gcls_courant_012 1

THE COURANT,
A Southern Literary Journal.
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HOWARD H. CALDWELL, EDITOR] "Sic vos non vobis." [WM. W. WALKER, JR., & CO., PROPRIETORS.
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VOLUME I. COLUMBIA, S. C., THURSDAY, JULY 14, 1859. NUMBER 11
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For the Courant.
"AN INVOCATION TO BACCHUS."
From an unpublished Poem.
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BY MONOS, JUNIOR.
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Respectfully Dedicated to F. H. E.

Let Naso and Maro, and amorous Flaccus,
Call on the Muses; I'll call on old Bacchus,
The god of the wine-cup, the jolly old toper,
Of whom e'en a little will fill us with hope, or
A still stiffer quantity make us so great,
We very irreverently snap fingers at Fate.
The Muses, those very prim Ladies of Eld,
The devotee jolly God always has held,
Have naught in their chaste hearts of anything hearty,
Tho' they may be quite nice for a very small party.
Indeed, they've done nothing, than I can remem-
Ber, except a Large Lexicon sacred to them,
Which ta'en at the best I know only affords
Inexhaustible quantities of very large words;
And these (if I err may I burn at the stake)
Can, if blessed to the full, but mere rhymesters e'er make.
So Jolly God lend me thine aid, and I'll show it,
That liquor, not Lexicons, 'the hope of the Poet.
But come not, Oh Tope, in thy terrible form
Of Cognac Brandy, lest being so warm
You burn me like Tonans, I think it was he
The inquisitive female was anxious to see;
Nor come as a cobbler, nor zephyric punch,
Things fit only really to wash down a lunch;
But Jolly God come, and come quick, for I wait,
In the simple disguise of a plain whiskey strait.
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Written expressly for the Courant.
MY COUSIN BLANCH.
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BY THE AUTHOR OF "INEZ."
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CHAPTER III.
When Blanch entered the parlor, half an hour after-
wards, I could scarcely believe she was the same woman
I had seen but a short time before. She was dressed
in white, with blue necklace and bracelets, and her damp
hair, instead of being twisted into a coil, was looped and
tied with blue ribbons, while a few delicate clematis blos-
soms drooped gracefully from the golden folds. The
glow had faded, the mouth was fixed. Not a vestige of
emotion remained. There was no assumed gayety; no
rigidity to betray her. She seemed just as usual, just
as I had seen her for three years. She looked at har-
vey as she entered, bowed, and for the first time volun-
tarily extended her hand. He grew deadly pale, and
for an instant their hands met. She passed on to her
Aunt and Uncle, and he sat down beside me, trembling
and defiant. Maria appeared embarrassed and restless;
Blanch cold, calm, indifferent as ever. The papers
stated that the distinguished Mr. Murray had been ap-
pointed to the post of Minister to --------, and would
leave as soon as possible. The appointment was discus-
sed; Blanch listened without comment. The door-bell
rang, and William Murray was ushered in. A sudden
scowl darkened Harvey's brow, and he fastened his
piercing eyes on my Cousin. She must have known
that he watched her, for she forced a smile of welcome
to her lips, and rising instantly, held out her hand.
Murray grasped it eagerly in his, and I saw that from
that hour Blanch's fate was sealed. When Maria rose
to go, she drew her Cousin aside, and made some whis-
pered request. I only heard Blanch's steady, uncon-
cerned reply:
"Accept my congratulations, Maria. Certainly, I will
be one of your bride's-maids with great pleasure."
Murray lingered after the others had left; my uncle,
too, sought the library, and, suspecting that my presence
was unwelcome, I retreated to Blanch's study, and wait-
ed for her. Here everything bore marks of her incom-
parable taste; books, statues, paintings, flowers, vases,
musical instruments. I sat down, and a long hour drag-
ged itself away. She came in, and without speaking,
seated herself at the open window. She did not see me.
Leaning her arms on the window-sill, she rested her face
on her palm. The bright moonlight shone full upon
her countenance, and I saw that the pale features were
stampted with unwavering determination. She sat very
still, looking out on the terrace, and I approached her.
"Blanch, do not be offended; I must speak to you
before I sleep."
She did not move, and merely said, "Well, what is
it, Edgar?"
"You surely do not dream of marrying William
Murray?"
"Six weeks from to-night I shall be his wife."
Her voice was clear, and marvelously sweet; not a
muscle quivered as she spoke.
"Oh, Blanch, have mercy upon yourself. He cannot
make you happy. There is not a particle of congeniality
in your tastes. You do not love him. Blanch, dear
Blanch, I beg you to relinquish the thought."
