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YOL. I. ®I)C (Georgia tDccklij, DEVOTED TO Literature and General Information, WM. HENRY PECK, Editor and Proprietor. N»USBtD XTKBT WEDNESDAY. *T PEC K & LI NE S . , y TBB.MS, INVARIABLY U APTiHOI ! One copy, per annum $3.00 Single copies, B cents. •STAdTertUemeots inserted at $1 a square •f 13 lines, for one insert ioa, and 50 cents for each subsequent insertion. A liberal deduction made to tbeee who advertise by the year. THE ECHO OF THE ALPS. )fy heart is wandering to the West, With swift and noiseless flight, To seek its eagle in bis nest, And pluck a feather from his breast, Beneath the Wings of nlgllt. A feather from hit beating breast, That shall my song indite; A feather from bis Wounded breast; „ With which my soul may write; Hush I for I feel a flatter, As if my pen possessed The wi*ard power to utter The thoughts within my breast. 1 soar above the glacier's gleam, I am the night-bird’s guest j , I fly with him o’er storm and stream, Aud never pans', and dream my dream, And seek my ark of rest. Tbou art where flowery prairies roll, But thy heart is on the wing) And tbc mellow music of thy Soul Gives answer as 1 sing. Thou hast called the whirlwinds for a guide, Across the sounding sea, And ihe spirit of the wind replied That bis rushing winds Were free. I viewed thee in the ‘empest’s tone-, In the chamois’ agile bound, And felt thee in the lark’s delight, Aud in the torrents sound. I heard thee in the tempest's tone, And in tbc rippling rills; I saw thee in the woodlands lone, And called thee from the hills. And the very heavens resounded With the music of thy name, And the listening Alps rebounded In fiery floods of flame. And the spirit of the Alps replied, That he felt thy dauntless soul In the fearful pvalaucbe’s slide, And in the ;l,u»d",r’s rojl; , He told me that the Spirit's home Was on his glancing towers. And in his torrents' sparkling foam, And in the Alpine flowers. And a voice beyond the golden stars proclaimed tiiy dwelling there, I hold thee in my prison bars— Yet thou art everywhere. TIIE WINE-SELLER’S DAUGHTER, OH THE NIGHT BEFORE THE BATTX.S OF NEW ORLEANS. XT WILLIAM HENRY FECK. Author of u The Brother'* Vengeance” u Vir ginia Gltncairt” “ Saul } the Renegade” ,l The Moctoreon” “ The Red Dwarf* “ The Family Doom” “ The Black Phantom” “ The Corsican” lt Blobs” d'c., dc., dx. COPYRIGHT SECURED. CHAPTER VIII. VICTOR ST. JOHN. Despite her great courage Viola shrank back from the speaker, al though in the pitchy darkness she could not see bis features; but she heard his voice, and more terrible still, that cold, dry and mocking laugh— not loud now, but low and exultant, like the growl of a hungry wolf as his fangs rend the flesh of his helpless victim. “Your very humble servant, Miss Hartley,” continued Victor St. John. “ Will you oblige me by giving me your hand, that I may have the pleas ure of assisting you from the car riage.” She could not see the face* but she needed no seeing to perceive its ex pression. She knew it was sneering with mockery, and blazing with the malicious tfiumph of a devil. Her screams might rescue her from his power, atid she again shrieked for aid. But Victor St. John sprang in to the carriage and grasped her as if about to gay* her with bis open hand. Any indignity, but the horror of his hated touch t » “ Lpoje me !" gasped Viola, writh ing from his hand as he pressed it over her mouth. “ Free me ! Have mercy sir, and I #ilf not scream. Leave the carriage and I will get out without aff&istance.” “ You gratify irie exceedingly,” re plied S£ John* in the same mocking tone, “but will excuse me for grasp ing your fair arm, as the niglft is dark and you might stumble—or find my poor company so unpalatable as to desire to leave it.” u Tell me why you have so out raged me ?” demanded Viola, as she stepped upon the pavement. _ “ You* who pretended such friendship to my letoftft to ponton f iterate, ptes, te farli Information. father, such love end respect for me ?” “ Did you not declare your rejec tion of my honorable suit final ? Did I not tell you that such an answer would drive me to despair, Viola Hartly ? You see the madman at his game-Of