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VOLUME I—NUMBER 29. ®fte fmittuetw s*ooo. WILLIAM RANKIN, Publisher. 185 Bay Street. -THE Southern Cross! 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 SOUTH. ' 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 advertising medium. , 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 sertion. 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. WILLIAM RANKIN, ADVERTISING AGENT, 135 BAY STREET, Savannali, 0-e t., Eeceives Advertisements for Any HTewspaper IN THE TTinitocL States! AT THE LOWEST RATES. 0 ESTIMATES FURNISHED. 0 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 decided negative. ‘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 how.’ ‘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 tating.’ 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 lie yours—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 tector. A PROMISE 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 ways in 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 brilliant reunions. ‘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 arrogant ‘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 forget her. 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 spouse.’ 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 -Madame’s. ‘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 madame.’ 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 heightened man tbku P am sentSP 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 more. 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 uneasy Arab. 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