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For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
LINES
at the Grave of Mrs. W. H. B***, of
Macon.
The perfume of the flowers
Was mingled with the song,
Which the sweetly-trilling birds
At eventide prolong ;
And Nature's gentle voices
Were whimpering in the breeze :
With luxury of music
They swept the old oak trees.
Near by Death kept his vigil.,
By many a mould’ring tomb ;
But holy Faith looked calmly
Amid Death's gath'ring glooui:
And lips that once spoke softly,
And eyes whose look was love,
Were gathered there—all waiting
Their summons from above.
While bitter tears were falling
From sympathizing eyes,
An angel came among us
With message from the skies:
The voiceless spirit whispered,
i (Tears glittered on the sod.)
“ Prepare ! prepare ! ye mortals—
Prepare to meet your God ”
ALPHA.
eks [Mna
y
A *.-T > ,~Lv • •-
For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
iOST AND FOUND;
—OR
THE ROBBER’S CAVE.
BY FLOIUO.
CHAPTER V.
e left James Mauray and his friend on
way to St. Louis, attended by the
ican and his son. As they approach
he city, James indulged in various
sing fancies—his meeting with his
iy Marie—his recounting to her the
ms events of his expedition—how he,
airing of ever beholding her again,
ed that she might be happy—and how
1 they owed to their mutual friend,
nth, topics of converse without num
presented themselves. His reveries
interrupted by Herbert.
Vhat is the matter, James 1” said he ;
appear to have very agreeable
;hts. Delightful as they may be to
1 assure you they aflord very little
tainment to your humble friend.—
!, let us have a chat.”
ery well, Herbert. Suppose you give
lory of your life. This is a very fa
de opportunity of fulfilling your pro
to me.”
fery true; so 1 will e’en begin. My
recollections are of the briny deep,
invents may have been sailors, my fa
at least, Os this, however, I can
:be certain; at least, I myself have
least propensity that way. Os my
h, I have no very distinct ideas, pre
i to a time when I accompanied seve
ersons upon some kind of excursion,
occurrence is impressed upon my
, because a vision of a flaming house
i helpless babe rises to view whenever
nec to meditate upon it. The next
rkable event of my life was being
and from what I considered my home,
placed in a canoe. If it was my home,
profit nothing by it now, for 1 am
detely ignorant of its locality. Many
passed before I was permitted to go
land, for we were travelling all the
At length, an Indian village receiv
p - and there L was compelled to re-
With these Indians I acquired a
and fondness for roving. I here
ed much concerning their habits,, mode
ie ’ and dispositions. After abiding
diem nearly two years, I escaped, and
nod fortune met a company of fur
:rs , who vere on a trip to the Rocky
nlains - Os course I accompanied them
‘ r - My age, at this time, was fifteen,
> return, I supported myself as well
as I could, and endeavored to make money
sufficient to educate myself. This I did,
and for two years applied myself closely
to the acquisition of knowledge. But my
old habits and propensity of roving led me
to change this mode of living for one more
active. I was persuaded to go upon a
Santa Fe expedition, and found that it
suited my mind. I have continued to fol
low the same mode of life until the present
time, with this addition, that instead of go
ing as guardto other people’s property, 1
now go to protect my own.”
This is the substance of Herbert’s recital.
‘‘Have you no recollection of any par
ticular set of features ?” said James.
“ Not at all, unless they be those of the
person concerning whom I have spoken to
you before. His features seem familiar,
though lam unable to tell why. It may
be because 1 have met him so often.”
They had now arrived at St. Louis.
James was so anxious to see Marie, that
he would not proceed to his own house,
but told his friend to go there with the two
Mexicans and make himself as comforta
ble as if it were his own home, whilst he
hastened to pay his respects to his intend
ed, In a few moments, he stood before
Mad. Legare’s door. He knocked, but all
was silent within. A cohl chill came over
him. Once more he knocked, but no one
came. Being unable to endure the sus
pense longer, he opened the door, and
walked in. He saw no one. A solemn
silence pervaded the house. James took
his course up stairs, where finally the low
sound of a person sobbing met his ears.—
lie followed it, and found Marie's aunt
upon a sofa, weeping as though her heart
would break. James said nothing: his
eyes asked everything.
“ Oh, James, she is gone!” he heard, as
Mad. Legare's tears gushed forth anew.—
A deathly pallor spread itself over his face;
his utterance was gone; he staggered to a
seat, and buried his face in his hands.