desperation. But we will converse more at ease jn the house,” said St- John, his tones softening frond fierceness to mockery. “ Your father bade me never enter his house Again, and I told him the loss would be his and not mine. My words are coming true, and when we are better acquainted, Viola—as I at* sure we shall be—yoii Will discover that I never make a menace without a blow—sooner or later. Come, madam, I am wait ing for you.” Viola shuddered AS she Remarked the deliberate tone of command he already assumed. “ Must I enter that dreadful house ?” She murmured, ready to sink with fear. “ Why dreadful ? You have never been in it?” sneered St. John, as Viola stood Upon the pavement. “ I Ihink We may make it very agreeable. Do not start so fearfully, Viola. You must enter that house, quietly or by force, and I assure you you shall not leave it as Viola Hartly, but as Mrs. Victor St. John.” “ I may perish there, villain, blit never shall I bear the name of 9. be ing—a thing I detest," said Viola, with bitter contempt and heroic firm ness. “Do not irritate me,” whispered St. John. “ I am more dangerous and far more reckless than you can deem me.” She felt his grasp upon her arm grow painfully rigid, and knew by the hissing sound of his voice that he spoke through his set teeth. And this was the fascinating Capt. St. John, whom all the ladies young and old, of the Crescent City, had pointed out and praised as a model of a gentle warrior ! This was the gentle man whoso rich and manly tones had often accompanied hers injoyous or mournful song in the parlors of her father and of her father’s admiring friends! What would they think, were they to see and hear him nov:, heaping ruffianly indignities upon the much loved and much envied daughter of the rich Georgian, Colonel Lionel Hartly ! St. John was dragging rather than leading her towards the house, the door of which was elevated several feet from the street, and accessible by a street flight of stone steps, when Viola heard the sound of rapidly nearing hoofs. If she could but gain time until the horseman should be passing the spot, and she knew from the speed of his horse, invisible but growing rapidly clear to the ear, that a moment would bring him there ! She would shriek as only a despair ing woman can shriek, and if the rider were human her voice of horri ble anguish would warn him of the Villainous outrage she was suffering. But Victor St. John hurried up the steps, forcing her along with brutal strength ; and, as he reached the door, placed his hand upon her lips, holding it there with all a madman's tenacious power i He had divined her intention ; and frustrated her last hope of speedy res cue; for the horseman plunged by as if riding for a great stake, for life or death, and was out of hearing in a moment. But at the instant he swept by, the door of the house was thrown open, and the glare of a bull’s eye lantern flashed, like the lightning’s gleam, over the face of the rider. That face was visible but for an an instant, passing into the inky dark ness so quickly that it seemed a mis sive hurled through the air and athwart the lantern s sheen, but Vio la’s straining eyes recognized it as plainly as if she had been gazing upon it for an hour iu the broad glare of the sun. Victor St. John recognized it* too, and he uttered a bitter malediction upon the soul of its owner; for it was the proud and handsome face of liis rival, of Violst’s accepted lover, of Henry Allison—riding like mad to be in time to receive his dying mother’s blessing—riding with the heaifty per mission of his general from the battle field of the morrow, to see his mother once mote before she died. «May you break your proud nCck, Henry Allison,” said St. John, still retaining his pressure upon Viola’s lips. “But here comes another ri ing a steeple-chase,” he continued, as the sound of approaching hoofs was again heard. “Let’s see who follows. Hold your lantern at the same angle* Raymond." He spoke to the person Who had opened the door, ana whose features Viola could not see, because the qpecu- GREENVILLE. GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY* MAY 15, 1861* liar construction of the lantern threw all its