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~~"* "** '' '~' "** ' ' ''' '' ' ' *"* " " ' VOL. 111. Reply to the Conquered Banner by w. DEDICATED TO GEN’. J. B. KERSHAW. Why should that Flag be furled for ever ? Can it be forgotten ? Never ! It shall be the Southron’s glory: It shall live in “song and story;” Must we furl it then, for aye ? Those who once “hailed it so gladly:’’ Those who around it swore “so madly” To preserve it, answer—Nay. Because some bands that proudly “grasp ed it,” Because some hearts that fondly clasp ed it, “Cold and dear are lying low; Shall we furl that banner tattered— Tho’ its staff may now be “shattered;” Shall we furl it, and for aye? Those who made that “banner gory;” Those who wreathed it round “with glory;” Aud their sires, tho’ bent and hoary, Answer quickly , proudly —Nay. Is there no one left to “hold it. Love it,” bless it and unfold it ? Must it then be furled for aye ? Those whose blood spots now impress it; Young and old who now caress it; Unborn millions who shall bless it, Answer quickly , j?roudly —Nay. Do none live who proudly “bore it ?” None who vet, love and “adore it,” And envy “those who fell before it ?” Must they iurl then for aye ? By the dear ones slain to save it; By the blood they gave “to lave it;” We, quickly, proudly, answer—Nay. Tho' our “glorious flag is weary,” And “round its staff’ is drooping dreary;” Shall we furl it and for aye ? By the wrongs impressed upon us— By the dear ones taken from us— By the withered hopes among us— We, the living , answer Nay! Voices from the grave are coming, Heavenly choirs are sweetly humming— “ Save it ! save it V thus they say. Glorious angelic sonnet, Our faith takes hold and hangs upon it— “lis our God, our God who has done it Unfold it, leave it —and for aye THE CARRIER PIGEON. A Legend of the Eliine. In the days of old, known by the gen eral term, the middle ages, there dwelt at Stonnenberg a nobleman called the Baron Yon Altenfeldt. As far as stature and strength of limb went, he was a fine specimen of the ancient German nobility. At the time of my legend lie was pacing the declivity of years ; nevertheless he possessed remarkable strength and activi ty for a man of his age. The Baron was, however, clear-headed and successful in his calculations. He Lad received sub stantial proof of the favor of his sover eign, and did not fail to exact from those around him the respect due to his'age, wealth and station. He had within his castle of Sonnenberg an estimable treas ure—a priceless jewel; this was his only daughter, Odellia. Haughty and impe rious as was his manner to most persons around him, he was uniformly kind and gentle when in her presence ; indeed, his rough voice was even tuneful when ad dressing the bright creature who called him father. But the love of the old Baron had in it a certain amount of self ishness; he was proud ot his daughter, and if he disdained to look beyond him self for honor, gratification and comfort, he found so pleasing and so influential a portion of that self in the beauteous Odellia, that in lavishing upon her the most unbounded affection and even defer ence, he fell into common delusion, and never doubted but he was enriching her with indulgences he was in reality bestow ing upon himself. It was not at all likely that he would see his own error so long as the tide of life carried along the inter ests of both in the same channel. An obstacle, however, shot into the stream, and thenceforth the divided currents drenched asunder. The indulgent father ail at oilce be came a fierce denouncer—an exacting domestic tyrant. At Weisbaden there re sided a family by the name of Herberger. Every member of this bouse the imperi ous Baron deemed his. mortal enemy. An ancient feud,which had been bequeath ed from sire to sop, existed between the Altenfeldts and the Herbergers. Unhap pily for my heroine, as years went on, it increased rather than diminished. Odel lia fondly hoped to heal up the breach between the two houses. She bad ex changed vows of unfading constancy with Frauke Herberger, a sciun of a race who was so detested by the parent. The lovers held secret meetings, and for a long time the Baron was in utter ignorance of his daughter’s fatal attachment. It would have been less painful, perhaps, to him if he had heard the confession