VOLUME I—NUMBER 29.
®fte fmittuetw s*ooo.
WILLIAM RANKIN, Publisher.
185 Bay Street.
A Weekly Catholic Journal
OF EIGHT PAGES.
DEVOTED TO RELIGION, SCIENCE, GENERAL
LITERATURE, AND THE INTERESTS OF THE
SOUTH, IS PUBLISHED EVERT SATURDAY.
IN THE CITY OF SAVANNAH. WITH THE APPRO
BATION OF RT. REV. BISHOP GROSS, BY AN
ABLE CORPS OF WRITERS, SOME OF WHOM RANK
AMONG THE BEST SCHOLARS, ABLEST STATES
MEN AND SOUNDEST POLITICIANS IN THE
TUe editors of the SOUTHERN CROSS will fn-
Aeeror to acquaint their readers with the latest
and moat rellabW& news of the Old World.
They are determined to make this new Southern
weekly one of the most interesting Journals in the
land, by the rsriety and importance of the subjeots
of which they will treat. The went of such a paper has
been long and deeply felt in Georgia and the South
generally. Hundreds thousands of Catholics in
and friends the true claims and
Deetrihea of Casolicism, teaching all their duties
The SOUTHERN CROSS is destined to an immense
circulation throughout the Southern States. It will
eomniein'o'with an issue of no less than thre - thou
sand cypjifeH. Business men in Savannah and other
commerce will decide if they are interest
edtn awaiting themselves of this new and powerful
, The price of nubacrlptlon Is $ per annum;
■ix months, #1 SO. Payable In advance.
' ADVERTISING RATES ARE AS FOLLOWS ;
Squares - X Mo. 2 Mos. 3 Mon. 6 Mos. 12 Moa.
0ne.... $6 00 $9 00 sl2 00 S2O 00 $35 00
Two... 9 00 16 00 20 00 32 00 60 00
Three... 12 00 22 00 28 00 44 00 80 00
Four... 18 00 27 00 35 00 56 00 100 00
Five... 18 00 32 00 42 00 68 00 115 00
Ten .... 30 00 55 00 75 00 126 00 200 00
A square in the SOUTHERN CROSS will contain one
sixth more matter than that of the principal dailies, as
the columns are that much wider.
Transient advertisements, $1.25 per square, each in
Cuts inserted at regular rates.
Death and marriage notices, $1 each. Editorial
notices, 20 cents per line.
Letters or communications in reference to the liter
ary department of the paper should be addressed to
the editors of the SOUTHERN CROSS. All letters of
a business nature jhould be addressed to
WJI. RANKIN, Publisher,
135 Bay street, Savannah.
Establihsed in 1867.
135 BAY STREET,
Savannali, 0-e t.,
Eeceives Advertisements for
AT THE LOWEST RATES.
Having had eight years' experience in this business
1 am familiar with the rates of the different papers
throughout the country; size of typo used in their
advertising columns, number of words to the line
slae of square used, he., he. sepll
, “ Tne Sta.n.cletl'i 'Wlailstptli.e World ZRcassetlr -Arvrveiy-
(Written for the Southern Cross.)
LINES TO THE BLESSED MOTH
ER OF GOD.
As sung by Madame Pychowski, while on a pilgrim
age in honor of Onr Lady of Mercy.
Mother dearest, mother fairest,
Virgin brightest, purest, rarest,
Lady mild and Sweet;
Hear the grateful songs we sing thee,
Hear the hymns we humbly bring thee,
Bending at thy feet !
°ste of Heaven, Star of Morning ! •
Lo the votive gifts adorning,
This, thy favored Shrine !
All the wondrous story telling,
Of tliy mercy with us dwelling,
Mother of grace divine !
In our need upon thee calling,
Thou has saved, from death appalling,
Heard thy children’s prayer;
Heard our cry amid the dashing.
Of life's waves, our frail barks lashing,
Granting us thy care t
Mother arm, thy Son infolding,
Mother heart within thine holding
All who turn to thee;
Still thy kind protection blending:
Let thy love on ua descending,
Our sweet comfort be 1
While our souls to the uplifting,
We seek peace amid the drifting,
Darkening storms of earth,
Humblest virgin 1 Queen of Heaven 1
Unto thee be honor given,
Honor due thy worth !
Joyfully this gift we proffer,
Humbly this fair crown we offer,
on us to smila !