rays in a single volume out wards ana not upwards. The second rider darted by. and again the gleam swept over the face of the horseman, and then he was gone headlong into the black deep of the night. “It is Gen. Allison,” said St. John; “and he rides well and bravely for the old veteran. They must have heard of the illness of Mrs. Allison. There will be rare search for you, Viola, this fiigbi, but it will not be my fault if some of the maiden hunters do not make a bloody ending to their sport. They will not find you, Viola,” he added as he lifted her, bodily, into the house and withdrew his polluting palm from her outraged lips. “ Scream and shriek to your hearts content now, fair lady,” he contin ued, as he closed and locked the door. “ This honse is isolated, and the near est tenements are tenanted only by rats—which are but poor allies to weeping maids, Viola.” Sneering again; and how Satanic his strangely handsome face looked when he mocked his prey! “Am I weeping?” demanded Viola, drawing her queenly form erect and flashing Scorn and defiance upon him from her splendid eyes of blue. “ You are a Zenobia, my Viola,” said he, gazing on her indignant beauty with a bold and exultant admiration that drove the hot blood of anger from her cheeks, to leave them ashy white, and then sent it back until her face and neck Were dyed to the deep crimson of ihfiulted modesty. They had passed from the vestibule, and were standing beneath a great chAndelier of bronze that flamed with a score of waxen lights; and Viola, in her anguish of sou!., longed for the darkness of the dismal streets, where she could escape from the baleful gleam of those fiery qyes. In her extremity slier turned fd the person called Raymond, but shtidder- 1 ed as she read nothing upon his ill fa vored and scowling visage, save ad miration and blind obedience for Vic tor St. John. ' ■ ."‘""<£l “ She is beautiful, is >he hot, Ray mond?”'said St. John, As Viola drew her veil, over her face; “Lovely as, a .PrirtsisS." “Asa Prinsiss—as a Prlps&s,” echoed the bull-necked and dog-eyed scoundrel,- rubbing his swarthy bands. “ A reg ular downright Prinsis'S of- Sheba,. Captin.” “And I, Raymond?. Am I not, as a man, as well favored .as she?” said St. John, towering in his lofty stature far above the ugly and misshapen Raymond. “You’re a Prince—a Juke—a Herl, by my ghost,'you are hay Hem perrer!” almost shouted Raymond, eyeing his Captain from head to foot. “And yet when I prayed her to be come my wife,” continued St. John in a deep and bitter tone,” what did she do ?” “She jumped at yer, Captin ! I know she jumped at the hoffer of yer ’art-hand ’and!” cried Raymond, rubbing his dirty paws until they smoked. “No! she scorned me! She re jected me, Raymond !” exclaimed St. John fiercely. “ Unpossible !” wheezed Raymond, holding up his great, horny hands in feigned astonishment. “ Now if hi ’ad bin her hied jumped at yer —I would. Hand if hied been you my wanity lid a bin shattered to bits, Captin.” And that was it. His vanity had been lacerated to madness, and that grinning Gorilla of a man, that Ugly defdrmed Raymond knew it. The thought pleased him wonderfully, and he rolled his big paws over each other and then rubbed his hideous old visage with them as if he were washing him self with the Astounding fact that at last Victor St. John had been refused, rejected, scorned by a woman ! Viola, burning with shame but proud in her despair, remained standing, veiled and silent. “Your vanity ! Your vanity ! And have you such a jewel in that carcass?” exclaimed St. John; nettled to the quick by the home-thrust, for he was vaifi of his beauty even to folly. “ Perhaps I ’ave,” said Raymond. “We all ’ave hour weak pints, Captin.” “Be off, you porcupine—and send your lovely wife to attend upon this lady,” continued St. John. And so' that hobgoblin Raymond had a wife 1 “She’s lotely id her way," growled Raymond, as he moved away, still soaping his paWs and washing his Vis age With that delicious fact. “ She can out claw the deril iA a pintfh, Captin, And has clawed you out of many s scrape. She’s Seeing after the carriage.’ 7 .