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- j ; ' ' i " ' '** ' ... ._.. * " -v' ** ?v. ?*..? '* * ri?r :'4 .i '?*" '' 1 .' * ? vi1* * ? lewis ?. oeist, proprietor. | / An Independent Journal: For the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South. j $2 pee ashuh in abviifisb,. .; 1 - . * V OL. 6. YORKVILLE, 8. C., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 1860. T$&mEt /' ???-rnm& Original |)octn>. For the Yorkville Enquirer. LA BELL E~ CREOLE. BT WILLIAM MAXWELL MARTIN". Oh! Belle Creole. Tour hoops you roll So nonchalantly down the street; As if you thought You honor brought, By stepping with your dainty feet Upon God's earth. Whence we all have birth. Elise, ma belle, Although you swell So grandly past in crinoline, Sometimes you stare And wildly glare, As if a spectre you had seen; Some damn'd ghoul, Or wandering soul. Oh ! "Reine d'Amour," In days of yore How fondly Alphonse you caressed :? His love betrayed, Ah ! now he's laid (A pistol bullet in his heart) By the bayou, For the love of you. Oh! Belle Creole, Though yon unroll A list of rent3 as long as my arm. Though you have gold Adi3 wealth untold, Alas ! your riches have no charm To blind the glare Of that horrid stare. Ah! Belle Creole! There is a goal Where stands the Judge of our life's long race, And diamonds' blaze Can't dim his gaze ; Oh! how will you meet the pallid face And stony stare Of the dead man there ? Original St org. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. ST, PIERRE, THE MOUNTEBANK; or, THE PREDICTION. A Romance of the Empire, under Catharine, II. BY R. B. RUSSELL. CHAPTER I?Continued. THE MOUNTEBANK. 'I'll tell no more fortunes to day,' said the mountebank, as several persons who had noted the effect of his words upon the stranger, pressed" near the wagon, and eagerly entreated him to attend to them. 'Henri, bow are you making out there ?' he enquired 'Give liberally, my masters, for the last feat is wonderful:?a leap over twelve bayonets ranged in a line, and one foot apart, by my son. Bnntu ! a good day's work,' he muttered to himself, as he weighed the ? * j 4.-11-. 1 j purse 10 nis DOSom, ana uieuiauy uuiuuiatcu its cooteots. 'Every thing has gooe according to the wishes ofthe Count, and of mine too, for that matter. Henri, have you finished ?' Hn a second, father,' replied the boy ; and having gone the round of the crowd, he handed the plate to the mountebank ; and in a moment stood besidp him. 'Shall I singjjthe Marseillaise now, father?' he enquired. The other nodded; and the boy smiliog and blushing at the same moment, caught up a small Spanish guitar; and after skilfully playing a prelude?his own composition, as the juggler grandiloquently informed the hearers?at once in a clear sweet voice, burst forth into the stirring hymn of France. lBravo! encore!' shouted the excited Italians, as he concluded. The boy smiled and shook his head. 'Not now?some other time,' said Saint Pierre. 'Now for the bayonet feat;' and opening a long narrow box, he took out twelve old and rusty muskets, with bayonets attached to the barrels; and having cleared a space in front of the wagon, dug twelve holes six inches in depth, and each one foot apart. The muskets were placed therein in a perpendicular position, the dirt replaced, and they stood as firm as though supported by the hand. At the juggler's command Henri took off his coat, and leaping to the ground, walked back a few paces?then running swiftly till within three feet of the nearest musket, he sprang into the air, and turning several summersaults, alighted safely on his feet at the other end. As might be expected, the daring feat was received with loud cheers; and many were the silver coin that were thrust into the hands of the lad. who humbly bowed his thanks; and immediately proceeded to assist the other in replacing the muskets in the box. When this was done, the raountebauk took the reins; and the crowd having disappeared, they turned into one of the narrow streets leading to the hotel de Pieu, an humble resting place for travellers which the juggler frequented when it that city. 'Henri,'said heat length, as they rodei slowly along, 'our career as mountebanks is) over.' 'Indeed !' said the lad in a tone of regret. 'I am sorry for it' 'Areyou really?' inquired the other.? 'But why should I ask it ? 'Tis a pleasant life to lead, to roam every where at will, in every country, and breathe the air of every clime. Had I my days to go over again, I would follow it with pleasure. 'But what think you of the stranger, my boy ?' 'He is very young father.' 'Yes, a few years older than yourself, yet not too young to be your master. You must attend faithfully to his commands, Henri, and obey him in every thing.' 'For how long a time father ?' 'Not long, I trust,' replied Saint Pierre. 'To-morrow I shall leave you to his care, and part with you for a while. Yet we shall meet again, my boy; and I hope to have good news for you then. Fortune has aided me most wonderfully to day, and 1 thank her for it. Did you notice with what interest he gazed at you, Henri ?' 'I did, father But why did you hesitate when he offered to take me into his service, when, as I know, you so eagerly wished it ? 'For the reason that by so cluing it woul make him the more eager to get you. Th higher the mountain, the more one wishi to ascend it. You will understand th proverb by and by; 'tis too deep for you ye But here we are at the hotel. Get yot dinner, Henri, and then go sell the donkey CHAPTER II. THE LOVERS. "'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gon And yet uo further than a wanton's bird; Who let it hop a little from her hand, And with a silk thread plucks it back agaiD, So loving jealous of its liberty.' 