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lewis m. grist. proprietor. [ Ah Independent Journal: For the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South *2 per annum in advance
VOL. 6. YORKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, i860. NO.88.-_-'
Original ?oetrn.
For the Yorkville Enquirer.
ON THE~I8LAND.
BY WILLIAM MAXWELL MARTIN.
'Tis a summer's eve by the ocean side,
And the Queen of night from the silvered tide
Comes mounting up on high;
And the stars shine forth, each one like a gem
Which has dropped from an angel's diadem,
And stud the azure sky.
'Tis a gala nigbt?there nre maidens fair
And the diaraondsgleam from their perfumed hair
Grandly and gloriously;
But I stand alone in the merry throng,
And the happy ones, as they glidealong.
Scarce deign to look on me.
But 1 walk on the shore of the sounding sea,
There's a voice speaks there, and it calls to me,?
That voice they cannot hear;
Like the muffled tones of a midnight bell,
It is borne, with its mystic, mournful swell,
On viewless waves of air.
'Tis a solemn vcice, and it speaks alone,
With its soughing sigh and its mournful moan,
To aching hearts like mine :
But the happy ones, aud the blest of earth,
They whose lives fly by in the halls of mirth,
It's meaning ne'er divine.
So, I leave them there in their crowded hall,
With their gay quadrille and waltz, and all
Their gems and jewels rare ;
And I go on the shore where the white surf raves,
There's a music comes from the ocean waves,
Grander than their's in there.
~%\\ Original Sac.
Written for the Yorkvillo Enquirer.
ST. PIERRE, THE MOUNTEBANK
or,
THE PREDICTION.
A Romance of the Empire, under Catharine, II.
bv r b. russell.
CHAPTER III?Continued.
the concealed witness.
Long and deep was tbe conversation thai
now ensued. Whatever scruples the mounte
bank may have professed, were quickly
overruled by his companion, who appearec
for the time-being, to exercise a soake-like
charm over him. Every objection was an
swered with gold; and even Saint Pierre
was compelled at length to announce himsell
as satisfied. TTOeinne ptair had been fu
discussed; th? Count took his hat and drew
on his cloak.
'One word !' he said suddenly, as if a new
thought had struck him ; 'your son Henri?
'What of him V enquired the mountebank
'Did you not say that Alexander fanciee
him ?'
'I did, my lord.'
'And that he wished you to part witl
him V
'I only know that he appeared to be strucl
with his beauty,' answered the other. 'Hi
said that he ought not to be allowed to fol
low my profession ; and hiuted that if I wish
ed it, he would take charge of him.'
'This is a windfall iudeed,' said the Count
'You should love?'
What more he would have added w
know Dot; for at that moment the door open
ed, and a man, whose attire proclaimed hir
a coachman, eutered the house. He wa
short and thick set, with a most villainou
looking face; and as the future will show
a most worthy servant of such a master a
Count de Moner.
'Ha! Pietro!' exclaimed the latter, a
soon as he beheld him ; and rising to hi
feet with a gesture of alarm ; 'what has hap
pened V
'Nothing, my lord, save that the grand
duke, Paul, is here.'
'Here?' cried the Count, starting, an
moving a step forward. 'Here?'
?I meao in the city, my lord,' replied Pic
tro, gaziog earnestly at the mouutebanli
who, as soon as he caught his eye fixed up
on him, moved his chair back in the shad
dow, and turned his head toward the wall
'Who told you this V enquired the Count
'No one. I drove him hither myself.'
'From where V
imnoriol nt St. Pfttftrsblirp'
1.U? 0
'But the Empress?how is she V
'No better. The physicians say her day
are numbered.'
'Indeed ! Then what T have to do mm
be done quickly. Where is Paul V
'At the hotel San Carlo. He is travelin
incognito.'
'Alone V
'Alone, my lordand Pietro moved stil
nearer to the mountebank.
'Doyou know his reason for coming?'
'To see his son, my lord. There is somt
thing about a marriage between Alexaude
and the Princess Amelia of Prussia, and h
has come to propose it.'
'They must not meet,' said the Couc
quickly. 'But how am I to prevent it!
He mused deeply for several moments, mui
tered a few inaudible words between hi
clenched teeth, passed his hand seven
times over his brow ; and then turning sue
denlv to Pietro?'do you think hispresenc
""
would be missed at the hotel ?' he inquirec
'I think not. It is crowded with stranger
who came to see the carnival; and as h
gave an assumed name, it was with grea
difficulty that he could secure a room.'
'Is no one acquainted with his being here \
'No one, save myself.'
'I must take a bold and desperate step
said the Count, after a long pause; 'an
sooner, much sooner, than I intended s
first. Alexander and his father must notshall
not meet ; but again, how to proven
it? So far as I can see, there is but on
way, but one.' He paused and fixed his ey
upon Pietro, who was still closely surveyin
the mountebank, and said, 'Pietro, I b<
iieve you are my friend ?'