“Beoff! and do as I command, toti bandylegged booby," shouted St. John; * ■ ’» . Raymond hobbled away, leaving St. John and Viola gazing upon each other with far different emotions. “You do not ask my clemency,” said St. John, after a pause. She did not reply, but he ceuld see the gleam of her scornful eyes even through her veil; and despite his bru tal, beastial hardihood seemed to quail and dwindle before ber. “ The bird trtewly waged seldom sings," pursued he, in his insulting, mocking way. “ When used to her cage she will sing right tuegHy.’* - There was a triple rap •* the street door and St. John stepped into the vestibule. “ Who goes!” he asked, with his lips at jhe key-hole. Viola did not hear the reply but it was whispered into the ear of St. John as he bent his head to the orifice: An enemy.” “ Who combs?” Asked St. John, aa before. . Tljfrwhispered response was: “B.& B.” And St. John opened the doflr to admit Carlos, the Spaniard. ’ “ You must have flown to be here So soon,” remarked St. John. “I citing to the carriage after rap ring the head of Biddy-Blackbird," Wf Carlos, swaggering into the hall— he turnbU.iHm exploit of knock ing down poor dartfel “ Her head was as hard as th'W.Odl'e of the Pyra mids and I-had to rap it? twice before she keelecUike a shotduck. You were eChke a..curse but' i-swung on behind, ahd would have been here as soon as you; but 1 a? the team slewed around a corner-([difiS five hundred yards from this I Slipped my cable and was shot into the gutter like, . a sack of coffee. Hut. here t am—how’s the bird?” Carlos did not/wait-for Answer but browded past . St. Jobivitfto the hall, Where his audacious stajic greeted the unfortunate Viola. 1 “ So—mylady;. ydu are there. If you had your figure head hampered witbua iib like that when in the drug shoJfc jash me, my beauty, if you hwatSfeffc bA at safe'fcrichordgerin -old Allison’S harbor now. But ydtir Veil —-is that the name of the rag —was hauled midships and I knew ybu Werb the. Captain’s fancy.” • “I owe thiSifidignity to you, then ?” said Viola, coldlyy-jhoqgh her heart sickeiled as web of vil iljdny Around her;’ “I was nbt long in signalizing the •Captain, madam, and we hashed a pretty plot betwebil dS—didn't we?” replied Carlos, combing his great black beard with his fingers. “We scared you out of yous wits,and you ran into the trap like a gull.” “Come you have said enough,” in terposed St. John, who chafed at the ruffian.’s familiarity, “ This lady is un der my protection and jn my house.” .“Steady," said Carlos, with his swaggering lurch. “Our bargain is only half done, Captain. I have aided you to catch your Pheasant — your hand is pledged to help me snare my Bird-o’-Piiradisb. You have your Viola —I want toy Rosfetta.” Viola started violently, and almost rank with tferrOr as she perceived that the villains had made a fiendish com pact. But in all her terror she pitied the miserable Rosetta for loving the heartless St. John, and ber indignation leilped to her lips. “ Captain St. John if you are hu man I .pray yotl Spare that unhappy girl/ whose love you have won to sell to that bad from; She is but a child-” “ Ah, you have seen Rosetta ? You know her!” exclaimed St. John. .“She was in my presence not an hour since,” continued “and I know that it is her dangerous mis fortune to love you. Spare—” But Carlos broke in savagely: “ Does she ? We will cure that love, and she may love a? good a man in Carlos Lollio as in Captain St. John. When she learns that all the Captain’s love-making was for me, she will hate him like a hangman. But blOw the luck that put ber on the street this night and I not knowing it! “Why was she with yotl?” de manded St. John. “ I am not here to Cater to your cu riosity,” responded Viola haughtily. Raymond now appeared, followed by his wife, a sour-faced Vixen as ab surdly tall as hb was short. Viola saw at a glance that she could expect no ally in Raymond’s lovely wife.” , “ Marbel," Said St. John tO this twist-eyed Hecate, “ this lady is now in yotrr charge, She is not Very hand some, Miss llar,tly, but you trill’ find her very faithful to— me ! I beg yoir wrll follow he*,- Miss Martly, and con sole yourself under her guardianship with the certainty that the future madam St.