'And so, Edgar, we must part.' 'Part!?and so soon ?' ?We must. I expect my guardian hei every moment.' 'And you do not wish me to see him ?' 'Rather I do not wish him to see you.' 'Ah, I understand. But do not let t part yet, Anny. It is not so very late, an I have much?0, so much to say to you !' The above conversation took place in ti garden of the hotel d' Espagne, betwec Anabel Galitzen, the ward and cousin i Count de Mouer, and Edgar Kaiser, hi affianced lover. They had met that evenic after an absence of three months, an age I lovers; and ueither being aware that tl other was in Rome, their meeting had bee quite unexpected. Annabel was not on! the daughter of the deceased Cozain Gali zen, Prince of Radetsky, and the heiress i a vast estate, but was also related on h< mother's side to the Empress Catharine i Russia, whom, however, she had never seei She was about sixteen years of age, that ii teresting period of life when girlhood an womanhood are unconsciously blending ini each other;?aud when for a time the ste grows more timid, the voice softer, the ey< more melting in their expression, and tl blush more frequently mantled the cbeel Her features were small and cast in tl Grecian mould; her limbs slight but grao ful and exquisitely symmetrical. Her con plexion was remarkably pure and delicate her eye dark and fringed with long silke lashes, which gave them a dreamy, lovic expression, such as seen iu the picture < the virgin by some of the old masters, an which the modern school have ever failed I produce. Her hair black as the raven wing, and glossy and soft as the finest sill was bound around her brow by a velv< band, in the centre of whichsparkled large diamond, glittering and dashing lib a burning coal a jewel of inestimabl price, which her father had brought h( from the mountains of Ural, and which th fairest flower of Russia was well worth of possessing. She was attired in the co; tume of a peasant, which she had worn tht day in the fete ; and its close fitting bodict short sleeves, and gay colors, suited he her admirably. Altogether she was a bein made to love and be loved; and was wel worthy of the devo.ion of Edgar Kaiser, young soldier of fortuue, who from a hun ble condition of life, was slowly and surel carving his way to distinction and wealth and who was now on a short leave of al sence, which he had improved by visitic Rome?a city he had long wished to s< above all others. 4iTes, I have much to say to you,' 1 coutinued, raising the soft hand of his mi tress to his lips. 'I thought it all over i [ was coming along; but alas ! your pre ence has made me forget every thing. How far different, my love, is this pui aud balmy air from ours?these trees ac shrubs and flowers from those of our ow country ! No other place like Italy to te of love, Anny; would that we could r main here forever !' My heart echoes that wish, Edgar; bi it cannot be. To-morrow, by my guardian command, I must return to St. Petersburg 'So soon ?' said the soldier with a sigl 'Alas, yes! I have already remaine longer than he intended at first, but I w, so desirous of seeing the Carnival from tl beginning to the end, that be could not r fuse me.' 'And do you return alone, Anny?' 'No. My aunt goes with me.' 'Would it were otherwise,' said Edg sadly; 'then I might accompany you.'Twould be useless for me to request h< permission; it would receive but one a ewer?a refusal. Such a sour lookini coarse-grained spinster, I never saw.' 'You must not speak of her thus,' sa: Anny gently. 'You forget that wbatev her faults may be, she is still uiy relativ and as such should be treated with respec Besides, recollect how she was brought t herself, Edgar, under the very eye of tl Empress Catharine, who scolds and co derons ere the fault is committed.' 'True, true. Forgive me my rudene: Anny : it was unintentional But 1 kne I need not ask it. When does the Cou return? Do you know?' 'He is expecting his recall daily.' 'I hope he will never receive it,' said E gar, gloomily. 'I tell you what it is, A ny,' he added suddenly, 'I am afraid?ye afraid of this Count <je Moner. I, a soldi of the empire, whose breast is covered wi scarce healed wounds received in the s< vice of my country, am afraid of this m who carries a pen instead of a sword, ai whose strength to mine is but that of infant's. I never see him but what I thi of a venomous creeping reptile in my pat whose touch is death and whose brea taints and poisons the pure air of heaven. Pish !' and he startled back with an expn sion of deep disgust, at once ludicrous a startling, arid half drew his sword from sheath. 'Oh Anny !' he continued, 'if should return to St. Petersburg aud, your guardian, remain with you, I f< that we shall seldom, if ever, meet agai 'What makes you think so, Edgar?' 'I don't know. My heart is filled w gloom, aud everything looks dark and dn ry. Oh, this Count de Moner ! would were any other than your guardian a the soldier shuddered slightly as he p nouuced the name. 'Not that I know ai thing ill of him,' he added ; 'but his voi his look'?his eye, which seem to pie: d you through and through?all these make ie me fear him. His brother is commander js of our regiment; and though he is brave ie as a lion in battle, yet the men hate him. t. He never allows them any recreation, and ir punishes the slightest error severely. I .' expect him here every day. Oh, Anny, would we were but wedded. Then you would always have me by to watch over and protect you.' e. 'Let us be patient, Edgar. We are both young, and can wait.' 'But will you always be true to me, An ny ?' said the young man, taking her hand. 'Always, Edgar,' was the reply. 