from her own lips; fate, however, had willed it otherwise. There resided within the Castle of Sonnenberg a certain person named Gil bert, who was a kinsman to the grim Baron. He was a criDging, fawning, pal try, mischievous knave, who had on very many occasions pestered his cousin Odel lia with his attentions. He professed to be her friend, and sought to be her confi dant and adviser. It happened most un fortunately that the Baron’s daughter believed in the sincerity of Gilbert, albeit she had no very high opinion of his intel lent. She ultimately found out to her cost that he was as crafty and cunning as a serpent. Between the Baron and Gilbert shore was a sort of friendship, and this the latter thought the safest cover for his machinations. He aspired to the hand of his cousin, and made up his mind to re move all impediments that might stand in the way of his obtaining his object. W hen matters were sufficiently ripe for his purpose, he made the Baron acquaint ed with the fact of the secret meetings between Odellia and Franke Herberger. The Count of Sonnenberg was so astound ed at the intelligence that he at once boldly declared it to be a base slander, and, in addition to this, he gave Gilbert so smart a cuff on the side of the head as to send him reeling several paces. “Insolent traducer!” exclaimed the wrathful Baron; “dost though dare to maiigu my daughter with thy slanderous tongue ?” “I have done; will say no more,” ob served Gilbert, rubbing the side of his face. “And from this hour I swear— “ Peace !” interrupted his companion. I do not are to h a-your silly resolves! Peace, I say!” “I am silent,” returned the other, as suming by amok of humility an appear ance of passr.. submission to the will of his superior. “I have i ren somewhat hasty—your pardon,” sab .‘Baron, in an altered tone. “Teb ... , >od Gilbert, since you Lave broae : tui.t, business —tell me ail thou knowes:, without reserve.” “You rail at me, and cuff me, if I speak the truth. It would be far wiser for me to remain silent,” said the wily de pendent. “Nay, nay, I will be patient. Out with it. Let me know the worst. I was wrong in being angered with thee; for, after al° I do not think it likely you will deceive me. Therefore—” “You may satisfy yourself upon the sub ject this very night.” “Ah tell me how ; good Gilbert how ?” •‘Not far hence, on the Wiesbaden road, stands Jerome’s Cross before which pious AUGUSTA, GrOY., AUGUST 27, 1870. pilgrims are apt to say their orisons. | Conceal yourself in the thick cluster ol trees near to the spot. Be there to-night, between eight and nine, and then say if I am a slanderer.” , “Enough; I will do as you desire,” | exclaimed the Baron, who ther -upon drew from the pocket of his doubfb’t a well filled purse, which he slid into the hand of his kinsman, saying, “The ’e is some | thing to recompense thee for that hard knock I gave.” Gilbert accepted the gift with a grim smile of satisfaction. Then the two i parted. At the specified time, the Baron con cealed himself in the dark mass of foliage near St. Jerome’s Cross. The truth of Gilbert’s statement was soon but too mani fest. To his dismay and horror he be held his daughter—his darling Odellia— in close converse with a scion of a race whom he so detested. Smothering h:s rising wrath as best as he could, Baron Yon Altenfeldt hastened back to Sonnen berg. After this he was no longer the doting, indulgent parent. He showered | upon his daughter a perfect torrent of angry epithets, and bade her think no I more of Franke Herberger. Odellia at | once boldly declared that she could not consent to do this; whereupon the wrath | ful Baron stretched his power :o its fullest ; extent, and made her a close prisoner ! within her own suite of apar nepts, and to pass without the wall of Sonnenberg she found an utter impossibility. Never for a moment suspecting the treacherous part Gilbert had been play ing, she sought his advice and freely made known to him all her sorrows and | trials. The apartments devoted to Odel lia’s special use were fitted up with the most sumptuous magnificence. Their oc cupant owned and cherished a number of pets. She had an aviary which contained ; some of the rarest and most beautiful ; birds that wealth could purchase, and at the top of one of the towers she kept the best specimens of the