MotfPbr of Graces with hearts o’erflowing.
Thus our grateful love we’er showing—
Bending low the while 1
Ages past have known thy glory,
Mighty kings and prophets hoary
Sung thy starry crown.
Blessings, honors, clear fortelling-
Lauding thee as all excelling
Shadowing forth thy throne, .
Israel in thee rejoices,
Salem lifts her *yriad voices,
Quivering with th;y>ve !
Queen of V. .
1 undeftled dove I jl 4
East and West unite in praise thee,
North and South their hymns still raise thee,
Blessed in every hand !
Hosts angelic join with mortals,
For within the starry portals,
Where the seraphs stand !
Where amid the wide Mon,
Holding foremost rank a..d station,
Christ’s dear Mother's seen,
List the glorious strains ascending,
Heaven and earth, their voices blending.
Hail, thee, Crowned Queen,
The Patriot’s Bride.
BY LOUISA CROW.
‘I must not make so rash a pledge,’
slie answered, bashfully. ‘Those to
whom I owe respect and obedience
would rebuke ine for such forwardness;
and if monsieur saw this poor face by
daylight, he might not think its owner
worth the trouble he pioposes to take.
It is better for both to agree to forget
what you have been saying.’
‘I will not ask you to do aught that is
not befitting a fairand discreet maiden,’
was the earnest reply. ‘Neither will I
plague you to-night with protestations,
but my heart assures me that it will
not be my fault, if we do not meet again
Tell me this, and this only—are your
affections already bestowed on an other ?’
He was gratified with a low, but very
‘Then as surely as I stand here, I will
follow you to France! And so, for the
present, sweet Mistress Pamela, adieu!
You will think of me sometimes, will
you not ?’
‘And by what name shall I remem
ber my noble protector?’ she whispered,
becoming as reluctant as himself to utter
the final good-bye.
He told her, and she repeated it with
her pretty foreign accent.
‘Edourd—l like that name, and—and
lam greatly your debtor, my lord, as I
would be glad to prove to you if I knew
‘You could do more than that!’ he
cried, agitatedly. ‘You could send me
from you the happiest of men, if ouly
you would promise to pardon me the
one little act of presumption I am medi
She drew her hands from him in much
confusion. He was growing too bold and
must be checked.
‘Presumption ? Ah, no! I could not
forgive that! And yet I owe you
so much! But no; I have lingered
here too long. Good-night, and he
bon dieu preserve you my lord. Ido
not think we shall ever meet again, but
Imy prayers, my best wishes, shall always
SAVANNAH, G-A., ■ SIBfeDAY, MARCH 25, 1876.
Yet ere she crosj2fee road to the
dwalling of her frioaßtijlhe actd<t which
Lord E'lw;uk had s committed.
For one moment haHwis enfolded her
slight, graceful figufSAnU his lips were
pressed to hers. Tflp|he did but wait
to see her fly elderly servant
man, who had jusjflpergcd from the
house, torch in he turned his
steps towards his oiHigtgings to dream
away the rest of in visions of
the beautiful PameMpftMle the object
of this romantic qaKkufe/ular meeting
joined her friends, been anx
iously awaiting hfflTWifpro,, her mind,
full of bright l ling lu-r pro
The young lady (France
with Madame de GftnajfSS- p#a of,
the morrow, and
S the daughters of _the|p||fe df;;Qlppifo,|
an# shared their &ndnSSKy
eftts as before. ShJ m tMI
ein concerning her. 'w
scription to give thel&sjlj
places; but who hadoiufcjfcriffc fomi her
merry companions, they
teased her repeatedly SMpt he* noctur
nal adventure, little- aPen mea*< that it
was to influence hei future life. She
had told them' of h/‘ encounter with
Lord Edward Fitzgei -dd, and 'how she
had induced him tC IKieVe her an aged
woman till her own at- her
success betrayed. of his de
claration thaUwflHK'i her in Franco
In spite of her nspral high spirits
she began to have; file "of pensiveness,and
astonish her friends by losing much of
her natural relish for gay scenes and
‘What ails Pamela ?’ asked Made
moiselle D’Orleans.one evening when they
were dressing for a ball. ‘She is care
less about the style of her robe, and
when I ask her what flowers she would
wear, scarcely answered me. The fogs
of that horrid London have so dampen
ed her vivacity that she cannot recover
herself, and I am beginning to be quite
unhappy about her.’