'More than that, my lord?your slave
'Nay, my friend,'said the count, 'thoug
but an humble one, perhaps. it Isnot
shame, Pietro,' he added, 'that one like y
you should be a serf?you who are so l
highly gifted? Poor fellow! poor fellow !' v
and the count's feature seemed an expres- v
sion of pity which sat but illy upon them, y
and which the servant could not but ob- \
serve. o
'That I am a serf, my lord,' he said, 'is c
no fault of mine Such were my forefath- i'
ers, such are my relatives, and such, per- n
haps, will be our descendants. Of what n
use would freedom be to us, the foul scum t
of the earth, as the haughty lords of the s
court term us; forgetting that without us to I
toil, and labor, and fight their battles for f<
them, they could not live. We serfs of the I
(empire are the silkworm that spend our
[lives in weaving silken threads for others to C
wear; and, like that worm, when dead, s
our labor and our usefulness are forgotten.' a
'Yet do you not desire freedom, Pietro?' u
'Perhaps; but then, my lord, you forget e
that I am poor.' n
'So, so, I see where to hit him now,' e
thought the Count. 'Tell me, Pietro,' he v
added aloud, 'were you not speaking to me f
ja few months since of the lands of Kays- 1
jvitch?' t
| 'I was, my lord.' c
I 'They were a present to me from Paul, s
j given in other days when we were friends,' s
[said the Count, speaking very slowly and t
in a lower tone than usual. 'It would of- c
j fend him deeply were I to part with them
| while he is yet living, yet still, I wish c
| much io give them to you. Good, dear v
(! Pietro, you have served me loDg !' a
j 'I have, my lord.' I
'And faithfully.' '
J 'As I could.' t
j 'Oh, that Paul were dead!' said the Count, a
! approaching nearer to the other. 'Mark, i
jmy friend, I wish it but for your sake.? 1
'jShould he fail to meet his son this evening a
:?should he suddenly disappear ere the j
5 j night wanes, then, Pietro, freedom and I
: the lands are yours.' a
(Mino mrr lnnl ? Thp lands nf TCaVS- a
i-i.OV, .? ?. J !
vitch mine? Why then he shall not'? t
<Hush, Pietro! What is understood r
l need not be repeated. But see, the sun is a
j setting, and there is much for you to do.? t
|Suppose you attend Paul immediately; he
t i tnay require your service.' 1
. I 'Ay, and I'll attend him faithfully, my a
J lord,' said the ether, with an ominous s
[; smile. 1
J 'I trust so. See that he wants for noth* '
. ing, Pietro.' t
; 'I will, my lord. But there is one thing 1
p I forgot to tell you; your brother is also c
, hara ' a
,J 'Impossible!' exclaimed the Count.?
! 'He sent me word the day before yesterday r
r 1 that he would not be here until to morrow.' 1
>! 'Yet he has come, my lord. I saw one c
; of his attendants as I was on my way here; |
j and he informed me that his master was
: about to visit the Palace de Rosenburg.'?- <
'And ere this he is closeted with Alex- ]
^jauder!' cried the Count, pacing hurriedly
Itoandfro. 'By heaven!' he exclaimed, i
. I 'but troubles are thickening around me 1?
J The duke, no doubt, will reveal to him the t
. j prediction ; and he, with his strong sense
land logic, will laugh him out of it, and i
then confuse everything. Fool that I i
| was ! I should have told him of the plan I
| when last we met. Well, well, I'll still
e'hope for the best! see to the grand-duke,
I Pietro.'
q 'I will, my lord,' and casting another
J glance at the juggler, he bowed and left the
s | room.
, ! 'Ilis hours are numbered,'said the Count,
sj after a moment's pause, and referring to
I Paul. Then turning to Saint Pierre, he
J was surprised to see him leaning against
s j the wall, his face flushed as with a fever,
land seemingly so weak as to be scarce able
j to stand. 'Why, Sir Mountebank !' he exj
claimed, 'are you ill ?'
'Ay, my lord, a slight complaint of the 1
d heart which attacks me pccasionally,' replied
Saint Pierre, laying his hand upou
?- his breast with an expression of intense
rr .mi . > v . __:j
sunermg. 'mere, it is over uow, ne saiu
>- atleogth. 'You were speaking of Henri.'? j
[- 'Yes, I forgot. I was about to observe
I. when Pietro entered, that you should have 1
accepted the duke's offer.'
The Mountebank almost smiled. He
had divined at once what the Count was '
' coming to; and, as the reader will short- \
ly see, it had been his intention to accept
s! the duke's offer from the first. But as he
j wished to sift de Moner's motives thoroughit
ly, he gazed at him with an expression of '
| assumed surprise, and asked,
gj 'Why, my lord ?'
'Dolt! do you not see the advantage of J
j having a friend like him an inmate of 1
U ! Alexander's household,'?to follow him (
i wherever he goes?to thrust himself into (
, nooks aud crannies and strange places, and '
!-'overhear every word that passes?to slyly '
T ; read every paper the duke may leave on his
e'table?to open by means of false keys his 1
) private desks?and to bring me word of
it|every thing? Come, you must accept the '
V j duke's offer ?'
t- 'Iudeed, my lord,' said Saint Pierre, with
181 affected reluctance, 'I cannot part with him.'
i) < v j ?
- 'xuui icnaiu
I- 'Nay, speak not of it.'
e 'One hundred roubles.'
1- 'But?'
's 'Five hundred.'
e 'Nay, I-'
lt 'A thousaud.'
Saint Pierre wulked to the window, ap''
parently for the purpose of considering, but
in reality to hide the smile which illuminated
his features, and which even he could
d not prevent from appearing. After musing
it fur several moments, he returned.
'Be it so, my lord,' he said. 'I accept
it'your proposition.'
ej A grim smile passed over the Couut's
e j features as the words escaped his lips,
gj 'Was I not right when I said that every
s-; tnau had his price V he muttered. 'Pshaw !
j gold is the lever to move his heart!' Then
.'jturning to his companion he said aloud,
h; 'Now, sir Juggler, Jean Saint Pierre,
a [Mountebank and Fortune-teller, a word in
our ear. Henceforth you are my slave, so ii
jng as I pay you faithfully for your ser- i
ices. Should you prove false to rae, berare
! I'd learn it somehow ; and go where
ou will, my vengeance shall reach you.?