various breeds of pigeons. It has been said that “love laughs at locksmiths,” but Odellia found that the bolts and bars of Sonnenberg formed an insurmountable barrier to her egress from the walls of the old castle. I Odellia, for the first time iu her life, i was thwarted by her father in a matter on which the happiness of her life depend | cd. She was peremptorily ordered to ; think no more of Franke Herberger at a ! time when she could think of but little ; else. She had some consolation in the i wretched position in which she found ; herself. On several occasions she man ; aged to have one of her carrier pigeons | together with a note conveyed secretly to her lover, who each time returned her 1 an answer, written on thin tissue paper, j which he adroitly bound around one of | the bird s legs. Franke Herberger bid her not to give way to despair, as, sooner or later, he would find the means of pro pitiating the angry Baron, whom he de clared would eventually relent. Odellia knew’ too much of her father's indoraita | ble will, and his deep seated hatred, to ever dream of his altering the resolve. Days and weeks passed over in sad and | wearisome monotony with the Baron’s | daughter, who vainly strove to catch one , faint ray of hope through the clouds that . lowered over our head. During this time Gilbert was not idle, j Well used to dissumulate, he pretended ; to sympathize with Lis cousin, while he was doing all in his power to widen the ' breach between her father and young Herberger. The following brief dialogue j between the dependent and Lis superior will prove assiduously the former poured the poison into the ears of the credulous Baron. ; “I tell you, sir,” observed, Gilbert, in a low mysterious tone, “that, despite your watchful guardianship she continues to re ceive letters from Weisbaden; by whom | these are penned, you may readily guess.” ‘ “Is she so utterly lost to a sense of her own dutv !” ejaculated his compan ion. “But no, it cannot be. It is impossi ble.” “I am loth to pain you, which, certes, I shall if I speak the truth, which, for many reasons, it were best to conceal ” “Say what thou knowest without more ado,” said the Baron with an impatient stamp of the foot, “Since you desire it, I must perforce obey. The carrier pigeons, your daughter’s pets, are adroitly used as a medium of communication between the lovers.” “I’ll have them destroyed 1” thunder ed forth the Baron in a paroxysm of rage. “They shall be destroyed at once.” “Be patient for a while; watch and wait. Assure yourself that this is the case, and do not rest content with my bare word.” “I’ll never rest content while one of the brood lives.” Gilbert, with well simulated concern and anxiety, strove to persuade his kins man to wait patiently, and not give way to anger. He knew quite enough of the Baron’s nature to feel assured no words of his could tarn him from his purpose. While the two were walking together in close converse, a carrier pigeon flew over their heads. “Dost see yonder bird?” observed Gil bert, placing bis hand on the arm of Lis companiou. Baron Yon Altenfeldt raised his cross bow, took steady aim—he was noted as one of the best marksmen of his days— and the pigeon fell within a few paces of his destroyer. The latter grew pale with rage upon discovering a piece of paper wound around one of the legs of the bird. On this paper was written the following : “I shall be at the trysting-placc, St. Jerome’s Cross, to-night at nine. I dare not hope to see you, but if you can con trive to send a line or even a word, by a trusty messenger, you need not be told what happiness it would afford to one whose whole thoughts are devoted to you” Hastily thrusting the missive in his w a doublet, the infuriated father gave utter ance to many bitter invectives, and said, with vengeful looks, “He shall not be kept waiting, Gilbert. The dullpatcd fool dreams not of the honor that awaits him.” iiY’What would’st thou do!” inquired the other. “Meet him; meet this audacious scion of an odious and detested race.” “Ob, sir, be cautious ; let not your choler get the better of your calmer judg ment.” “Peace ! when I need advice I shail seek it from my discreet kinsmai,” ob served the Baron in a tone of iron} 7 . Long before the appointed hour, the Ban>n, on that eventful and fatal evening concealed