'You do wrong to doubt me for a moment.' e 'Not that, Anny, not that,' said the young man quickly. 'Listen to me for a few moments, my love, and calmly. You are young and unexperienced, unacquaintis ed with the snares of the world, and thinkd ing that all are as good and virtuous as ' yourself. Alas! it is not so. I am afraid ie when you return home, the report of your !D great wealth will bring crowds of suitors, of high born and rich, perhaps even dukes of ?r the empire, around you; and then, Anny, ig where then will be the humble soldier of to fortune?' ie 'In my heart,' replied the young girl ,d earnestly. 'Come weal, come woe,?for!y tune or misfortune, health or sickness, life t- or death, Edgar, I am thine?thine only !' of 'Ay, that's my own sweet girl !' cried 2r the young man, catching her in his arms of and pressing his lips against her brow.? o. 'Oh, Anny, those eyes of yours ! you know o- not how soft, how melting, how loving they id are ! I could gaze into them forever, my to love, as in a mirror, and think the hours ip well employed could I but catch my image ?s once reflected therein. Think of me often, le Anny, and as kindly as 1 snail ot you It. 'I will, Edgar.' ie And should your guardian seek to force e- you to wed another, what will you do then V a- The young girl gazed into his face with i; an expression of such deep surprise that the :n young tuan almost regretted that he had askg ed the question. jf 'Force me to wed another !' she repeated d slowly <Oh no, Edgar, he would not do :o that. He is an honorable man.' 'a The soldier sighed, t, 'But if he should do so ?' he enquired at jt length. 'What then?' a 'I would fly to you at once.' ;e 'And I would protect you, Anny. Ere le they could reach you, they would have to >r fall over my corpse. No one fights so well, ie Anny, as in defending those whom he y loves.' 3. 'I trust you will not have to draw your it sword on my account,' said Anny, with a smile, and placing her haud within his. ir 'Well, we know not what may happen,' g said Edgar. ' 'So you return to-morrow V 1- 'To-morrow, Fdgar.' a 'Well, Antiy, as my leave of absence has ). almost expired, I am thinking of returning |y too. Do you procure from your aunt a list ; of the villages she proposes to stop at, and I a- will meet you this evening. Do not refuse ig me this, Anny ! You know not how unhapie py I am when long absent from you.' 'Would it not be wrong for toe to do so?' ie enquired Anny, hesitatingly, s- 'No, my love, not in the least. Reraerois ber the journey is a long one; and without s- me you will see but one familiar face during - rthe whole way, and that not a very pleasant re one?your aunt's.' id 'Nay, but I forgot to tell you that my n! cousin is to go with us.' ill! 'Indeed ! You told me this morning that e- he had not yet arrived.' 'Nor has he; but we expect him here at daybreak. Still I will procure the list, and s I send it to you in the morning. He is a ! '' mere boy, not over fifteen, and has spent h- the greater part of his life in England.? ^ ! We can trust him.' 19; 'Thanks Anny. I shall never forget ,c, your kindness. Bnt hark ! do you not hear e* 'some one calling?' 'It is my aunt's voice Perhaps he has come now. I must go.' 'Farewell then. Forget not the list!' arj 'I will not. Farewell, Edgar!' ? | 'Farewell, Anny!' and again pressing her er! to his breast, the young man bounded over a" | the wooden railing and disappeared. 5. | rtTT A T11TOD TTT j unArimv in. ld j THE CONCEALED WITNESS. er| -'It is concluded :?Banquo, thy soul's flight, c, | If it find heaven, must find it out to-night." :t- 'Yes, a large sura,' said Jean Saint JP Pierre, as seated in his room he counted the contents of the purse which the stranger had given hint. 'One hundred rubles ! ! Bah ! if I still kept to the trade I should IS> soon be a second Croesus. What a life has lW mine been,' he muttered, at length, pushnt ing the gold from him with an expression of disgust; and rising from his chair; 'it is a romance in itself, only wanting a startd ling end to make it complete. When n- young I was rich, powerful and ambitious, !3, married at nineteen ; and when of age, the er'father of two boys who?ah me ! inherited th i their sire's ambition, but not his virtues.? ;r- j At forty, self-exiled from my native land, an the bearer of a terrible secret, supposed bj ad I my former friends and associates to be dead : an'afraid to return or venture forth in mj ok proper guise, lest ray sons should agaic h, strive to end my days?I find myself a trav th eler upon this wide wide world, and avarict ? my ruling guide. Few know the extent o es the mountebank's wealth, nor will they un nd til he is dead. Ana Henri will be richits will be able to count gold with the weal he thiest ten times o'er! But more gold mus as be had,' he added aloud, 'more gold. Mj jar! coffers must be filled to overflowing?' n-' 'They shall be,' said a voice. Thi mountebank looked up, and saw standinj 'th beside him, a thin, swarthy looking man Baj whose air, features, and dress, proclaims he i him a Russian. So noiseless had been hi ud entrance, that Saint Pierre started baol r?- with a cry of surprise, and glanced bastil; 3y- at the door, as if to assure himself that h< ce> had gained entrance by that means. Re rce covering, he pointed to a chair; and closin) the door, seated himself near the window. 'You are early, my lord,' he said, after a moment's pause, and glancing at the clock.' 