Laura’s maid, told her
it had been sent to the Hall by mistake.
Avery improbable statement; and lam
uneasy about it, though I really do not
think she would marry so old a man as
my father; especially as Aunt Margaret
says she is in love with Percy. I wish
she had never come into this part of the
country.
Windemere Park, October 15th.
To morrow is the day of 3lrs. Stan
ley’s breakfast. We have practised
steadily; and those specimens of the
genua Jtomo who have witnessed our ef
forts, are lavish in their commendations
thereof.
lam horribly depressed to-night. A
dark shadow clings to my spirit, and
clouds each moment. Do “coming events
cast their shadow before?” and, if so,
what is waiting behind a corner of my
future to seize upon me ?
Windemere Park, October 16th.
Air. Staunton presented me this morn
ing with an elegant riding watch that
he ordered from London for me—a reps
silk, of a rich emerald green color, fit
ting exquisitely, fastened up to the
throat with large, lustrous pearls ; ex
quisite point lace ruffles edging the neck
and wrists. Aly hair was drawn back
from my face, and braided with large
pearls into a rich knot a hat of black
velvet, with a cluster of plumes, fasten
ed with a superb ruby clasp; and a pair
of kid gloves, a shade darker than my
dress, embroidered with seed pearls, com
pleted my toilet. I rode over to “Stanley
Place” with Percy, as Air. Staunton had
to see his agent on important business,
that could not be postponed. There was
a large crowd of people, and everything
went on as it always does at such fes
tivities. I might have had a pleasant
time, but an incident occurred or the
archery ground that completely marred
the day for me. While some question of
measurement was being decided, Percy
and I were standing together, apart from
the crowd. He had won the prize, a
beautiful golden arrow, set with rubies
and diamonds, and insisted on my ac
cepting it. There were two gentlemen
near us, one wearing the uniform of the
“Scotch Greys,” and the other of the
“Light Dragoons.”
“Who are those standing bv that large
oak ? From their isolated position they
seem like lovers. ”
“Mr. Percy Howard, of Oakleigii Hall,
and his cousin, Mrs. Staunton—lovers, if
you choose to use a broad term, but, un
fortunately for all parties, the lady’s hus
band is living.”
“Indeed; what a pity! But are you
not misinformed?”
“Why should you think so? I had it
from the best authority .”
They moved on as lie spoke, and the
rest of the remark was lost I felt the
blood tingling to the very tips of my
i finders, and wished that I could die there
' and then. Percy made one step forward
in the direction taken by them, and then
seemed to think better of it, and stood
quietly by my side.
“Who are those officers standing by
that fountain, Mr. Stanley ?” he asked
quietly, some minutes afterwards, as our
host joined us.
“Oapt. Campbell, of the ‘Greys,’ and
Lieut Lawson, of the ‘Light Dragoons.”
“They are soldierly looking men,” was
his only comment. The insolence I had
heard completely unnerved me, and made
me anxious to go home; and, as soon as
we could leave politely, we gathered our
party together, and started, I riding with
Charlie Stanhope.
Windemere Park, October 17th.
Mr. Delaval was absent all last even
ing; and Percy left directly after break
fast, declaring that he had some business
at Staunton, (our post town,) which
would detain him some hours. A great
deal of polite curiosity was manifested,
especially by Laura, which remained
ungratified, however. Florence spent
the morning with me. Mr. Delaval has
taken Percy into their confidence; and
he, with the generous interest that he
always takes in the affairs of his friends,
has written to an influential house in
Calcutta, with which he is connected, to
secure a position in it for Lucian, that
will enable him to marry within a year
or so, if the application is successful.
Late this evening, while we were all
in the drawing room, Percy and Mr.
Delaval entered. Percy’s left arm was
in a sling, and he was instantly surround
ed by an interested crowd, who wished an
explanation thereof. Putting on his
most languid and insufferable air, he
waived his friends aside, while he made
his way towards a lounge by my work
table.
“Now, good folks,” he condescended,
at last, to say, “since you are pleased to
be interested in my accident, I refer you
to Air. Delaval, who can give the fulled
information respecting it. I decline doing
so myself, having had enough of the ad
venture in being the hero of it.”
The crowd ebbed as suddenly as it
had gathered, and clustered around Lu
cian Delaval, who said:
“Air. Howard was thrown, and his
arm injured, though not dangerously. We
called at a surgeon’s, and had it dressed ;
the surgeon assured him that in a week
it will be as well as ever.”
“Mr. Howard unhorsed ? I can scarce
ly believe you,” said Laura, holding up
her white hands in astonishment.
“Is it not surprising Aliss Templeton ?
I assure you I could hardly persuade
myself that it was not Delaval, until he
solemnly declared that it was I; and I
don’t know T then that I should have be
lieved him, if my arm had not refused
its usual offices.”
“I took no part in the conversation
that ensued. I felt convinced that the
statement given of the origin of the ac
cident was not true. Percy was, without
question, the best horseman in the coun
try: the wildest, most unbroken horses
had failed to unseat him. There was
only one solution of the mystery to me;
and during an interval ot animated con
versation, I leaned over, and said:
“Percy, you are deceiving us ; I do
not think you have given the real expla
nation of your injury.”
“Aly dear cousin, I am sure Delaval
will not feel flattered at your lack of con
fidence in his veracity.”
“Os course, Percy, I have nothing
more to say; though lam unconvinced
by your non-committal answer.”
I left the room before lie could reply,
and, going to my chamber, rang for An
nette. 1 knew whatever had occurred
would go to the servants’ hall, She
came with eyes and mouth wide open.
“Oh Aliss, 1 would not have had sou
know it for the world before Alas ter
Percy came home; but Mr. Willis says,
Ma’am, that it is the special blessing of
Providence that his master was not
! killed as Lt. Lawson fired before the word.”
No. 23