“ James,” said she, beginning to get
frightened on his account, “ James, I say,
why don’t you rouse yourself, and help to
find Marie I”
“ She is not dead, then!'’ he exclaimed.
“ No,” was the answer.
“I thank thee, Father,” said James, rev
erently looking up. “ Come, quick, tell
me what has happened.”
“Alas ! I do not know myself.”
“ When did you see Marie last ?”
“The day before yesterday, early in the
morning.”
“And you have neither seen nor heard of
her since V ’
“ Neither.”
“Who saw her after you did V ’
“ I have not enquired.”
She rang the bell, and when the servant
appeared, commanded the entire household
to be summoned there. In a few minutes,
every one was in the room, but no one had
seen Marie. At length, the stable boy re
marked, that “he had seen Captain Mor
gan’s phaeton before the door that very
morning.” This was a clue.
James began to act in earnest. First he
wrote to Herbert, demanding his immediate
presence. Whilst the bearer was gone, he
sat himself down to think.
He waited long and impatiently for his
friend. It was now dark, so he determin
ed to walk to his own house to discover
the cause of Herbert’s delay. On his ar
rival there, he learned that Herbert had re
ceived his note and set out immediately.
He sallied forth in search of his friend, but
could gain no tidings of him. Again did
he repair to Marie’s aunt’s, hoping Herbert
had arrived during his absence ; hut no, he
had not. James was now a prey to the
most torturing afflictions, and almost wish
ed he had perished by the hand of a Ca
manchc. Herbert’s conduct seemed very
strange to him. We will now relate what
had become of him. Instantly upon the
reception of the note, he had started to
Mad. Legare’s mansion. As he was hur
rying along a back-street, which he had
taken to shorten the route, he heard a loud
cry of (‘murder! murder!” issuing from a
neighboring house. He rushed in, and
saw a man springing from a back window,
and at the same moment heard the fall of a
heavy body. Hastening into the room, he
saw a man stretched upon the floor, with a
large knife buried in his body: he was
just expiring. Horror-struck, Herbertdrew
the knife forth, as a crowd of persons rush
ed in. They seized and bound him, though
he proclaimed his innocence with gieat ear
nestness. But appearances were against
i him : he wore the same suit in which he
| left Santa Fe : his face was unshaven, and
! his hair uncombed. A policeman now
i took him in chagre, and conveyed him to
i the prison. As they were about to thrust
; him into a cell, Herbert told the man if he
i
would wait a minute, he would relate all
the circumstances.
“Very probably,” was the answer.—
“But hadn’t you rather wait until the
morning. I assure you, you’ll have a
much larger audience ; and it can’t hut be
more satisfactory to you to relate them be
fore his Honor.”
“ But, sir— ’’
“ Exactly. This place will prove a hard
bed, but there’s some straw on the floor, if
it ain’t too wet and mouldy.” And the
door was shut and bolted.
Thus we find, that within an hour after
their arrival in the city, one of the friends
was plunged into the most poignant grief,
and the other unjustly incarcerated in a
dungeon.
Early the following morning, James
learned of his friend’s imprisonment, and
heard with horror the tale of his guilt.—
Though told that Herbert had been caught
in the very act, yet he did not believe him
guilty of wilful murder. He determined
to visit him in his cell, and for that pur
pose bent his steps to the prison-house.
Excitement caused him to tumble as the
bolts were withdrawn, and as the door
opened he stepped within, but started with
astonishment as he looked around and per
ceived not his friend. The room was
empty.
CHAPTER VI.
Sorely perplexed by this strange affair,
and stung with grief at the loss of his Ma
ne, James knew not what to do. Suppo
sing that Herbert was capable of taking
care of himself, he bent all his energies to
the task of discovering his beloved. By
making enquiries, he soon found out the
particular stable where Captain Morgan
had been accustomed to keep his horses,
but of him he remained as ignorant as ev
er. He naturally supposed that the own
ers of the stable were acquainted with
him, his business and residence ; but no—
they knew nothing of him; 4 he was a
gentleman, and paid well; this was all
they required.” His hotel, also, was very
easily found, but here, likewise, no one
knew any thing of the mysterious person
age. The only information he gained
was, that the Captain did not make St.
Louis his home, but only came there at ir
regular periods: where he retired to, re
mained a matter of conjecture. The con
tinued though unsuccessful efforts of James,
combined with deep anxiety and harrow
ing suspense, made a visible alteration in
his appearance.