Vhen your interview with Alexander is
ver, no matter how late the hour may be,
ome at once to the hotel d' Espagne and
nforra me of th6 result. As to Henri, you
eed not take him with you to night; tomorrow
will do as well; and besides, I wish
o instruct him as to the part he is to as- 0
ume. Should the boy serve rae faithfully, D
will do all I can to gain him a name and
artune. Enough ; and now, for the present, n
must bid you farewell.'
{Why ?' exclaimed Saint Pierre, as the ?
lount left the room, and drawing a deep 1
igh, while his features assumed an expres- ^
ion of horror which was fearfuful to gaze 1
,pon ; 'why is he thus spared so long, the
;uilty and the lost, and the innocent per- r
Li 1 tlCU LU pcnail i J liuc, VTUIUU uuauggo
verything, has suffered hira to remain as he 8
ras from the first, as if deeming him too r
t
ou! to lay his destroying hand upon ; and
lis heart, once so gentle and tender, is now ^
urned to iron ! There is no repentence or
nercy for him, none, none! But plot on
ehemer !' he cried, shaking bis fist and doing
his teeth, 'plot ou de Moner! and in a
he hour of triumph the mountebank will
rush you!'
And muttering to himself, he opened the 8
loor and disappeared. A moment after- ?
rard a boy crept from beneath the table
,nd glanced cautiously around hira. It was
Ienri Saint Pierre, the mountebank's son, *
rho had been a concealed witness of every
hing that had passed between his father
,nd the Count de Moner. A singular smile
it up his features as he found himself a- *
one ; but it quickly fled again as the door 8
gain opened, and the mountebank re-ap- j
leared. On seeing Henri he started slight- .
* ?/? . 1*1 1
y, glanced lor a moment arouna cne room,
is if to discover by what means he gained
ccess to it ; and then as his eye fell upon .
he large oaken table, with its heavy cloth
eaching to the floor, he closed the door;
,ud seating himself near the window, bade
he boy approach him.
'So, so, Henri,' hesaid sternly, 'you have j
>een playing the part of an eaves-dropper,
i thing that I detest. You?you?0, for
.hatne ! I never thought that you would
>e guilty of an act like that! Well, well, J
tis done and can't be helped now. But |
ell me, Henri,' he asked, 'and tell me truy;
was it out of mere curiosity and of your |
iwn accord, or were you prompted to it by |
ny one ?'
'Of my own accord, and out of mere cu- (
iosity,' replied the boy, a blush mantling
lis cheek ; not of shame at the act itself, but
if being discovered by his father. 'Pray,
jardon me ; I will never do so again.'
'I trust you will not,' said Saint Pierre
>/^r\f 1 rr fFlirl ttnn omrn fhinr* flint
6Uwjr. juu w.v.j v"*"b """"
massed between U9, Henri V I
'Every thing, father,' repiled the boy,
ifteru moment's hesitation.
'And the promise I made him that you
ihoula serve the Duke.'
'I did, father; but surely tbat was nothing
new to me ! Did we not come to Rome
for that particular purpose ? At least you
told me so, and I believed you.'
'You did right, Henri. I heard that
Alexander was here; and I left Vienna
hastily and on your own account, to see if
I could not get him to take charge of you.
Fortune aided me, and seeing you to-day,
he proposed it himself. I will explain everything
to you sometime or other. So then,
you heard me promise the Count that you
should act the part of a spy upon the Duke V
'I did.'
'I am sorry you heard it, Henri, because
it is a promise which I have not the slightest
intention of keeping. Listen to me,
boy : this Count de Moner is a dangerous,
selfish, intriguing and ambitious man ; one
who must plot arid scheme, for it is his nature
I intend to let him proceed?ay, and
to aid him?just so far as it will suit my
purpose, and then to curb him. You may
goto Alexander to morrow, if you wish;
but you shall not play the disgraceful part
~ L.* ~-4. A ~
m a opv upuu uuu?juu auuu uut ut? iiJiiuu
the cats-paw of the Count de Moner ! No,
Henri, a higher destiny awaits you; one
that you little dream of; and it will come
all in good time. I only ask of you to be
honest and faithful to the Duke, and my
word upon it, you will never regret it.'
'But still it would be worth while to make
the Count my friend,' said Ilenri, after a
pause.
'Indeed, it would not,' replied the mountebank
quickly. 'You are as far above him
in heart and mind, as the sun is above the
earth. Don't look up to him, my boy ; rather
think hiui beneath your notice. In the
course of a few years, perhaps months, he will
fall from his great height, and carry others
with hiin. Therefore, be cautious, and think
ef him no more. Should he seek to annoy
you, just threaten to tell Paul that you overheard
him plotting his death, aud he will
never trouble you again.'
'Then Pietro will not succeed ?'
'I hope not,' replied the mountebank ;
'for I intend to warn the grand-duke, and
nnt 111 m nn hi? miiirH '
r"v ? ?
Do you know him, father?'
'Intimately,' was the reply. 'You will
scarce believe me, Henri, when I tell you
that in other days we were warm and intimate
friends. Well, well, seek to learn do
more! You shall know all some day.'
'Why not now father?'