"No; I have promised; my father has blessed me--
if I live six weeks I shall be Blanch Murray."
A frigid smile fled over her features, and she shiv-
ered.
"Blanch, you are about to commit a great sin. God
will curse a union induced by such motives as actuate
you. You know you do not love him; you do not even
feign or profess to do so."
"Love him? Oh no! But then you know I never
had any heart. You told me yourself, long ago."
"Yes, Blanch, I was a blind fool. Now I know the
truth and all the truth."
She sprang up, and confronted me.
"The truth?--what truth?"
"You are marrying Murray because------oh,
Blanch, don't force me to say it."
She put her hand upon my shoulder, and said, reso-
lutely,
"The truth, Edgar, the truth!"
"You and Harvey love each other; yet both are too
proud to confess it. Maddened by pique and disap-
pointment, he intends to marry Maria, hoping to inflict
pain on you. And you have determined not to be out-
done; therefore you promise to marry Murray, knowing
that thereby you will inflict everlasting torture on Har-
vey's jealous heart. Oh Blanch! Blanch! you stand on
the brink of an awful gulf. Revoke your decision, I
implore you."
"Who told you all this, Edgar?"
"Can you deny that it is true?"
"I have no wish to deny it. Edgar, Edgar! I am
very miserable; yet I shall not alter my determination.
I will keep my promise. I will marry Murray, if it
cost me my life. I am very proud; my pride has been
wounded; and now I trample on my heart to revenge
the insult. You are right--Harvey will suffer more
than I. Maria will be no companion for him; his lofty
intellect soars far beyond her paltry themes. He will
obtain a fortune, and pay down his peace of mind, as its
price. I loved him, Edgar; Oh, I loved him as I never
loved any one before, but now the power of loving seems
stricken from my heart. I know it will madden him,
when he hears that I am Murray's wife. I could not
have married Harvey, because he is obscure and poor,
and my father would rather have seen me dead; but I
thought I could love him, and hoped he would come to
me and tell me he loved me. I wanted to hear it from
his own lips; I wanted his proud soul to bow down be-
fore me, and then I intended to tell him, that though I
could never marry him, I would give my hand to no
one else; I would always love him--love him better
than my own life. Now all things are changed. Edgar,
my cousin, I am very proud; let no one suspect the
truth. Henceforth mention him to me no more. Good
night."
She motioned to me not to follow her, and moving
away, ascended to the observatory.
The month passed and the night of Maria's bridal ar-
rived. Blanch was always beautiful, but on this occa-
sion she exulted in her wonderful loveliness. The bri-
dal party assembled in the back parlor, and took their
positions before the folding-doors were opened. I stood
in the passage, leaning against the stair-case, and saw
the expression with which Harvey regarded my cousin.
She stood very near him, and during the ceremony I
understood why his broad chest heaved, and his eyes
burned so fiercely. It was over, and he was a husband.
I thought Blanch shuddered once, but she offered her
congratulations with the cold quietness so peculiar to
her, and all the while looked up into his eyes with a
haughty smile. For some time I missed her in the
crowd, and then Murray (on whose arm she leaned,)
drew near the bride, and, as if ashamed of his former
sneers and suspicions, gayly proposed to exchange part-
ners for the promenade. Maria moved away with him,
and Harvey seized Blanch's hand and rested it on his
arm; but I saw that his clasp still held her fingers, not-
withstanding her efforts to withdraw them. They walked
on, and I followed them; out on the gallery, through
the green-house, down into the parterre. The moon
shone brightly, and they were sufficiently near me to allow
my hearing what passed. Blanch would gladly have re-
turned, but he drew her forward, and I heard her say,
"We have walked far enough, Mr. Young; we will
return to the parlors, if you please. Your bride will
wonder at your desertion."
"Not yet, Blanch, aye, Blanch! I will call you so be-
fore we part. You must hear my confession first; by
Heaven, you shall!"
He threw his arm around her, and clasped her to his
bosom. She struggled an instant to free herself; then
stood still and looked at him with a withering smile.
"Blanch Maxwell! I have made you suffer terribly;
I intended to do so. I have cursed myself for life, to
inflict pain on you, and I have succeeded. Oh, Blanch,
my peerless, beautiful Blanch! I worshipped you--you
knew it, and gloried in it; yet kept a glacier between
us! You scorned the thought of a union with one so
humble, yet he alone possessed your heart. Henceforth
we are strangers! I trust I shall never look upon your
face again--the sight of it almost maddens me. I would
fain put the universe between us. Love you, Blanch!
Ah! who can tell how devotedly!"
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