‘Are you ill, my child ?’ asked Madame
and Genlis, attentively surveying the
changing countenance of her pretty
protege, to whom she was much attached.
‘Nay; I have but a headache—extreme
ly slight—it is notliingj!’ she answered
hurriedly, for the searching glances of
her friends embarrassed her. If Madame
should penetrate. her secret, and dis
cover that she was' making herself un
happy because a’ thoughtless young
man, seen but. once, had not kept a
promise too rashly made, what would
she think of the silly, credulous Pamela ?
‘There is not a word of truth in those
denials!’ exclaimed the amused Princess
with mock solemnity. ‘I am positive
that our unfortunate little friend has been
suffering from severe indisposition ever ,
since sbsWierossed the Channel.
*igh>*j||jjjk sl< •<•!>; she even murmurs
a nadfsKEph certainly not mine !’
‘jjfjpgJßrp sake be silent!’, entreated
the iffpSpig Pamela, but Mademoiselle
JVOrlefisK only laughed and talked
fact, a veritable fact, that our I
beß&twieiti ft her heart behind lier, and
lia| .■Jprortjyht back an aching void i
stead. pnlucky maiden!’
‘But •flifelamfc de Genlis did noFJoin
in her pupil’s mirth. If she had looked
grave before, she appeared graver I|sl
when she saw that instead of retorting
merrily, as she had been wont to do,
her adopted child was overwhelmed;
with confusion. She had herself noticed
that Pamela had changed. A little while
ago she had been wont to reprove her
for her heedlessness; now she would
have given a great deal to see her as
light-hearted and thoughtless as before.
In the course of the evening, weary of
stimulating a gaiety she did not feel, the
young girl contrived to escape from her
partner, and made her way into a large
balcony, where she threw herself on a
cushioned seat in the darkest corner.
She did not perceive until it was too
late to retreat, that the balcony was al-,
ready occupied. Philip, tb# DnMliip
Orleans, the father of
her companions, the. inddflfiplsi&i(i
who had always a kind snijgflHpgree|j|
ing for their rnretty jgw||psbii, JH
pacing its length with Madame <
l imy dul not sir her glide h\. and
is,tied that they would shortly
the saloon, she, did not emerasifrfroin her
retreat, but whs' falling reverie
when her owh inaififte metjSPlar.
‘We must find a suite onse for
our little girl, and jgpphit delay !’ the
Duke was sayirgfiitperatively. ‘She
must not be alkgipirlo dream her life
away in siHmilfeies for one of these
‘I that he is both intellec
tual turn Jjaartsdme!’ nadame replied.
tM|||!§§klesfl and a gamester!’ the
Duke added. ‘I have heard too much
yPHpfo 'trust him with the future of
: our pretty Pamela even if he were her
iTOb*. But it is not so; he is already at
HBfeet of another. I have caused a
good friend to make searching enquiries
his character, and if the child loved
ihim ever so dearly—which she cannot;
|fpl but a fancy, fleeting, evanescent, as
such fancies should be—if, I say, she
loved him, she must forget it.’
Pamela, in her dark comer, wrung her
bands, in a frenzy of grief and indig
| nation, then hid with them her burning
j Cace. Her secret was known not only by
I Madame, but the Duke ; discussed by
, them, commented on, her weakness ridi-
I enled, and worse than, all. Lord Edward
[ spoken of disparagingif;! She was about
• iijltsHiflg l herself. f* did nc it, could
not deserve this, thCj
crushing words —already he is aTtWymm
of another ! —and was overwhelmned
with shame at her own folly in cherish
ing the image of one who could so soon
Presently, other feelings had the sway,
and she began to think of the part
the Duke had played in the matter.
‘To me, he has ever been good and
generous,’ she said; ‘and it appears that
he would have given me t > Lord Edward,
if—also ! how can I speak the words?—
if he had been worthy of me. I must be
grateful for his kindness—grateful, and
obedient! He will select a spouse
for me, and I shall be expected
to courtesy humbly, and say, ‘I thank
you, monseigneur, for trying to heal
this aching heart with a trosseau and a
casket of jewels. But what matters ?