'Only an hour before my time,' said the stranger, who was no other than Ranel GotschofF, count de Moner, the cousin and guardian of Anabel Galetzeo. They were a straDge contrast, the two men, resembling each other in some respects, and differing in others. The Count's features were sharp and thin, too much so to be pleasing, and the two gray eyes, sank far back into the head below a projecting forehead, beamed ever with a sinister and crafty smile, which was almost frightful to behold, and made one think that a frown would become them better. His forehead was flat and projecting, low and almost square in form; his lips were thin, so much so, that when closed they were compressed within the mouth; his nose, long, straight, and almost transparent, was hooked at the end, and bore some resemblance to the beak of a vulture. Altogether, his'face was a most forbidding one, and those wflfc once saw it remembered it forever. We have said that the two men resembled each other in some respects, and differed in others. In height and figure they were alike, in the tone of the voice, in the color of their eyes, the'short chin, the high cheek bones?in all these they were the counterpart of each other ; but there the resemblance ceased. The mountebank's forehead, unlike that of the count's, was high and massive ; his eyes were not sunk so fai back, nor did they wear that ominous smile which was a peculiarity of the count's. A child running from a dog would have fled to Saint Pierre for safety, rather than to dc Moner; a man wanting anything done that * IV . 1 A ? 1J 1 required aaaress ana cramness, wouia nave goue to the count, instead of his companion. In age the count was apparently forty, though several years younger; that of the mountebank's seemingly fifty, yet in reality, ten years older. 'Yes, I am only an hour before my time,' said the count, in reply to Saint Pierre's observation. 'My impatience to learn the result of our scheme was so great, that I could not wait till the appointed hour; and hearing that you were returned, I came here at once. How have you succeeded V 'Better than I expected, my lord. The fsh swallowed the bait at once.' 'Good !' said de Monor, rubbing his hands gleefully. 'Now let me have the full particulars.' ?I will, my lord. This morning, as you directed, I took my station close to the Palace de Rosenburg, and narrowly watched every one that came forth. I soon baa a crowd around me, and while I was going through ray feats, I set Henri to watch the entrance?' 'All that 1 know,'interrupted the count] 'for I was one of the crowd.' 'Indeed! I do not remember seeing you.1 'Nor did 1 intend that you should,' said ! de Moner. 'I stood on the opposite side of the street, disguised as a monk, and re mained till eleven, wheti growing weary oi waiting, I returned home.' <Sn von mistrusted me then ?' said t.hf mountebank, a singular smile passing ovei his features. 'I?not at; all,' replied the other <Bul go on with your story.' 'Well, it was nine before the duke ap peared, and from your description I regcog nized him at once. He was alone, anc happening to move my way, the crowd at tracted his attention, when he came up, anc applauded my feats as heartily as the rest After sometime, I announced that in addi tion to my other talents, I possessed that o a fortune teller. He was the first to trj my skill; and I told him word for word ai you requested me.' 'Did he e sprcss no surprise V 'He did, my lord, and once even threat ened me with his dagger; but we partec the best of friends. He even went so fai as to request me to visit him this evening and to bring Henri with me.' 'Indeed ! Who is this Henri V 'My son.' 'Better and better. Where is he ?' 'In the room below this.' 'His age ?' 'About fourteen.' 'Is he a lad of discretion ?' 'If you moan one to be trusted, my lord he is.' 'And bribed ?' 'Not to bei;ray the secrets of his master He is honesty itself.' 'Honesty !' repeated the count, with i sneer. 'Honesty, did you say? Pshaw 'tis a virtue we read of in books?a fitting theme for poets to pen and praise?but i romance still. Honesty ! bah ! that virtue like the art of the Damascus, is lost, if in deed it ever existed. I tell you what it is Jean Saint Pierre,' he continued, dashinj his clenched fist against the table, 'that thi master who can pay the highest bribe cai best procure the silence, honesty, or what ever you may choose to name it, of thos< that do his bidding.' 'If such be your creed,' said the moun tebank, 'why do you trust me?' 'Because I am rich, and can pay higbe i than others,1 was the reply, i 'Well, you may be right, my lord,' sail Saint Pierre, submissively. 11 <1 am right,' returned the count. 'Trus f me, though not as old as yourself, I hav ' studied human nature, the greatest of al ' books, more I have learned that gold i " the great lever?more powerful than the ' of Archimedes?to move the world, an 1 yet not that only. All men have their an bition ; a king, more land to govern ; a so 2 dier, a figher office; the miser, more gold r the people, as a mass, more power; an , even the humble priest, no matter ho 3 lowly his station may be, virtuous his hear s has his ambition, which, if you can bi i once touch it, or show him a chance fc y which it can be gained, will make him i e aspiring and unscrupulous as the rest. A - wish to become greater than the rest; an y even the veriest beggar in the street wish< to outdo his fellow beggar in something.? The philosopher tells us that contentmenl is happiness; it may be so, but I have never seen a contented man. You have youi wish, your ambition, your price; and sc have I. Yours is wealth; mine, power.' 'But, my lord, you are already powerful i enough to satisfy?' 