We now shift the scene, and find our
selves in a spacious cave. Its lofty walls
are covered with red damask curtains:
beautiful ottomans, and couches of crim
son velvet, are scattered over the floor,
which is covered with a carpet, in which
the feel sink at every step. Large and
elegant mirrors reflect the beholder in sev
eral different places of this splendidly fur
nished apartment; and, to crown the
whole, several lamps burn brilliantly to
supplying a light almost equal to the sun.
It is winter, and a stove stands on one side
of the cave. In this coal is burning. The
better to conceal the smoke, the pipe of
the stove disappears in one of several
small openings in the ceiling. These evi
dently answered the purpose of ventila
tors, in admitting fresh air.
A figure reclines upon one of the couches
in a posture of profound dejection. We
instantly recognise the matchless form of
Marie, but wonder how she came in this
magnificent though lonely apartment. —
She raises her head, as she hears the rust
ling of a curtain, and beholds a man, not
ungainly in his appearance, enter and sa
lute her. To his kind inquiries, she re
turns no answer, except a flood of tears
He addresses her with words of love that
would have fascinated other ears than
hers, but which now were treated with
scorn.
“Why will you continue to entertain an
unmerited contempt for me 1 You see how
madly I love you, Be mine ; be content
to live with me here; if not, I will remove
you to any of the splendid eastern cities
you desire, or I will settle upon an island,
where I can create around you scenes of
fairy-like loveliness. Only be mine, and
you shall have all your heart craves. Let
me but hope that, by continued gentleness
and assiduity, I may win your love.”
“Call you this gentleness, to tear me
away from my home, and bring me to this
gaudy but desolate place ?”
“ The depth of my love is my only ex
cuse for such conduct.”
“Never! True love cannot incite to
give pain.”
“ But my love is so intense, it can brook
no cross; it will attain its end. Consent
to be mine, and ever after you will find
me the most devoted of servants. Let me
fil ing a clergyman, who shall join us in the
holy bands of wedlock.”
“ Not while I have breath, will 1 consent
to be yours. If you do love me, insult me
not with your presence; even your name
has become hateful to me. Will you not
leave me alone in my misery V
“ Think more kindly of me, Marie: look
at my conduct in a different light. I give
you until to-morrow to meditate upon it; I
hope, then, you will give me a final and
favorable answer.”
He lifted a curtain, and disappeared.
Hot tears now rolled down the checks of
the solitary maiden, as she thought over
all her afflictions—the distress of her aunt,
the disappointment of James on finding her
missing, and the fruitlessness of his search.
Oh, that the power was her s to inform him
of her situation!
James, on his part, made unabated exer
tions for nearly four weeks; still no hopes
of success crowned his efforts. Only one
favorable sign appeared—the continued ab
sence of Captain M. This, he argued,
was propitious—because, if he really was
instrumental in her disappearance, she
must still be alive.
We return to the cave. On the follow
ing day, Captain Morgan again appeared
in the presence of her, whom he had so un
justly treated. He pleaded more ardently
than before, but she rejected all his offers
with disdain, and disclosed to him her rela
tion towards James. This seemed to en
rage hi in.
“As I live, you must be mine,” said he.
I, myself, will force some eminent minister
to join us in the immutable bands of matri
mony.”
“Yon dare not take such an advantage
of my helpless situation. While utterance
remains, I will refuse to be yours, nor will
any such union be binding.”
“ Every thing necessary and lawful shall
be prepared. You plainly perceive you
are in my power. Submit yourself—make
me the happiest of mortals, for I would not
offer you violence. Three week’s reflec
tion will, perhaps, assuage your grief, and
cause you to coincide with my views. At
the end of that time, you will be mine,
whether you consent or not.”
The afflicted Marie remained firm in her
opposition. True to his word, Capt. Mor
gan had forced from his dwelling an emi
nent Minister of the Gospel, and brought
him to this cave. The man of God had
been prepared for some opposition on the
part of the maiden, but was assured that
circumstances rendered it necessary for the
marriage to take place, and that even Ma
rie conceded this, though she was averse
to the ceremony. A large bribe and many
threats induced the holy man to comply.
The fated day at length arrived. Marie’s
heart beat quick with fear, but her resolu
tion remained unaltered, and her reliance
in Providence unshaken. Before actual
compulsion should be used, the Captain
once more visited his prisoner, and endea
vored to soften her to his purposes.
“You see,” said he, “it is useless to re
sist. Make a virtue of necessity, and
calmly yield to your fate. My will I nev
er allow to be thwarted. For the last time,
do you consent to be my wife 1 The min
ister is in an adjoining room, and only
needs my word to enter and perform the
ceremony.”