- John will soon have better company." He bowed with mock ceremony, and as Vida followed the silent Mar bel said to Raymond r a Keep close guard of my treasure, old Argus, and I will pay you well;” Then turning to Carlos he con tinued : “ You have some business of the League on hand; I will go part of the way with you. Raymond, bring the caaket I'spoke of this qvening.” “I *ave it *ere,” said Raymond, giving the Captain a small ebony box, inlaid with ivory and gold, j “ You are ever ready, Raymond,*’ pursued St. John. ) ** Cdme, Carlos, I have an appoint ment at tea. Some of our fellows of the League demand gold in hand be ! fore striking a blow, and my purse needs replenishing. “My cloak, Raymond.’* “ What pawn broker do you pat ronize ?” asked Carlos, as Raymond opened the door for their exit. “ Benditto, the fortune-teller.” “ Good, we shall take back the jew els ere iong,” said Carlos. “But not the gold,” laughed St. John, and then both disappeared in the darkness of the street. “ Brave lads—both of’em,” grinned Raymond, peering into the gloom. “ But the Captain id a diamond—he is the King of Diamifits. Lubk to him.” With this befiediction he closed and locked the door, and hpbbled away to his own quarters soaping and Washing himself with this last fact l “ The Captain is as pretty a rascal as eVer I see.” CHAPTER IX viola’s LOVER. "Victor St. John and Carlos soon parted in the street; .to meet again by agreement before midnight; and the former bent his steps towards the dwelling of the fortune-teller. While he is on his way, muffled to the eyes, in his rich and heavy cloak, scheming for Rosetta’s destruction, let us return to the house Os. General -Allison. After ViolA and Jane’s departure the timid but-swcet-souled Harriet Al lison returned to the bed side of her me*n2ng mother, <c Ester, to the an guish dhe could not alleviate, ahd to watch the slow moving hand of the di&l oh the mantel. She knew that to converse with her fhOther was strictly forbidden by the family physician, and could only de note her gehilfe presence by smoothing the fevered brow with Her soft hand, and pressing her mother’s hot and restless fingfers with her loving lips from time to timb. The vigil grew longer and more painful every instant, and Harriet's eyes begat} to flash impatience As she saw the dial hand had crept five, ten, fifteen minutes—half an hour beyond the time necessary to visit and return froth the pharmacy. Her fate grew pale and her heart like lead; as she began to imagine something dreadful had happened to Viola. “ Oh that I had gone with hes;” she murntured as She hurried to the win dow, and vainly stroVe to peer into the darkness without. “Oh that she., had not gone at all. Sojiifethiflg terrible must have happened!” # A deeper moan from the invalid hurried her to the sick bfed. “Has your father come?” whis pered the sufferer. “He will come dear mother,” re plied Harriet, soothingly. “We have sent most urgent messages! to him and to brother Henry—they have far to ride and with brief notice.” “ Was not Viola Hartly here a little While ago ?” continued hes mOther. A little while ago ! To Harriet the time seemed an age, and she trembled to think that the hot fever Was mount ing to her mother's brain and making ber delirious. “ She was here; my mother,” re plied poor Harriet. “ She will return’ immediately—-she has gone for med icine.” “ Is it not night,” asked the invalid; “ I thought it Was a wedding night and saw Henry wed Viola a’t the altar —-it wAs a very pleasant dream and I Should like to see it a reality. Ah, my poor head—it aches—my husband; my son do not be rash’ in battle;” and then Sighing deeply the invalid sank into a profound slumber. Harriet knelt by the bed, and was beseeching Heaven to spare hes moth er’s life when she heard a hpfse dash up to the front gate, then a deep growl from the dog, then a joyful bark of recognition; and she forgot her despairing prayer in sudden Joy. “ Viola ha* returned, or perhaps — yes the horse—it must be father or brother,” she thought as Abe arose and hUrried from th’6 room and doWn the stairs into the hall below. She opened the door and was in stantly locked in her brother’s arm*. “ Our jsetbej ?" he whispered. “Is very, very