'So you think, but so do not I. My am: bition is a lofty one; to be the ruler of a i vast empire. I cannot be Czar of Russia, however much I might aspire to it; but, i should fortune aid me, I can rule it through , its sovereign, and as effectually too, as il ' the crown were mine. How am I to dc this? The Empress dislikes me, has senl me into honorable exile, as it is called?oc a mission to Rome; and here I must remain until it pleases her to recall me, 01 i until her death. She is now ill, and in all probability has not many months to live.? The grand-duke, Paul, her son, is not fa vorable toward me?has been my enemj ' for years; and I dare make no attempt tc , conciliate him. A dark prospect, you wil i say; and it will require a master hand t< clear away the difficulties that obstruct mi path. Yes, gloomy, very gloomy, is it not! 'Very, my lord.' ?Now listen ; should Catharine die, Pau i being deceased before her, his son Alexan i der will ascend the throue. He is nr i friend; once let him be safely seated, an< my station wil! be beside him. Ah ! thi prospect brightens now, does it not? Ob t serve: Paul is the first rock that obstruct my path; therefore he must die !' i An exclamation burst from Saint Pierre' . lips, and he half rose from his seat. I 'Patience, till you have heard all, sai< i the count. 'In a game like this, it is ne ; cessary that I should not throw away a sin t gle chance. To resume: Alexander is su perstitious; a shallow-minded fool who see , omens in everything?who has the will ti i plan, but not the heart to execute; and wh< can be led by the hand as easily as a child He is moreover fickle, and constantly cban ' ging from one object to another. He mus i be forced to believe that by remaining nr i friend, and following my advice in ever thiDg, he will succed in his wish ; and t< ! strengthen my empire over his mind, hi i must wed my ward.' 'The daughter of the late Prince de Rad i etsky ?' 'What! you know her?' said the count i with surprise. 'You forget, my lord,' returned Sain Pierre, 'that you spoke to me of her yester i day.' i 'Indeed! [bad forgotten it. Yes, b must, wed her : and then T shall he all now j r t erful. All this must be brought abou j through you.' i 'You count much ou the aid of the hum ble mountebank,' said Saiot Pierre; 'am ; you do right. In this he will not fail you. 'What matters it what tools we worl ' with,' said the count, 'so long as they per I form the task ? The sculptor cuts out hi ! glorious creature with an iron tool whicl . any one can buy; and yet without the gen f ius to forviy it would be vain to strive h rival him. The tool in itself is nothing > but when guided by a master-hand it i r everything. You, Saint Pierre, shall b< that tool, Alexander the marble, and I? t will be the sculptor to cut and shape it a i will.' The mountebank caught the count' . hand, and gazed long and earnestly int 1 his face. You are the arch-fiend himself,' he said 1 after a pause, his eyes glittering like burn ing coal, and speaking in a hoarse voice.. 'God !' he muttered, rising from his chai f for a moment, and turning his head, tha j his companion might not see the look o 3 deep anguish which passed over his fea tures, and the tear that dropped from hi eye; 'where are thy thunders that they d not strike him dead? Lost?lost forever! j and with a sigh he again seated himself. r 'You comprehend me then ?' said th count. ' tT dr>. mv lord, full v.* was the renlv ? - "j j ' ' r j 'But inform me V he enquired, suddenly as though struck with a new thought; 'i your intention to persuade Alexander t the deed V ?Did I not tell you yesterday that h would never consent to it V said the count 'No, I shall do it without his connivance. 'He does not know you are here, I be ' lieve?' said Saint Pierre, enquiringly. 'He does not. He believes that I hav been sent on a mission to Paris by the em press, and has not yet heard of ray return I was there a few weeks ago, but returne< i the day before yesterday. On hearing c T his arrival last evening, I immediate! j looked about to find a person competent t carry out my long cherished plan ; and o [ consulting with ray old servant Gustave, h advised me to procure you. I followed hir 'y to the market place; saw you playing you g tricks in the centre of an admiring crowd 3 marked the glibness of your tongue; sa' you were quick-witted, and your face on e of the dead. I sought you out, engage your services, told you where to place youi self, and how to act. The duke saw you believed himself unknown; heard yourpri JInti An nn/3 mink MA 4a 1 An Hn mAfA V ft j. UltWUUj UUU W JOUC3 LU ICtliU liiVIC. XU must see him this evening according to yoi j promise. Will you do so?' 'I will, my lord, providing?' 'Speak not of terms,' said the count, ha, e tily, and mistaking what the other was i U bout to say. 'Enough that your most so s did wishes shall* be gratified. Here is purse of gold containing one thousand roi j bles. Play your part well to-night, an j. the sum shall be doubled.' 1- 'Fear not but I shall do it well,' sai Saint Pierre, with a sinister smile, whic d the count did not observe; and thrustic w the gold into his bosom. 'One word, a t, lord,' he added, 'have you heard from yoi it brother of late ?' iy 'My brother!'cried the count, startin is 'You ask strange questions, sir, mount 11 baDk. I never told you that I had a brothei d 'Pardon me, my lord, but you spoke ;s him yesterday.' <1 do not remember it,' answered th< i count, gazing the other keenly in the face 'It strikes me, Saint Pierre,' he said, 'tha I have seen you elsewhere than in this city. ) 'Very likely, my lord. I have visiter all the principle cities of Europe, St. Pe I tersburg among the number; and probably you saw me there. But your brother?hai not the empress lately ennobled him?' i 'She has.' 