“Never—never will I consent to an
union so repugnant to my foelings, and so
false to my vows.”
“ Well, then, I go to call the man of
God. In ten minutes, you will be my
wedded wife.”
At this instant, he felt himself strongly
grasped from behind, and his arms pinioned
to his sides by a cord passed around his
chest, above the elbows. He was hurled
to the floor, and his feet likewise securely
fastened. Astonished and confounded, he
gazed upon the man who had thus dared
to beard him in his very den. It was the
strange character, of whom we have spok
en before. He stood, calmly surveying his
prisoner with a look of triumph.
“ Fear not, lady,” he uttered; “you are
safe.”
The prostrate man took matters very
quietly, also, and seemed curious to know
what would take place next ; but at length,
in a manner perfectly cool, drew with his
right hand, (which was free, from the el
bow down,) a small ivory whistle from the
left pocket of his vest, and blew a shrill
note. Before the echoes had well died
away, six sturdy men appeared.
“ Seize him, and bind him!” was the or
der sternly issued ta them on their en
trance.
The tables were now turned, the Captain
was loose, and his late antagonist lay ex
tended upon the floor, bound.
“ Lje you there, my man. Captain Mor
gun is not so easily foiled in his undertak
ings as you may suppose.”
A slight smile was the only answer.
“The Minister—the Minister! Bring
him in, and let this scene have an end,”
were the next words that issued rapidly
from the lips of the leader. A man in
clerical robes was now led in.
“ Come, sir, perform the ceremony.”
Marie was supported by the side of him
she detested, and who held her hand tight
ly. The ceremony began. At the words,
“Is there any one who objects to this mar
riage. or has any reason why it should not
take place 1” A loud voice answered,
“ Yes !” and a dozen men rushed into the
room, headed by James. Marie was im
mediately clasped iu the arms of her lover,
whilst every one, except him of the pulpit,
were soon gagged and bound.
Marie swooned away, but was soon re
stored to consciousness by the assiduous
care of the now happy James, who ordered
the rescued stranger to be loosed. As this
man rose to his feet, five other persons etv
ed. The foremost of these was Herbert;
and two men, whoso hair was plentifully
sprinkled with grey, followed next; be
hind these came the two Mexicans, for the
elder one had recovered.
Herbert sprang forward, and grasped the
hand of his friend; anil, from the pure
overflowing of his joy, imprinted a fervent
kiss upon Marie’s brow.
“I give you joy, James, for the recovery
of your lost treasure. I, too, have found
a treasure iu the person of him who stands
by my side, and who is no other than my
own father.”
James started up, and seized the mechani
cally-offered hand of the aged stranger, who
was intently eyeing Marie.
“ Let me introduce to you my bride, that
is to be,” said James.
“Your bride!” exclaimed he of the sil
ver locks; “your bride! Tell me her
name, quick,” he eagerly gasped.
“ Marie Legare,” answered Herbert,
quickly. A shade of disappointment spread
itself over the old man’s features: he
looked as though he would have fallen.
“Marie Legare is the name she is gen
erally called by.” James also added:
“ But her real name is Marie de Montfort.
She came, when young, from France, with
her aunt, and has resided in St. Louis ever
since.”
“My daughter, my daughter!” stam
mered the now joyful old man, as he took
her in his arms and wept. James and
Herbert looked on in blank astonishment.
Rising erect, and taking her by the hand,
Mons. de Montfort—for he it was—led
Marie to Herbert.
“She is my daughter, and your sister!”
said he. The brother acknowledged the
sister, and the sister the brother, in a long
and ardent embrace; and, for a few mo
ments, the four revelled in the most intense
delight.
CONCLUSION.
Joy does not kill. This aphorism was
truly certified by the party in the robber’s
cave; for, after a flood of hurried exclama
tions, inquiries, explanations, and congratu
lations, they all sat down to converse
calmly over the supernatural events which
had brought about such happy results.
James first called upon his friend to ex
plain the cause of his disappearance.—
“But first,” said he, “let all these be
sent to prison, to await their trial, except
their leader—who, if he gives his parole of
honor not to escape, may be unbound, and
proceed to the city, when we shall have
finished our conversation, in company with
us.”
The six men accordingly set out in the
custody of their twelve conquerors, but the
Captain was unbound, and, with the cler
gyman, remained in the cave.
“I’roceed, Herbert, - ’ continued James.