himself asbefue in the mass of foliage near St. Jerome’s Cross. He had never proved himself to be a patient man at the best of times, and it is there fore the more remarkable that he should have contrived to remain passive for nearly one whole hour. Young Herber ger, unconscious cf the si prise that awaited him, leisurely tookhis way along the road. As he neared the tryst ing place, he sighed, and furtively glanced at the cross, before which he | paused for a few brief seconds. A howl, | such as an animal of prey might give I when it is about to pounce on its victim, was the first notice the miserable lover received from the. dangerous proximity ofthe infuriated Baron, who with hasty stri des, approached the young man. “The Baron von Altenfeldt!” said | Franke Herberger, removing at once his | plumed hat. “This meeting is, indeed, j unexpected, and ” “I waste not words up:n knaves or | fools! If thou art not a coward to boot I draw, and defend thyself” * ‘ -Uj Lord Baron, why this excess of wrath?” exclaimed Franke “You do me wrong by making use of such epi thets.” “Prove thy words! I will hold no parly with you!” shouted Altenfeldt, waving above his head his heavy sword, which every moment seemed about to descend upon his mortal foe. “I repeat again, you do me wrong,” said the young man calmly. “Though art a craven, like the rest of the Herberger’s!” cried the Count of Sonnenberg, with a haughty curl of his lip. A conflict with the father of his belov ed, Franke endeavored to avoid, it btdng about the last thing he would think of entering upon; but his wrathful adver sary was not to be propitiated by fair words. He madly attacked his daugh ter’s suitor, aud the latter was forced from sheer necessity to ward off the blows as best he could that were so mer cilessly showered upon him. Notwith standing the violence of the Baron’s at tack, Franke did not attempt to act on the aggressive, but contented himself with keeping his angry assailant at bay. At length, however, by a vigorous ef fort, the Baron struck the weapon from the hand of Herberger, whom he then caught by the throat, that he might make sure of fulfilling his fell purpose. Poor Franke felt the point of the Baron’s sword ngaint chest. He closed his eyes, beiieving his last hour had come. Much to his astonishment, he found the hand on his throat relax its grasp—heard a deep groan; and, on the next instant, be held the Baron von Altenfeldt stretched at his feet, bathed in his blood. Be fore him stood the tall and silent form of Gilbert. “What hast thou done?” murmured Franke, to whom the events of the last few moments seemed more like the dis jointed fragments of some hideous night mare than a living reality. “Saved your life”’ said Gilbert. “Had I been a second later, you would have sacrificed.” “ Wretch !” ejaculated Harberger, “Monster have you slain your protector and kiisrnan!” “Is it thus you thank me for saving you from the vengeance of an infuriated madman?” “Mother of Mercy, but this was hor rible!” ejaculated Franke, passing his hand rapidly over his brow. “So hor rible that it almost surpasses belief!” “You are right there, my friend,” ob served bis companion. “Say what thou mayest, this noble’s death will be laid at your door.” “At mine?'’ “Aye, even so. There are no witnes ses beside our two selves.” “What demon was it that prompted you to commit so heinous a crime?” “None; I have stood your friend in the hour of ueed. Why, think you? For tho sake of my cousin Odella. Had you fallen iustead of your adversary, she would not have long survived. For her sake I have made this sacrifice, and ytt you do not thank me.” Herberger waa stupefied with as tonishment. He had always held the speaker in utter contempt whom he re garded as a paltry, shuffling knave. The blow dealt by Gilbert had been aimed with such deadly intent that his weapon passed through the heart of tho ill-fated Baron von Altenfeldt. * “Heaven bo merciful to us!” exclaim ed Franke, shuddering “Infamous as sassm! thou hast slain thy protector aud kinsman!,” “This is not the time for reproaches,” answered Gilbert. “Be thankful that you have escaped. If you stay here all will be lost. They will charge you with murder!” “But I am innocent!” “No matter for that. His death will be 1 tid ai year door. Away at once, wane lucre io j et time. No. 24.