'And he is not with you in this preciou; soheme of yours V \ The count frowned at the familiar ton< of the speaker, but replied, ? ?Ho is not, uor does he know of it. . ; am expecting Hm here every day. No? i for your instructions !' [to be continued next week.] lektefo IHisceto 1 THE NIAGARA OP INDIA. | It is curious th^t a fall six times thi depth of Niagara should remain almost un 3 known. From the village of Gairsoppa reached by a river of the same name, th writer of the following account was carriei for twelve miles up the Malimuneh Pass and reached the Falls Bungalow abou three and a half hours after leaving the Pass J An amphitheatre of woods and rivet about 500 yards wide, rushing and boilin 2 to a certain point, where it is lost in a pei petual mist and in an unceasing, deafenin s roar, must first be imagined. Leaving th Bungulow on the Madras side of the rivei 3 and descending to a position below th river level, you work your way upcarefull and tediously over slippery rocks until yo reach a point where a rock about twice th size of a man's body juts over a precipice Resting flat upou this rock, and lookin 3 over it, you see directly before you two on 3 of the four principal Falls; these two ar 3 called the 'Great Fall' and the 'Rocket The one contains a large body of watei the main body of the river, perhaps fift 1 yards across, which falls massively and ap ^ parently sluggishly into the chasm below * and the other contains a smaller body c 3 water, which shoots out in successive spray over successive points of rocks, till it tall ioto the same chasm. This chasm is a least 900 feet in depth, six times the dept of the Niagara Falls, which are about 15' ' feet, and perhaps a quarter to a mile i width. These are the [first two falls to b 1 visited. Then move a little below your firs position and you will observe first, a turgid boiling body of water of greater volume tha e the Rocket Fall, rushing and streamin down into the same chasm : this is the thir fall, the 'Roarer;' and then, carrying you eye a little further down, you will observ another fall, the lovliest, softest and roof t graceful of all, being a broad expanse c shallow water, falling like transparent sil s ver lace over a smooth surface of polishe rock into this same chasm. This is 'L 8 Dame Blanche,' and the White Lady c 1 Ayeue! could not have been more gracefu and etherial. 0 But do not confine yourself to any on ' place in order to viewing these Falls; scram 8 ble everywhere you can, and gets as man 8 views as you can of them, and you will b enabled to decide up which is the mos 8 deautiful. And do you want to have a faic idea of the depth of the chasm into whic 8 these glorious waters fall ? Take out you 0 watch and drop as large a piece of rock a you can hold from your viewing place, i ' will be several seconds before you eve '* loose sight of the rock, and even then itwi; not have reached the water at the foot c r the chasm, it will not only have been los 1 to human sight; or watch the pigeons wheeling and circling in and out the Grea l" Fall within the chasm and looking lik 8 sparrows in size in the depths beneath you ? But you have yet only seen one, andc least not the most comprehensive view t the Falls You must proceed two miles u e the river above the Falls and cross over at ferry, where the waters are still and smoot as a glass and luggish as a Hollander, an r' proceed to the jMysore side of the Fall: 8 walking first to a point where you will se 0 them all at a glance, and then descendin as near as you can to the foot of these, to t e drenched by the spray, deafened by th " noise and awe-struck by the grandeur < the scene and by the visible presence < the Creator of it, in the perpetual rainbo of many and brilliant hues which spar e the foot of the chasm. ' Mode of Administering a Judicia d Oath to Chinese in California ?0 J the 11th of July a batch of Celestials wet y arraigned before Judge Creanor, in the Di: 0 trict Court of Sonora, Tuolumne county D for the murder of one of their countryme e at Big Oak Flat, some months since. Th u Sonora Democrat thus describes a strikin ,r scene in Court during the trial: ' When the witnesses were placed upon th w stand, considerable diffculty was experiei ? ced with regard to their taking the require oath. The interpreter?an intelligent Ch r" naraan, who took the obligation in the usi ' al form?informed the Court that in ord< 3~ to, administer an impressive oath to the wi u nesses, it would be necessary to conform i ir the custom of the Chinese, which was h cutting chickens' heads off and going throug certain other ceremonies, such as burnic 8" paper, candles, etc. This announcemen it must be confessed, rather staggered tl r" Court. Judge C. had never before bee a called ou to do anything of the kind a l" though he had seen ten years' active se ^ vice on the bench in California, and it w; somewhat of a poser with him how to { id about it. Finally, after being satisfied th ih by no other means could they be made ig understand the solemnity and import of i )y oath, the requisite number of shangha ir were ordered, and pretty soon they mai themselves heard in Court, g. Then followed a scene which attract* e- the attention of all, and which we shall n r-' soon forget. of The chickens were taken out on the bi J cony of the court-room, and there the hi } dozen witnesses repaired, after each receiv. ed a piece of marked yellow paper, about t the size of a man's hand. On the railing ' of the balcony, four colored candles?each 1 six inches in length?were lighted, on the - right and left of which were bundles of j thin sticks, (we believe they are called s Josh-sticks,) also on fire. Pretty soon, after all the preliminaries had been satisfactorily arranged, one of the Chinamen stepsi ped