Du Buque visitor. [volume] (Dubuque, Lead Mines, Wisconsin Territory) 1836-1837, 1836-06-15

neaIL- oiiOot: ou WcTC OuCC my
friend-In mercy kill met"
A horrible suspicion flashed over nv
mind. l felt sudden sickness at my
heart the pistol fell from my hand.
"Whoever you may be-" ! said, .sand
whatever may have been your motive
in attacking me, ! would not stain my
hands with your blood. Go and repent
i of your crimes"
"You do not know me;'' said the
robber, as with some difficulty he re-
gained his feet, "even y0at have forgot
ten me.-Eyen gnu refuse the only
mercy which man can now render me
the mercy Of death-of utter annihi-
lation!'
Actuatcd by sudden and half-defin-
ted impulse, caught hold of the stran-
gers arm, and hurried him towards
the light Of strcct-lamp. 1t fell full
upon his CHASTITY and death-like fca-
lures, and on his attenuatcd form, and
his ragged apparel.-Brcathless and ca
gerly gazed upon him, until he trem-
bled beneath the scrutiny. l pressed
my hand against my brow, for l felt
my brain whirl like the coming on of
|delirium. Icould not be mistaken.
The guilty wretch that stood before
me was the friend Of my youth-one
whose memory had cherished as the
hottest legacy ofithc past. 1t was Hen
ry St. Clair. Ycs-it was ST. Clair!--
but how changed since last we had
communion with each other. Where
was the look Of intelligence, and the
visible seat OF intcllcct-thc beauty of
person and mind? Gonc-and gone
for ever-to give place to the loath-
someness Of a depraved and brutal APP
pctite--to the vile tokens of disgust
ing sensuality, and the dcformity Of
disease.
"Wcll may you shuldcr," said St.
Clair, 81 am fit only for the compan-
lonship of demons; but you cannot long
be cursed By my presence. l have not
tasted food for many days;-hunger
drove me to attempt your robbery
but, feel that | am q dying man. No
human power can save mc,-and II
there hea God even he cannot save me
from myscii-trom the undying horror
Of remorsc."
Shocked by his words, and still more
by the increasing ghastlincs of his coun-
tenance. led the wretched man to
my dwelling, and, after conveying him
to bed, and administering cordial to
his fcvercd lips, l ordered physician
to be called.-But it was too late;-thc
hand of death was upon him. He mo-
toned me to his bedside after the ply
stefan had departed; he strove to speak,
but the words died upon his lips. He
then drew from his bosom sealed let
ter addressed to myself. 1t was his
last effort. lie started half upright in
bed-uttcred one groan of horror and
mortal suffering; and sunk back, still
and ghastly, upon his pillow. lie was
dead.
| followed the remains ofmy unhap-
Ply friend to the narrow place appoint
ed for all the living-thc damp and cold
church-yard. / breathed to no one the
secret of his name and his guilt. ] left
it to slumber with him.
l now referred to the PAGER which
had been handed me by the dying man.
With trembling hand broke the seal
of the envelope, and read the following,
addressed to myself.
of this letter ever reaches you, do
not seek to find its unhappy writer.
He is beyond the reach Of your noble
generosity guilty and dying man.
l do not seek for life. There is no hope
Tor my future existence and death
dark, and terrible, and mysterious as
it may seem, is less to be dreaded than
the awful realities with which / am sur
81 have little strength to tell you the
story Of my fall. Let me be brief You
know how we parted from each other.
You know the lofty hopes and the
towering feelings Of ambition, which
urged me from your soclcty-from the
Of that friendship. the me-
mory Of which has ever fingered like
an upbraiding spirit at my side. ! ar
rived at my place Of destination; and
aided by the Introductory epistles OF
my friends, and the influence OF my
family, l was at once received into the
first and most fashionable circles ofthe
city.
Il never possessed those principles
ofvirtuc and morality, the effect (which
has been SO conspicuous in your own