“ Well, I received the note you sent me,
and set out instantly. I suppose, by this
time, you are perfectly aware of the cause
and manner in which I was incarcerated,
and that the true murderer has been appre
hended and sentenced to death. I own my
position was a very critical one, however
I acted as any one would have done in my
situation. That very night, my door open
ed stealthily, and this man entered.” He
pointed to the man who had bound the
robber-leader, whose name is Jaques Ton
quin. He assured me that he was turn
key of the jail, and wished to liberate me
at the same time he, himself, took to flight,
being tired of the occupation. You can
easily imagine how little persuasion was
necessary to prevail upon me to consent.
No sooner were we in the open air, than
he placed io tny hands a letter, which af
terwards gave indubitable evidence that my
father was in existence, and awaited me in
New Orleans. He advised me tp hasten
there, telling me of the circumstance, for
it was too dark to read. So I set out that
very night, leaving in his hands a note for
you, explaining the cause of my absence,
and informing you of Marie’s place of
concealment--for Jaques told it to me.—
On my arrival in New Orleans, l found my j
father; and, hearing of the apprehension of!
the murderer, through Jaques, I returned as
quickly as possible. As soon as I arrived
at your house, a communication was pla
ced in my hands, stating your expedition
and position here, and giving the exact lo
cation of the place; otherwise, it would
have been very difficult to find. My fath
er. his friend, the two Mexicans, and my
self, instantly mounted horses and hasten
ed thither."’
“Your note never reached me, Herbert.
Why is it, sir, that you never delivered it
to me 1” cried James, regarding Jaques in
a stern manner.
“ For revenge /” was the slowly enun
ciated answer.
“ Revenge ’( How have I ever injured
you 1”
“ Listen, ami you shall hear. To give a
perfect explanation, it will be necessary to
give a slight sketch of my life. I was
born in Fiance, and in the service of M.
de Montfort there. When his son Henri,”
he continued, turning to Herbert, “ was
stolen, I was forcibly taken also. My age
at that time, was ten years. Well, on our
arrival in America—for we were sent a
cross the Atlantic very soon after our ab
duction—we were placed under the pro
tection of a farmer. With him we remain
ed two years. Near the end of that pe
riod, the farmer’s son, who was travelling
in Mexico, was cruelly murdered—it was
supposed, for money in his possession.—
The father, when be heard the tale, and
learned the name of the Mexican at whose
house the deed had been committed, swore
to take the most signal vengeance; and
for this purpose, left his home, accompa
nied by two other sons. They carried
Mons. Ilenri and myself with them, iest
harm should befall us during their absence.
On the route, a young man was persuaded
to join them. When in sight of the haci
enda where dwell the Mexican, they rode
hastily up, shot the lady of the mansion,
butchered as many as fell in their way,
set fire to the house, and retreated. As
the farmer crossed the threshold to return,
he beard the cry of an infant. Following
the sound, he found a female child upon
the floor of an adjoining room. lam un
able to say by what feelings he was actu
ated, but this I know—he took it in his
arms, and bore it safely to his own home.
Shortly after this, Mons. Henri was sepa
rated from rne. I had conceived a very
great fondness for him; we had lived to
gether such a length of time; we had come
from the same home, where he was my
young master.
“The young Mexican was placed under
my particular charge, and I conceived for
her also the tenderest attachment. When
she became twelve years of age, she was
sent to school in St. Louis. I had then
been my own master three years. In my
twenty-second year, the captain of a vessel
made a proposition to me, to which I final
ly conceded. I was told that the de Mont
fort family was extinct, with the exception
of Henri, and the estate entirely destroyed ;
that there were persons anxious to take
the young man's life, should he return to
France. Hence, it was desirable to keep
him in America, ignorant of his birth. As
I was acquainted with his parentage and
birth-place, certain persons wished to pre
vent my disclosing these; also to make it
my business to keep an eye upon all of
Henri'e movements, giving him protection
whenever it was necessary, as much as lay
in my power, and send to a certain address
in New Orleans an account of his move
ments, growth and business, at least four
times a year. In return for my trouble, I
was to receive one thousand francs yearly.
“At the age of sixteen, it was found
that the Mexican girl was deserted by
those who placed her there, and as she had
finished her course of study, she could re
main at school no longer. Our acquaint
ance had been maintained all the time, and
my attachment for her had ripened into the
most ardent love, which I am confident in
saying was reciprocated. At this juncture,
I made her an offer of marriage, and was
accepted, but before our nuptials could be
solemnized, certain individuals look up the
case, having discovered that her father
was living, and determined to send her to
him. Among these was your father, since
dead. I wrote him a letter, explaining my
situation, and entreating him to use his in
fluence to prevent her being sent. The
communication was unnoticed. I wrote
again, breathing vengeance against him if
she were sent. My love m so intense.
it could not bear the idea of separation
from her. All was useless. She was sent.