forward, and after mumbling over some words, the exact meaning of which we ; failed to comprehend, knelt upon one leg, seized hold of a chicken with one hand, the [ hatchet with the other, and in a twinkling v dealt the former a bio w on the neck, which put an end at once to its earthly career. Then rising, immediately after the consummation ? of this bloody act, he bowed reverently three times before the lighted altar, which probahlr rpnrpapnfpH hia .Tnah. liorhtpd hi* Vfil , J - 1 "O? J low paper, cast it on the floor, and retired. " Another came forward and went through the same operation, each sacrificing a chicke en, until the whole number were thussworn to tell 'the truth, the whole truth, and ' nothing but the truth,' so help them Josh. ? After this ceremony was over, the trial proceeded in the usual manner, with the excep'' tion of being a little more gesticulating and 1 loud jargon than is general in the Court. All this Joshing was very funny and novel ' to the 'outside barbarians,' who seemed to ^ relish it greatly, although John was in no wise disconcerted at their eager curiosity P and derisive smiles. It was one of the e scenes which are not witnessed every day, ' even in California, and we doubt whether e in any other state of the American Union, y such a proceeding had ever transpired ? u Truly may it be said, that our people enjoy e many sights to which their brethren of the " Atlantic States are entire strangers. it SARDINIAN MARRIAGE CUSTOM. e But hush ! sileoce ! there is the tramp of - horses outside?not a word?presently a , low tap at the door. The father looks ay round to see that all is in order, then, slow> ly rising, obeys the summons, r, Father?'Who is there.' if From without?'Friends.' s Father?'What do you want? s From without?' Cilcliemo una peccora it ualduta,'?the figurative reply?'We seek h astray lamb.' 0 'Father, partly opening the door?'Do n my friends desire to see if it has strayed e into this fold ?' it On this the intended bridegroom gently 1, pushes open the door and enters, accomn pained only by a few chosen friends. The g father bows courteously to each, and then d turning round to his family, introduces the r various members composing it, beginning e first with the mother, and ceremoniously init quiring: if 'Is this the lamb you have lost?' |. A shake of the head is the negative red ply. At last the spouse is presented; the a bridegroom that is to be, starts, runs forward, if takes her hand and respectfully kisses it. il 'This is the lost lamb!' He is rejoiced to have found the beautie ful lamb he sought for. The father is i- pleased, pats the lover on the back, and y calls him a brave lad. e The lover, in his turn, protests that he it will take care of the lovely lamb, and soon it conducts it to his fold, h 'Ah ! San Lorenze, I believe thee,' sobs r the soft-hearted mother. l8 'Bah ! Teresa, do not weep ; where is the it rosario though hast prepared for thy Bita's d bethrothal gift ?' exclaims the father. 'Thy II bird will be well with so true and gallant if a lover, my Teresina. True, she is going it from thee, but she will be well mated; so i, dry thine eyes old girl.' it Meanwhile the lover has placed one more e ring on the already laden fingers of the i. young sposina. She bashfully presents it him with a rosary, and thus lsc.gnali' or betrnthed cifts are exchanged.?Davpu's '? n o tJ p Reminisences of Sardinia. a h PREACHING. d 'Why are we Datural everywhere but i, iD the pulpit? No man expresses warm ie and animated feelings anywhere else with g his mouth alone, but with his whole body; ie he articulates with every limb, and talks ie from head to foot with a thousand voices, jf Why this holoplexia on sacred occasions }f alone? Why call in the aid of paralysis w to piety? Is it a rule of oratory to balance is the style against the subject, and to hoodie the most sublime truths in the dullest language and driest manner? Is sin to be L taken from man as Eve was from Adam. n by casting them into a deep slumber? Or "e from what possible perversion of common sense are we to look like field-preachers h in Zembla, holy lumps of ice numbed in? to quiescence, and stagnation and murobie ling? There is, I grant, something disg couraging at present to a man of sense, in the sarcastic phrase of 'popular preacher ie but I am not entirely without hope that i- the time may come when energy in the d pulpit may be no longer considered as a i- mark of superficial understanding; when j- animation and affectation will be separated ; jr when churches will cease (as Swift says] t- to be public dormitories; aod sleep be uc to longer looked upon as tbe most convenient >y vehicle of good sense ?Sidney Smith. ;h ig The True Gentleman The follow t, ing sketch is called the portrait of a trui ie gentleman, found in an old Manor Hous< ;n in Gloucestershire, written and framed, ant d- hung over the mantle-piece of a tapestriec r- sitting room: as ?The true gentleman, is God's servant ?o the world's master, and his own man; vir at tue is his business, study his recreation to contentment his rest, and happiness his re in ward; God is his father, the Church is hii lis mother, the saints his brethren, all tha Je need him his friends; devotion is his chap Iain, charity his chamberlain; sobriety hii sd butler, temperance his cook, hospitality hii ot house-keeper, Providence his steward, char ity his treasurer, piety his mistress of th< il- house, and discretion his porter, to let hin ilf in or out, as most fit. This is his who! family, made up of virtues, and he is the true master of the house. He is necessitated to take the world od his way to beavenj but he walks through it as fast as he can;' and