'Because you are too young to hear it,
Henri,'replied the mountebank. 'But see,'
he added, glancing at the clock and rising,
'the hour is late, and I have much to do;
therefore, I must leave you to ponder over
what I have said. Retire to rest now, my
boy; I will awake you at day break.'
'May I not go with you, father?'
'Impossible,' replied Saint Pierre, as he
took up his hat. 'Good night, Henri; and
he disappeared.
'Good night,' replied the boy. 'I wish,'
he muttered, 'that 1 knew this Count ! He
said he lived at the hotel d' Espagne. It
3 not far, the hotel d' Espagneand throwng
himself into a chair he mused deeply.
CHAPTER IV.
THE PRESERVER.
'This murderous shaft that's shot,
Hath not vet lighted : and our safest way
Is to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse;
And let us not be dainty of leave taking,
Butshiftaway. There's warrant in thattheft
Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left.'
It was about eleven o'clock in the night
f the same day on which the incidents
iarrated in the preoeding chapter of this
ale occurred, that a tall, powerfully built
nan, whose featuro, though not handsome,
rere strongly marked, and whose forty years
at but lightly upon them, was slowly passng
along the Place del Popolo, one of the
irincipal streets of the Eternal City. Alhough
his dress and the numerous orders
ipon his breast proclaimed him of high
ank, he was alone and unattended; an unisual
circumstance at that time, when as
assinations were of almost mightly occureoce;
the great influx of strangers into
he city to attend the fetes of the Counsel,
;iving the bravoes an unusually fairopporunity
for trying the points of their knives,
,nd enriching themselves with the spoils of
heir victims. Bat the man of whom we
,re now speaking was not unarmed, as
vas seen by his sword, and by a richly
nounted dagger, the belt of which was
tudded with jewels, and which was half
:oncealed beneath his close fitting double
ireasted military out coat This man was
10 other than Paul, eldest son of the Emiress
Catharine of Russia, grand-duke of
he empire and heir-apparent to the imperial
throne; and who was now on his way
o the Palace de Rosenburg to see his son
Alexander. The evening was beautiful,
luch a one as is seen only in Italy. The
itars sparkled brightly, and the moon shone
orth in all her beauty?the beams crossng
every where, reflected on the walls of
he houses, yet leaving some portions of
he street veiled in darkness. Paul drank
n the beauty of the scene at every step;?
lnnr Q^nnintr tn snrupc tho tr-illd nf anmp
irjcient mansion, possibly a church, a concern,
or a palace; now looking toward the
?ky; and unon glancing uneasily around
lim. After some time spent thus he drew
mt his watch, and noting with surprise
;he lateness of the hour by the moonlight,
sassed quickly on for several squares; aod
iad nearly reached the end of the street
when he again paused, as though puzzled;
md intently examined the buildings around
him. That portion of the street in which
be stood was in complete darkness; and,
lpparently undecided, he was about to
turn back, when the footsteps of some one
rapidly approaching, smote upon his ear;
ind in a moment a tall figure whose face
was covered with a mask, stood beside him
?so near indeed, that he could have touched
it by stretching out his hand.
'Who are you ?' exclaimed Paul, starting
back and laying his hand upon his sword.
'Who are you ?'
'A friend,' was the instant reply. 'Your
excellency is proceeding to the Palace de
Ilosen burg V
?I am,' replied Paul in surprise.
?To see your son V
'Yes. Who told you that?'
No matter. I know it. Hear me! there
is danger in your path, my lord; be wise
then, and proceed no further. Return
while you have yet time, and leave Rome
>
at once.
'That I will not do,' said Paul, drawing
his sword. 'May I be so bold as to ask the
name of him who warns ine V
'It would be useless for you to know it,'
replied the other. Enough that I know
you and your purpose here. Oh ! my lord,
as you value your life?as you hope to be
emperor of Russia some day?follow my
advice and go no further. Come follow me,
and I will lead you to your hotel; and he
advanced nearer to him; but Paul, moving
back, motioned to him to pause.
'Keep off,' he said, raising the point of
his sword from the ground on a level with
the other's breast, and drawing back his
arm, 'if you value your life,' he continued,
'move not another step toward me, or you
will repent it.'
'Oh, rash and foolish man !' exclaimed
tho stranger, who, as the reader has already
guessed, was our friend the mountebank,
'would you lift your sword against him who
warns you f Know this, my lord, that it 1
had not followed you step by step?from the
door of the bote! San Carlo, where I remained
watching for you the whole evening, you
would ere this have ceased to breathe. But 'tis
useless to warn you! Go on, and ere long
you will regret that you did not heed my
warning. In the hands of heaven I now
leave you;' and without another word the
mask strode rapidly away.
'Strange, very strange!' muttered the
grand-duke, gaaing after him until he had
disappeared in the shadow; and then replacing
his swo:'d in its sheath. 'It struck
me several times that I have heard his voice
before. Well, well! forewarned, forearmed,'
as the saying is. Idiot that I was!'
he exclaimed, 'why did I not inquire my
way of him?' and he struck his forehead
with vexation. 'No matter,' he added,
'here comes another; and friend or foe, I'll
e'en ask him!'
'Your pardon, signor," he said, as the new
comer drew near, and bowins; ?I have lost
ruy way. Can you tell me where the Palace
de Rosenborg ia V
'You are close to it,' replied the stranger.
'It ia that tall stately building near the
corner.'
'Thanks, signor.'
'You are welcome;' and the other moved
away.