ill. Our father?” responded Harriet. “Is coming—listen!' You may hear bis horse a* be (iptrri him: Meet NO. 15. him, Harriet-* -I will hurry to our dear mother. “ She sleeps, Henry—ah, father is at the gate—he dismounts—lie is fun ning—poor father—he is here!” And again the gentle girl was fold ed in manly arms. “Your mother—my wife—Sobs shti live!” exclaimed Gen. Allison, almost breathless. “ Lives, and that is all, my father,** replied Harriet, as the three hastened with noiselels feet to the sick chamber. Tbe father, son and daughter stood silently nnd sad, by tbe bed side, gazing with tearful eyes upon the be loved face of the wife and mother they deemed dying. The father, a noble snowy-haired veteran, tall, dig nified and commanding; the son, as noble, but in the golden prime of man hood, with lofty port and superior bearing, handsome, brave, elegant and vigorous; the daughter, as lovely, fair and fragile as a lily, pure, grace ful and gentle; the mother, a virtuous, pious matron, racked With fever even in her unnatural slumber. Harriet drew her father and brother aside and told them of Viola, and of her startling absence. Henry grew pale, for his love for Violia was his second soUl; yet he replied: “ The physician must be summoned at once—-the loss of the mhdicine may be fatal. I will call for Dr. Burrit at once, and—” He paused, for filial love and duty bade him say: “ and hasten back.” While the passionate atid adoring love of youth, alarmed to speechleSs agony; would prompt—“ and Seek Viola !” But his father came to the reSctie. “ I know your love for yotir mother, my dear boy,” Said Gen. Allison, pressing his hand. “ Hasten to sum mon the doctor—for you are more active than I—and then seek for Miss Hartly.” “ And you, father?” “My duty is Kerb;” replied the husbannd, though he assumed a stoi cism he could not feel.. *'• At this rbplv sowed pro foundly; airft glided from tile apart nrefft. n. He was soofi iri the street and itpo* his horse, whose mettle had not suc cumbed to a headlong race of ten miles. With a slash of his whip aa§» thrust of his spurs, resented by a des perate plunge of his hofse, Henry dashed along the street, almost r iduig dowtt a mounted patrol, ahd with it in full chase speeded to tbc house of the family doctor. As he drew rein' before the mansion he heard tbe clatter of pursuing hoofs, but leaping from the saddle he sprang to the door and struck it repeatedly with the heavy handle of his tiding Whip. Before his summons could elifclt a reply from within he was surrounded by a triO of the patrol. “ Who rides?” demanded the leader, springing the slide of ftii lanterb. “ Chalmette !” replied Henry ; and as the light gleamed upon his uniform the sentinel exclaimed: “It is Capt. Allison. All’s well, Captain,” and was turning away when Henry laid: “ Halt! I may need your services; Sergeant.” The door was then opened, Henry delivered his tidings, and was an swered by the physician, Who' had followed the servant to the door: “ I will ride there immediately, Captain Allison. Saddle my horse, James,” saiid the doctor, who Was a man of prompt Action And famous repute. Henry hufriedly expressed his thanks and then turning to tbe chiOf of the patrol said: “ Mount! a young lady has sudden ly And suspiciously disappeared. Ride after me!” Hi* commands were obeyed and he at once directed his course towards the pharmacy at which Viofa had called first, .As he hopbd he might hear some tiding of tier there: [TO B* CONTINUED IN 088 NEXT.] . To Miss dAtib AM Gossip.—Most honored and highly estimable lady, knowing the guileless and Innocent simplicity of your young heart, and the confiding tenderness of your girl isl» nature, I write you this ttf bid you be on your guara, and not put too much faith in the protestations of . (It is needless to mention names, ait yoUr Bright ifltelfeit fill At once de fine to whom I refer.) He is idly tri fling with your girlish affections, and no doubt seeks, Alto, the strings of your pUirs'e. If you doubt the truth of this statement, go this evening to the great oak a$ the edge of the Wood, conceal yoterseff ahd listen said; But take good eare thAfyou Say bofhing of it to any one,tei tEw^s **■*•' ■■ -