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[For the Southern Field and Fireside,]
THE TWO MOBNTHOS.
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1 »Y HU H. HAY UK.
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'j It Is a beauteous mom In May
y Over the lake, and far away,
To the aky’e eerenest deeps,
A YSgne, but golden shadow sleeps;
m All nature is bound
f By the charm profound
Os sllenoe, aod rest
’V Bsy« that the rippling wavelets at play
♦ r With the eoyest es breezes, break on the beach,
With a Under cadence of mumurous sound,
t “ Uke the sigh of a spirit too fall for speech.
Os a spirit, blessing, and blest
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How perfect the calm
v ‘ Os earth, and heaven!
' I*Jw welcome the soothing shadow that lies
O'er the quiet lake, and the quiet skies,
W And the breere’a breath of balm!
But the peace of this glorious morn in May,
h 'Of soothing shadow, and zephyr's low ->
I Can it match my Love 1 oh ’ tell D.e ifcway,
r j That peace of the soul_to given. j
I JAMBS GARDNER, 1
I Proprietor. I
AUGUSTA, GA., 4, 1860.
he feels that he loves her with idolatrous mad
ness, and cannot tear himself away from the
place.
He had scarcely dared to ask himself the
question, until Loup Noir, on that evening, ut
tered the taunting words, to which the reader
has listened. Then suddenly the gulf opened
and revealed the hideous secret of his heart.
Coming home, and retiring as 'soon as possible
to his chamber, he bad thrown himself prone on
his couch and looked the reality in the face.
"Writhing to and fro, like a man possessed with
a devil, the unfortunate priest had remained for
hours the prey of the most awful suffering—and
had only found partial relief from his agony by
lacerating his shoulders with the heavy scourge,
and sinking down insensible in a swoon.
From that instant to the time when we again
present him to the reader, Father Ignatius has
■ been struggling against his madness—and has
uniformly yielded when tho sight of the pale,
sweet face of the girl has renewed the tempta
tion.
He has followed all her movements with his
stealthy glances—-the fiery eyes blazing beneath
the overhanging brows—the shaip teeth cling
ing to the trembling underlip until ic bleu- -1.-
emaciated bosom labouring with 4§ep sighs, sup
pressed only by a gigantic effort. bqputf ‘
lace has U'.uted him in %ue «dar *">»•*«*•' of
night— l‘'% beaming upon him Hk "'At of “.p
t angf/t nuw.laugh.tiiifcl aim with Atilt.. -• ru,
[ as an w'gj. had taken *
Jfef, my dear young lady?' 1 -Ik
"Yea, you are twice as pale as IssT-L"
The priest smiled again in his goal#’ way.
“ I am truly not very robust,” he j&d, shak
ing his head, “ but, then, you know aim not a
young girl, full of life and joy. I «j& an old
man, and have seen much suffering'^
As he spoke, Father Ignatius looiXl keenly
at Isabel, and could not suppress, is %m thought
of Beausire—the cause of the girl’s
grief—a contraction of the heavy'brer :■
“We all suffer from some cause id the
girl, sadly, “ and yo«Bg as well B»*Wd have
their crosses."
“We should try, nevertheless, to £f»r them,
my daughter. They are meant in mercy!”
“ I doubt not, sir; and now I will $p and lie
down, as I am more tired than I supposed.”
“ Yes, rest, rest, my dear young lacjr, and I
hope you will fall asleep with more jpleasant
pictures in your mind than the face of a poor
old priest, who, nevertheless, prays flat you
may have every happiness in life—vjio loves
you as dearly and with more disinterestedness”
—here Father Ignatius- grinped sefjiouiealiy
and far from agreeably MmßrWtm iV young
.* oiubt!•??• *i*i ' fcn talk
-1 ing ' i*lcosfcutth g?>fs and dr-lms, my
ctm-J -•>!'
■ Ann rSth aemjie htnigrti j* which
| veas s’fc-accded, r, when, k' 'Vj|, was
j turned Irena u* g-ris. by a<t uuoaof
-ridage tiier ign n ;
... . . r'jnm. __
—! —_— r par
that vie almost breaks my heart in spite of my
submission, and all these weary days smos the
summer when the terrible news came. There is
not a day, an hour, a moment of that journey,
or the time he spent here, which I do not re
member. I can never, never forget, it I He was
so kind and good and noble, Amy i He was as
guileless as aoUM, and as 'Simple-hearted,
though his throughout the
continent nea bravest and most ac
complished
care for his fame, it was himself that
I loved—his good, true hea’k his gentle, honest
character, his high honor afod sincerity. I did
not care either for his factiy go much, though I
novef saw a nobler peraoi f He won my poor
lonely heart by his kindnefcg and goodness; for
from the moment we met away off in the wilder
ness, and he found that I kaa a poor, unprotec
ted girl, he dedicated hinUelf to my happiness,
and never rested until restored me to my
father." ft ’
"I know he was good ar.jd noble 1” said Amy,
with teara in her eyes whicoj had slowly gather
ed as fdie listened, ‘T should have loved him for
yoursake." * \
•'Yon yould have loved him ci e^r ]y ]itis my
pride that I returned his affec,-; on with deep
gratitude and love. lam notaßhu, me d to say so
plainly, for I must have been contemptible to
have kept from loving him 1"
“And lam sure he loved you, though you
never told me so.” X
j. f-oir> the
j Two Dollar* Per Annum, l
1 Always In Advance. !
he bright asters and late primroses, are but the
flowers cast upon the bier.
Such at least would have been the character
of the landscape to a thoughtful eye—the eye of
one who has wandered amid such scenes with
dearly loved ones, who have passed away to
heaven, leaving as it were the print of their
footsteps on the yielding mould, and rising up
in memory as real as before. Alas I it is not
the world which grows more sorrowful and sad
dening as we advance in life; it is the eye of
him who gazes upon it, through the mist of 16 ® 1 ?-
To the boy or the girl who stands upon the bril
liant threshold, all is bright and beautiful and
happy—for these,>the flowers bloom with the joy
and freshness of the spring, and they see in
the bright leaves only beauty—not the premo
nitions of decay. . ,
Ask an old man, or a youth made old before
his time by grief, what the sound of the wind
amid the leaves resembles. Then make the
same demand of the little maiden with the rosy
cheeks and lips. The former wiU tell you that
the wind is sighing—the latter that it is laugh
ing. There are those who sneer at poets, and
those persons who go wandering through the
autumn woods, and, passing from tne real world
around them, enter the enchanted universe of
the imagination. They are dreamers!—say the
cynics: but aiasl our life on earth is so prosaic,
hard, and cold, that the only ground for'wonder
i is that we are not aU lreamers 1
On the margin of the stream, beneath the
trees which redden in tig rich light fftbe
NO. 11. d