'I thought I had passed it,' said Paul;
and he was about to retrace his steps, when
a knife blade penetrated his right arm, and
at the same moment he received a blow in
the breast from some heavy weapon. He
reeled for a moment; and then utteriDg a
cry for help, sprang to the wall of the nearest
house, and drew bis sword. Instantly
his three maiiked assailants were beside
him and, though defending himself bravely,
he received a wound in the breast near th<
heart. Again he staggered, and but for th<
wall would have fallen to the ground.
Now we have him !' exclaimed one o
the bravos, drawing back his arm to striki
a more deadly blow. But ere it fell, th<
Duke again recovered; and like lightninf
his sword pierced the heart of the other
who uttered a loud cry, and then sank bacl
a corpse.
Cospetta! but he fights bravely!' exclaim
ed another of the men, pressing him close
ly ; and suddenly by a dexterous movement
which proved him no mean proficient in thi
science of fencing, he dashed the Duke'
sword from bis hand. In a moment hi
hand clutched Paul's throat with a vice
like grasp; and his short heavy dagge
was just raised to strike when the report o
a pistol was heard, a whizzing sound follow
ed, a sword blade encircled his neck; and hi
fell a corpse upon the ground. The thin
ruffian, dreadingthe fate of his companions
ran off; and the new comer was about t
follow him, when the man whom he had s
opportunately rescued, requested him tostaj
'Cospetta ! he exclaimed with astonish
ment, on hearing his voice; 'but if I mis
take not, you are the gentleman who inquii
ed the way of me just now ?'
?I am,' replied Paul; 'and thanks to you
pistol?'
'Why, it was not mine,' interrupted th
other. 'The bullet came from the othe
side of the street, probably from that ta
fellow who is hastening so rapidly away!'
'And who warned me of this attack
said Paul, gazing after him with interes
'Well, let us see where It struckan
stooping down, the stranger closely exan
ined the body. 'Ah, it is in the breast
he exclaimed as his eye fell upon a sma
stream of blood which flowed from a woun
just below the heart. 'My blow was m
needed.
'Nevertheless, I look upon you as m
preserver,' said Paul, extending his ham
'My thanks?'
'Never mind them now,' said the othe
quickly. 'Are you not wounded ?'
'Slightly,' replied the grand-duke. 'Bi
that I am now recovering from a long an
nninfnl illnesn. whinh hns <rrenf.lv wpakenp
r ?/ "?v" ?tv j "?~?
rac, I would have defended myself bette
If I mistake not,' he said, after closely au
veying the other?'If I mistake not, your
man, you are a countryman of mine.'
'If you mean a Russian,' said the othe
'I am.'
?I thought so,' said Paul; 'yet you spes
Italian like a native.'
'Do you really think so V said the yout
man, coloring with pleasure at the comp]
ment. 'Yes, I have studied it many yeai
having always had a great desire to vit
Italy; but this is my first visit.'
'What is your name ?'
Do not ask it,' was the reply.
'And why V
'Because I want no thanks for what
have done.'
'You are a strange fellow,' said Pau
and thrusting his hand beneath his coat, I
drew out a pocket book filled with orde
on the Roman bankers. 'Take this,' 1
said. 'Nay, do not refuse; for I shi
scarcely miss it.'
'You insult me,' said the other, som
what angrily. 'True, I am not rich, bul
want no reward for what I have done.
Nay, do not be offended,' he continued.'If
you must give me something, I will i
tain the pocket book as a memento of tl
night's adventure. Step this way, so th
I can see to take out the notes; I wa
them not. There they are, thunks! Wh
a beautiful evening ! But see?the bloi
is flowing profusely from your breast! L
me examine the wound. I have some sk
in the healing art.' And guided by tl
light of the moon, he unbuttoned the dukt
shirt. 'Merely a flesh wound,' he adde
after a careful examination. 'Allow me
tie my handkerchief round it, thanks!
that too tight V
'No,' replied Paul, much amused at b
efforts to prevent him from speaking, at
thereby renewing his offer. 'It will do.But
may I give you ?'
'Nothing. The wound will be well in
day or two. Take care that the bandaj
does not slip from its place. Do you r
quire my assistance any farther ?'
'If you would be so kind as to walk wi
me to the hotel San Carlo?'
'To be sure I will. But I thought yt
were going to the Palace de Rosenburg
'I have changed my mind, and intend
return home again to-night,' replied Pac
as ne tnougnt or tne warniDg ne uaa r
ceived. *
'Well, then, place your arm in mint
said the other. 'Don't be afraid of lea
iog upon me. I have borne greater bu
dens. So you are about to return to Ru
sia?'
'I am.'
'To Moscow ?'
'No; St. Petersburg, as fast as six hors
can carry me.'
'How fortunate?that is, if you would 1
so kind?'
To do what?'
'To take these letters with you. I w,
on my way to deposit them in the offic
when I saw you. If you would be so kit
as to take them, it would save time at
postage.'
'Ah !' thought Paul, 'this young man
wnom ine saving or a row snimngs is i
object, refuses my gift. Well, I will tal
them, my friend,' he added aloud.
<A thousand thanks!' exclaimed ti
other. And then not giving the gram
duke a chance to utter a single word, i
afraid was he lest he should renew his o
fer, he entered into a long argument aboi
the bad post roads, and what should be dor
to remedy the evil; and his observatioi
thereon were so lucid and just,-betrayin
such deep reading and research into tl
matter, that Paul several times regrette
that the distance to the hotel, San Carlo, w;
not five miles instead of one.
