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sowsai fam mwml,—mimm w iwmmm, vm im mb ssimges. mb to cmiml msmmw. Mk \\\ \ ‘Trry-. — “*■’ **- •. ’*~^T J “S, ‘■■ _£mi MMI feu’ _i 3 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