For five long years did 1 pine for my ab
sent love, nor, though my spirits brooded
over the injury, did I have an occasion for
reprisals suited to my mind, until lately.—
Whether the father or son felt the effects
of my vengeance, was a matter perfectly
indifferent to me. During my life, 1 have
engaged in many unlawful practices, one
of which was to join this band of robbers
commanded by Captain Morgan. 1 knew
of the abduction of the young lady before
your arrival, and rejoiced in it. When I
saw’ Mons. Henri lodged in prison, I did
not hesitate to release him, for, as a turn
key, I easily possessed the meant. The
note he handed me for you, l purposely
withheld. I gloried in your distress, though,
lor the love I bore your friend, I did not
intend to let the matter proceed too far, well
knowing that I could, by turning State’s
evidence, betray my captain. I desired to
reform, but should not have done so, had
he not acted as he did. This morning 1
saw you, and gave you alt the requisite in
formation for finding the cave, fearing lest
a longer delay would be dangerous. I also
knew that your friend and his father would
arrive to-day, and wrote to him, telling him
to hasten hither. Should you have failed
to come, or the captain offered violence to
his prisoner, I wished to he near, so I con
cealed myself behind that certain. When
he made known his intention of calling tlm
minister, 1 seized and bound him, imagin
ing all the gang except myself to be far
away. But it seems I bound his arms,
leaving that part from the elbows down,
fee, by which means he wa9 enabled to
take from his vest pocket, and blow, a
small whistle. The arrangement of half
a-dozen men answering to the call of a
whistle, was entirely a secret to me.
“Lest you may impute blame to this
worthy gentleman, I have only to say that
he never would have performed the cere
mony. He knew that the maiden was the
lost young lady of whom so much noise
was made. Shortly after he was brought
to the cave, I saw him, and together we
laid our plans. We intended to let every”
thing proceed in a manner favorable to the
captain’s designs, until the very moment of
the ceremony, when you was to enter.—
All has happened as we desired. I have
had my revenge. You remember I insult
ed you once : I ask your pardon. After
the trial, I will set out in search of her f
love so well. If 1 ever succeed in finding
her, I will marry her, for I doubt not that
she will remain constant. Even now, were
it in my power, I would gladly wed her.”
“ It is in your power, for she is present,”
suddenly said the hitherto silent Mexican,,
(for he both understood and spoke Eng
lish.) as he led forward his supposed sou
by the hand. The disguised maiden stoo !
blushing for one moment, and in the next,
was clasped in the arms of her faithful
lover.
“Take her, with my blessing,” the fa
ther uttered in ti half-choked tone; “sheis
worthy of you. Constantly has she mourn
ed your absence, and longed so much to
return to you, that I even undertook to
search for you. For the sake of safety, I
disguised her as you sec, and caused her to
pass for my son. Treat her kindly, for
she deserves it. Her'shas been an unhap
py lot—mine it is to avenge her. Be as
sured, no white man would ever have re
ceived a favor from me, were it not for her.
1 shall not speak of my misfortunes—you
said sufficient concerning them.”
“What is to prevent our being united
this moment'!” exclaimed Jaques; “the
minister is here, and ready to perform the
ceremony.”
No opposition was made; so there stood
those faithful-hearted ones side by side,
and were soon made one by Hymen's holy
bands. They stepped aside, and lo! ano
ther couple stood in the vacated place—
James and Marie. Again was the ceremo
ny repeated, and again were'two fond
hearts united. When the last words were
uttered, “My wife!” “ My husband!” was
all they could say, for tears of joy topped
their utterance. A second scene of tumult
uous delight did that cave witness, once
more did all embrace and congrS’uJuie cn. h
other, and once more did they ov. cttu.i
Mons. de Montfoit was c ilhd • mi t
relate how it was that he i., ‘
wijh the beings of this world, hen
so confidently supposed thui he and.. elt
aejong those of another.
“ My life, for the last ten or fifteen years,,
has been full of strange vicissitudes,” said
he, “from the time l was washed out to
sea. My boat was not upset by the waves,
as you may have supposed, but being met
by a much larger boat full of smugglers, 1
was talowi cm board by throe My boat