'Here you are,' he said, as they reache
the door of the hotel. 'Take my advic
3 and never again venture alone in the streets
3 at midnight while in this city.' _ I
<1 will not,'said Paul. 'How can I thank i
f you for your kindness?' i
3 'By not speaking of it.' I
3 'Will you not let me know your name?1 I
y 'That you may discover my abode, and I
, so force upon me a reward for the slight
i service I have rendered you this night,' i
said the young man. 'No, no, do not ask
- it of me ! That you are rich, one can see 1
- by your attire; but, sir, although I am poor, :
,, I will not?cannot accept a gift of you for
e a simp'e act of kindness?for 'tis no other!
s Therefore, do not seek to know my name;
a for in all probability, we shall never meet
- again. Farewell j' and passing the grandr
duke's hand to his lips?for he felt intuif
tively that he was of high rank?he drew
- his hat over his eyes, and walked rapidly
e awav.
j 'A strange fellow!' muttered Paul, gai,
zing after him. 'Pray heaven the time
o may come when I can repay him for this !
o But what could have been the moti/e for
r. Irtiia attack on me? It may be that I have
i- an enemy here, and if so, I must be cautious,
i- Another time, and I may not have a conn -
tryman, like him, by to aid me. But I'll
give no one another chance to strike at me
ir here. I'll heed the friendly warning I have
received; pen a few lines to my son to ree
turn home at once, and then bid good bye
ir to Rome forever!'
11 'Ay, bid it farewell!'cried a voice; and
as he disappeared into the house, a man
sprang out from a doorway, who, after passt.
ing a few moments on the threshold of the
d hotel, laid hid hand on the knob and enteri
ed. It was the mountebank. A light was
!' burning in the hall, though rather dimly;
11 and by its aid he saw one of the servants
d passing, who approached at his call. Withot
out giving him time to utter a word, however,
he thrust a piece of gold into his hand;
iy and taking off his mask, requested to be
i shown to the room of the Russian gentleman
who had arrived that afternoon. The
r, servant glanced at the gold, and then as if
satisnea as to tne respectaouty 01 rue giver,
it for Saint Pierre was attired in a light spring
id cluak which completely concealed his mounid
tebaok costume, he led the way up the
r. stairs, and paused at a half open door. He
r- was about to enter, when Saint Pierre signig
ed him to go; and theu, after listening a
moment, passed noiselessly into the room,
r, P:ul was seated beside a table, with a bowl
of water near him, while several of the atik
tendants were washing his wounds and preparing
bandages; but on seeing the mounjg
tebank, he rose from his chair, and gazed
li- enquiringly into his face.
s, 'Attend to your wounds first and to me
fit afterward,' said Saint Pierre, as he flung
himself carelessly into a chair, and gazed
thoughtfully toward the window. The
grand-duke gazed suspiciously at him for a
moment; and then in a sharp voice, bade
, I the servants make haste and bind up the
wounds. When it was done he dismissed
1; them; and turning to the mountebank rehe
quested impatiently to know his pleasure
irs 'Is it possible that you do not recognise
he me ?' said Saint Pierre, rising, and speakill
ing in a low, yet musical tone.
' hamKaJ flifl /Ittlro Viia Krnm <|Q.
"X UU UUifj icpncu l/Ub uuag; uio u?v?? ?m
ie- suming a thoughtful expression. aDd gaziDg
; I earnestly into his face. 'Your voice is fa?
miliar; but your features?ah ! no, I do not
? know you ! If I ever did, you must have
e- changed greatly.'
lis 'Yes, time, and not that only, has laid
at his mark upon me, as he has you,' said the
nt mountebank. The grand-duke started and
at moved a step forward. 'What, Paul!' he
id exclaimed, holding out his hand, 'have you
et forgotten your old tutor and friend?'
ill Stop ! I know you now !' exclaimed Paul;
be and he rushed toward him and threw his
i's arms around his neck, while a cry of ded,
light burst from his lips. 'Yes, yes!' he
to continued, 'I knew it?I always said it?
Is that you would again appear! Oh, but
you have changed, my old friend?more 1
lis think than you suspect. But tell me,' he
id added eagerly?'the boy?Henri?where is
? he?'
'He is alive and well.'
a 'Thank heaven ! But inform me, is there
^e yet any sign of the complaint which brought
e- his mother to an early grave?'
'None, my lord.'
tb 'Nay, nay,' said the grand-duke, 'call me
Paul aa mii wfirp. wont, to do in hannier
* ?> ?J~~ ? -- ? rr
)u days.'
V 'Well, Paul then,' said the mountebank,
to smiling. 'No; he is sturdy and robust as
il, a young mountaineer. He has been brought
e* up in the open air, under my own eye, and
can perform the most astonishing feats of
strength and agility. No chance of his
n. ever dying of consumption! Ah ! little
,r_ does he dream, my old friend, of his noble
[S. birth, or of the glorious destiny that awaits
him. You should see him, so rugged, and
yet so handsome!'
'But his education ?'
ea 'Is most complete, worthy in fact of the
high station he is to assume.'
3e 'And be entertains no suspicion?'