I have done with love; it leaves too
much bitterness behind it. Henceforth
I must strive to be a good little wife to
whomsoever my guardians select as my
But though Pamela called pride to her
aid, and went back to the salon, to dance
and sing, and utter brilliant repartees
with such vitality that every one was
delighted, she could not get rid of the
sorrowful yet sweet reminiscences of that
last night in England; nor always hide
her sadness from such observant eyes as
‘The child is out of health and spirits,’
the latter said. ‘We must press on the
marriage. She will then have a change
of.scene, and recover herself.’
jTlie daughters of our Gallic neighbors
have never been accustomed to have
much liberty of choice in their nuptial*.
Pamela, therefore, did not dream of
remonstrating when informed that more
than one eligible suitor had presented
himself, ancl that, in the. intervals of
political affairs, tlig Duke was endeavorr
ing to decide on which of these gentler
man she should be allowed to bestow
herself and the handsome dower with
which her royal friend intended to pre
sent her. Through . Mademoiselle
D’Orleans, who was far more inquisitive
respecting Pamela’s future than she was
herself, the bride elect learned that one
of her suitors was a certain Comte Mont
faucon, whom she had always regarded
as a stupid apathetic fellow, whose at
tempts at conversation bored her. But
then he was very rich, and so the Duke
inclined towards him; though with more
consideration for Pamela’s own wishes
than is often accorded to young girls in
France, it was whispered that she would
be permitted to see the claimants for her
hand, at a re-unioh to be given by
act fw'WMfth Faiajj
ifpPPne !’ Shi
cried,agitatedly. Yt ftyde* will that?
should marry, but I ca#j
not pretend that my heart is in the af
fair. |f & M
‘You are capricious, Pamela,’ madame
rather frigidly, replied. ‘Let it be as %
have said; presently you may thank me
that I did not yield to your whims.
Mademoiselle herself, a princess of the
blood royal, would behave with more
discretion and sense of her* duty than
you are doing. 1
Pamela humbly treated pardon, and
tried to keep the word duty ever
her. ‘lt is my duty to obey and please
In this half restless and wholly mis
erable mood she made her toilet for
the evening—Madame superintending
it, and the princess fluttered in and out,
pleasantly excited at the prospect of
beholding Pamela’s wooera Even the
busy maids who assisted in ' attiring; the
young girl shared in the excitement,
and rivaled each other in their endeav
ors to make her appear altogether charm
ing. And the costume of the day was
pretty and to- have
man tbku P am
For a little
scious beauty was on her fair brow, but
it faded when she entered the salon,
leaning on the arm of Madame, and the
chill of indifference—that saddest of all
conditions for the young—settled down
upon her. Her fate was taken out of
her own hands; she had nothing to do
but to endure. Whether they gave her
to a good or a bad man, her vows at the
altar would be but mockery, and she
knew this without the power to utter it.
One listless glance at the groups
around her, and Pamela became very
pale. For a moment, she looked as if
she were about to faint, but the blood
quickly returned t i her cheeks, and the
smile to her lips, for her fingers were in
the warm clasp of Edward Fitzgerald.
The gallant Irishman had followed her
to France, and hope and energy sprang
up within her throbbing bosom once
But her suitors—the Duke—what
would he say ? What should she do ?
And, remembering her position, even as
she listened to the ardent whispers of
her lover, she turned affrightedly to
Madame.. However, a smile from that
kind lady reassured her, and she learned
aftewards that it was not of Lord Edward
that the Duke had spoken, but of the
celebrated Sheridan, who had been smit
ten with Pamela’s beauty during her
short sojourn in England.
Before evening was over the impas
sioned Fitzgerald found an opportuni
ty of telling her then, backed by Ma
dame de Genlis, whom his ardor de
lighted, he had been pleading to the
Duke his prior claim to Pamela’s favor,
and that he had come to Tournay with
the full permission of his noble parents,
jto woo and win, if he could, the fair
| creature whose charms had taken so
great a hold on his imagination.
. (TO BE CONTINUED.)
Arthur P. Devlin, the anti-Catholic
lecturer, announced in Augusta, Maine,*
a few lights hence. When he appear
ed uponthe platform he counted for an
audience three men and three boys, and
as some of these were probably dead
heads, he didn’t tlqpk he could afford
the gas—of either sort—so he paid for
the hall, and folded his tent like the
Tidkative persons §cld<fl* read. This
is among the few trnths'/whieh appear
the more we reflect upon them. For
what is reading but sijsnt conversation ?
jg lovely w^jj