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\' ' \ iff fc ; //l ißm-W^r^^E\\ fHPlfffev - M 'Sr\^{ ,* ■HraWKr B nyrciw»MMnfc - -- y/v '\ r 4J v Cy if — —iM&iki -*l'\. -~ . ••"■ ~~ -- * i r- f t / OL. 2, i ~i 1 [For the Southern Field and Fireside,] THE TWO MOBNTHOS. r | 1 »Y HU H. HAY UK. V \ s ' ■ '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 t \ ' 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