'None. I have brought him up as my
own son, playing the part you jokingly bade
as me assume, and which I did so well in my
e, youth?that of a mountebank. Do I not
id look it V he asked, with a smile ; and letid
ting fall the cloak, he displayed the curious
costume beneath to Paul's astonished gaze.
t0 'You do,' replied the grand-duke, with a
in laugh. 'But do you play it well V
:e ?So well, Paul, that I have gained immense
wealth by it. You will hardly bele
lieve that avarice is now my ruling passion,
i- yet it is so. All this wealth will go to en30
rich Henri when he is old enough to ref
ceive it. But Paul, how would you like to
it have him about you?'
ie 'Nothing would please me better,' replied
js the drand-duke; 'but would it not be danig
gerous?'
ie 'No, Paul, it would not. Listeo to me,
id He is getting too old to follow this life
is much longer, and I have for a long time
been trying to contrive some plan to get
id him into the imperial household, without
e, any questions being asked about him.?
Hearing from a friend that Alexander intended
to visit Rome daring the carnival
season, I came hither at once, knowing that
if he could but see the boy, his great beauty
and talents would induce him to accept
him as his page or secretary. But most
fortunately it was not required of me to
visit him ; for as Henri and I were performing
before the Palace de Rosenburg, for a
most singular purpose, which I shall presently
acquaint you with, he saw the boy,
and proposed to take charge of him himself.
What say^ou, Paul ? shall I accept his offer?
Think, he will be in the imperial
palace and under your own eye.'
But the Empress may recognise his likeness
to?'
Not at all, Paul, for she will never see
him.'
The Duke mused deeply for several moments.
Well, let Alexander take charge of him,
since, as you say, he himself proposed it.'
,t :n > j t , a * u
L Will UU 3U, oa 1U UCttU. 'At WUUt UUU1
do you return ?'
'Immediately. The carriage is nearly
ready, and will be by the time I shall have
written a few words to my son.'
'Then I shall not be able to tell you what
I wish,' said Saint Pierre. Oh Paul, I
have much to say to you, and but scant
time to do it in.'
'Why not write what you wish to say,
and send it to Varna to-morrow? I shall
spend the night there.'
(T mill rln an Punl Whuf T tiara fn fall
you is of a plot against both your happiness
and life, in which, to learn everything connected
therewith. I am myself playing a
part. But I will write the full particulars
when I return home, and send the letter to
you at Varna by a special courier.'
'But, my old friend,' said Paul, 'you
have not yet told me what has changed you
so greatly. Verily, I question whether
your own mother, were she living, would
recognise you.'
'She would not,' said Saint Pierre 5 and
drawing a small box from his pocket he
handed it to Paul. 'Do you recognise it?'
he asked.
'Yes, it is opium.'
'You have my answer then.'
'It explains more fully than a thousand
words would do, said Paul. 'But when dc
you intend to return V
'I will let you know in the letter.'
'Doso,' said the other; and after a few
words, they embraced each other once mon
and parted.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
Original J?feftc|.
For th? Yorkrllle Enquirer.
BABIES.
Soft, soft, hold your breath while I mak(
a confession?I love babies! Do you no
love them, dear reader ? Certainly you do
why, what a foolish question ! Everybody
?that is, every one that is anybody, love:
the darling little creatures ! Even the glad
hearted child of six or seven summers it
whom you recognize the embryo lady, ha:
her waxen or alabaster babies, and love:
them too. Therefore, methinks, it is no
very pretty to see an elderly, dignified lad'
?a tidy mamma, tinctured with a little to<
much nicety, or a self-conceited papa, com
plain in harsh terms of the noise of "(hai
/ .L!U t9 _:*i a.
ireuiog coixu ?uuwpiaiu wituuui evei
thinking that they have the moulding of it:
mind, heart and manners, and can make il
either peevish or good natured.
Now, I entertain no very exalted opinion
of such puerile specimens of the masculine
gender, nor do 1 claim any affinity for those
of the gentler sex, denominated fasliionabh
ladies, who hu9tle their babies off to the
nursery and keep them there immured, leav<
ing them entirely to the tender mercy ol
stronger hands, because they cannot spare
the time to look after the little darlings]
yet, mirabile dictu! they who cannot spare
a minute to baby, have an immense quantity
of time to while away in the reading o!
a love-sick novel, the trying of a new dress,
or the ''latest style bonnet, fresh from Par
is;" and if ball or opera be ju9t mentioned,
they are always on hand.
Displeasing as it is in parents, how much
more so is it?indeed, how truly disgusting
it is?to see disconsolate old maids and
wretched old bachelors who have not ever
the remotest idea of the thin, shadowy pros
pect of a ghost of a chaoce to become anything
else, with their usual degree of spitefulness,
turn up their sanctified noses in
horrified disgust, and exclaim in tones ol
irritated repugnance "what a noisy child !"
or "my gracious ! what a spoiled good-fornothing,
peevish brat, to be squalling so I'1
and with wonderful complacency add "1
hate children?I always did." And all
this, just because the dear little innocent
cannot talk to tell its wants?cannot tell
that it desires some object beyond the reach
of its tiny arms; that it is famishing for a
eooling drink of water; that a cruel pin has
pierced its tender flesh, or that it is roughly
handled (as is notunfrequently the case)
by a careless, self-opinionated, self-enjoying
nurse?that it cannot speak to tell this, but
can only inform vou of its wants and its
sufferings, by lifting its soft and gentle voice
in pleading, supplicating cries and wails.
Well, I will cheerfully run the risk of
arousing the virtuous indignation of all
such antiquarian spinsters and bachelors,
delicate mamma's and over particular papas,
by frankly, candidly and emphatically saying
that 1 love, fondly, passionately love,
the dear guileless, sinless cherubs?yes, that
I love every one of the bright-eyed darlings!