all his business by the way is to make. himself and others happy. Take him in two words?a Man and a Christian/ Heather Ale.?In his wanderings on. the moors Mr. Weld, a recent tourist, made many unsuccessful inquiries after heather ale. The peasants had never heard of snob a beverage, and he concludes that the.art of making it is lost: 'The secret, aoobfd"-^ ing to Boece's Chronicles, was posssesed by the Picts. A story is told, legendary*it must be granted, that when Kenneth MeAlpine resolved on exterminating the Picts, he slew all but two, an aged father and his' son, who were said to have the recipe of brewing this heather nectar. Their lives were promised to be spared on one oondi- > tion?that they divulged the secret. The' father declared that he would disclose the art provided he was granted one boon. Thift being aoceded to, great was the astonishment of the victorious Kenneth and his followers when the old man demanded aS his request that his son should be kiljed, emphatically insisting that on no other terms, would he divulge the secret. Accordingly the youth's head was struok off. ?No?r^ said the father, <1 am satisfied. My son I 4 L4 4.U- --4 . T iiii^ui uavu utugut yuu me an; jl uevcr will,' He had the satisfaction of carrying it with him to his grave. And the balla<? tells us:? "The Picts were undone, cat off, mother's -son,.* For not teaching the Scots to brew heather ale.'* <1 have read, however, that although the art of brewing Pictish heather ale i* lost) old grouse shooters have tasted a beverage prepared by shepherds on the moors,, principally from heather flowers, though honey or sugar to produce fermentation was added.' Lock for Lock.?The gossips toll a funny story, in which two Russian noble j ? t> i vi Lueu uuu a liivumu i aiiaiau autrcro piuj lLlc principal parts. Both of $be Bayards were suitors for the fair lady's smiles, and botb seemed to be equally esteemed bjfrber. It would appear that in Russia, as well as in many other countries, a look of hair is considered a signal pledge of the tender passion ; but if the truth mast be tqj.d, few of' our theatrical divinities are endowed with profuse cheveleurs, and if they were, .theju?-', cessant demand would soon ezbanst the supply. Mademoiselle Alice glories in the possession of auburn ringlets, and wouldnjj^ part with one of them for less than a duchy. Her Russian admirers, the Conntde L. and, the Baron de M., both happen to have hair of the same golden hue as that of their ututual Dulcinea. Each begged a tress of her hair in exchange for a lock of his own, to. which the charming creature readily tftented, and without touching a single curl of her head, cunningly managed to effect an exchange of parcels, by which each gentleman received a tuft of his rival's capillaries. The Count now wears the Baron's "wool" next his heart, and the Baron sleeps with the Count's scalp-lock under his pillow. What terrible deceivers these "female women" are. ? - - ?- >Hli Woman's Marriage.?To mati^-one man, while loving and loved by another, is about the most grievous fault that a wo-. I man can commit. It is a sin acaibst deli cacy, again8t kindness and troth. It involves giving that to legal right which is guilty and shameful when given to anything bat reciprocal affection. It involve*-double treachery and a cruelty. It involves wounding the spirit, withering the heart, perhaps, blighting and soiling the soul of the one who is abandoned and betrayed A It involves the speedy disenchantoienf of/the one who is mocked by the shadow" where * he was promised the substance, and who grasps only the phantom, soulless beanyr ^ and the husk, the shell, the skeleton .of a dead affection. It entails ceaseless deCepceptions at home and abroad, by day and night, at our downsittings and our'uprising?deception in every relation?deception in the teriderest and ruoty endearing moments of onr existence. It makes the whole of life a weary, degrading, uorewar--ji, ded life. A right-minded woman conl'de* scarcely lay a deeper sin npon her soi^l, one more certain to tiring down a fearfnf expiation. / *'? ' Practical Wisdom of Washington. ?The editor of the Washington Eveuing Star, writing from H:trper'? Ferry, *peaks as follows of some of the evidences"of. the manuer in which the work of surveying was done by Washington in his early days "When engagod in engineering lower down the river?that is between Harper's Ferry and Georgetown?I have not unfreqoently banted ap and found 'beech marks' made i by the hand of Washington himself, thefr i position being so distinctly and accurately i indicated in his Dotes of bis surveys (still i preserved,) as that there was no mistaking ; their paternity. In all, hundreds, it may ) be, of civil engineers have labored over the ? routes of Washington's original sutvey of t the Potomac in the last thirty three or four years, and, one and all, they will testify that the evidences remaining of his prof*', sional labors prove bis remarkable method } in all things as unerringly as his subsequent J glorious military and civil history." 1 . ? ' n t no TUA' AWMAMfWlAMi I IU5FRESHMisurr \jai\o.?JLUC cApcwuicui has been successfully tried. A car set apart , as a dining saloon will do away with the - bustle, confusion, insolence, swindling and , bad temper usually displayed at the places - on all roads where passengers have been per9 mitted heretofore to stop to refresh; and t we trust thar this appendage will be added to every train or cars that leaves the city. 3 There is pro-it in the idea, and a wonderful 3 sight of comfort besides. e S&* We must not undervalue physicians, a Perhaps the fabric of society woald fall e without them?they are its pUlera.