And parent, or guardian, deeua me not impertinent;
or, vice versa, if you please, but
1 would not have them kept as show babies,
fresh from a band-box all the time, neither
as senseless, soulless dolls, nor yet as hot
house plants, but let them, I say, ruff it in
the fresh, free air, which the God of Nature
has given to refresh and invigorate the human
frame.
Fretting, peevish babies?pshaw ! You,
[ who would have children cold as stone, had
better hie to the "yankee notion" bazaar,and
buy images of marble or plaster of Paris?.you,
who would have an unfeeling, deaf
and dumb baby, go and purchase a wax
doll, with tow hair, bloodless cheeks and
glass eyes! Why, the single joy of seeing
a cherub's smiling face, upturned to meet
your gaze, and hear it in mildest accents
lisp the sacred name of father or mother,
were enough to touch the secret spring of
parental love, and cause the heart to over*
I flow with joy and gladness; repaying, doubly
compensating, you for all the inconvenience
you could have possibly endured for poor,
dear, noisy prattling babe.
Ah! be kind and gentle to them?they
are the bright buds which jewel the vales
of affection, in the garden of the heart.?
They come to us, like an oasis in the dreary. . ,
wild of the desert place, to the weary and worn,
time-stained and dust-covered traveler.
Oh ! they are the little shining orbs
that fling a mellow starlight over the dark
night of our existence?yea, they are the
beautiful flowers that are wafted to us, by
the perfumed breath of angels from the
1 .1 x. _ J'-i. . - ' 1. 3 ^ -
realms anove, to aaoru ana to giaaaeu me
pathway of life.
CHARLIE WILD WOOD.
Southern Declaration op Independence.?A
writer in the Mercury, in reply
to Col. Perry, who asks if the Sooth has
sufficient causes for disunion, answers as
follows:
The history of our union with the Northern
States, is a history of repeated injuries
and usurpations, all having a direct object
?the establishment of an absolute tyranny
over these States. To prove this, let facts
be submitted to a candid world. They
have overthrown the constitution
which binds us together, and constitutes
the terms of our union, by a total disregard
. of its limitations.
They maintain that the Congress bf-the
Unted States, under tneir control, is as
omnipotent in its legislation as the British
Parliament claimed to be over our ancesI
tors.
By disregarding the sovereignty of the
States, and establishing a will of a majority
in Congress as the rightfal'authority in
j its legislation, they have set up over the
South an odious, dangerous and remorseleia
despotism. >
They have rendered Representations ito
Congress of no avail to protect the interests
of the South, and thus taxation without representation
is practically enforce^ over
us. .
They have destroyed our foreign com"
merces by the mostunjnst Navigation Laws,
and the most unconstitutional and iniquitous
Tariff laws.
They have exacted taxes from us, not
only to support our common government,
but take their property from the people of
# the South and give it vo the people of the ,
t North. - .
j They deny to us a common property in
j our territories, acquired equally by, our
9 money and blood, on the ground that the
. people of the South, with their ipBatmfihf,
) are not worthy to colonize them.
: Thev have assailed, for more than tbirtv
* * m 9
s years, the institution of African slavery in
t the South, and have made our common legj
islature of the Federal Government a grand.
) instrument for incendiarism and aboUtoQut*
They have compelled us to separaUffi^St
t them, in our churches and other religions
r institutions.
j They have passed laws in their State
t Legislatures, nullifying the laws of C<%
gress providing for the recovery offuglti^
i slaves, although solemnly adjudicated to
. be constitutional by the Supreme Court of
i the United States. 't
: They have organized associations & steal
> our slaves and to prevent their recapture,
. and have murdered their masters seeking
f their rendition. jl
i They have invaded our homes and killed
; our inoffensive citizens, to raise our sTaVes
j in insurrection against their masters. ?$.
They openly declare their purpose to
f emancipate our slaves by the power of the
, Federal Government, and that they will
. put us to the sword if we resist.
, And, to carry out these hostile and fiendish
purposes, they have organized a seoi
tional party at the North, to take possession
. of the Federal Government; and are burn1
ing our towns, and striving, by distributing
i arms and poison amoDg our slaves, to desolate
the South by fire, insurrection and
blood.
Ia every stage of these oppressions, we
i have petitioned for redress in the hnmblest
terms. Oar repeated petitions have been
answered only by repeated injury. A peo.
pie whose character is thus marked by every
' act which may define tyrants, are unfit to
; be the confederates of a free people.
| Nor have we been wanting in attention
; to our Northern brethren. We have warnI
ed them, from time to time, of attempts, by
their legislation, to extend unwarrantable
, jurisdiction over us. We have reminded
i them of the circumstances of our emigration
and settlement here. We have appealed
to their nature, justice and magnanimity;
and we have conjured them by the ties of
, our common kindred, to disavow their usurpations,
which would inevitably interrupt
i our connections and correspondence. They,
too, have been deaf to the voice of justice
and consanguinity. We must, therefore,
acquiesce in the necessity which denounces
our separation; and hold them, as we hold
the rest of mankind, enemies in war, in
peace friends.
V8* There are published in the United
States and Canada nearly three thousand
newspapers. More than one half are weeklies
; the remainder are divided between
semi-weeklies, tri-weeklies and dailies.
The census taker in Jonesville,
Michigan, put down a man's age at 300
years instead of 300 acres of land, which
was intended. He was beaten, however,
by the census-man in Alleghany, who pat
down a man as having 160 children, instead
of 160 acres of land.