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314 ready been a hundred thousand francs.” Ju lian started. “ And now,” continued he, “I have fixed my profits at seven thousand francs per day; and when I have gained these. I generally retire.” “That is very reasonable,” said a voice.” “But,” cried another, “every one cannot play this game.” “Eh ! why not V\ “ Be cause, without doubt, it requires a large sum to commence with.” “It requires at least eighty thousand francs,” replied the gambler, “for it is better to keep enough money to re commence, if you should chance to lose.” “ Eighty thousand francs,” muttered Ju lian between his teeth. The man who had so long fixed the attention of this crowd of persons, retired, and the turbulent multitude, gnawed by desire and cupidity, dispersed.— Constrained by some fascination, Julian fol lowed him; several times he was tempted to accost him; he turned suddenly, and came back. A clock was striking the hour: he looked at his watch : “ Seven o’clock—good heaven!” cried he, “Emilie will be so alarm ed. I have so often promised her that I would always return to dinner at half-past five !” He perceived that he was in the Rue de Temple. “ I am very far from home.” In pronouncing these words, he threw a last look upon the unknown, and suppressed a sigh. A cabriolet was near : he got in, and gave the coachman orders to drive to the Rue de 1’ Univereite, Faubourg Saint Ger main. Emilie had been at the window for an hour, her eyes full of tears, and in the most dreadful anxiety. She feared so much that he had been the victim of some unfortu nate accident. At last the cabriolet stopped ; she saw Julian descending ; a cry of joy es caped from her lips, she ran to the door, down the steps, and threw herself into his arms.— “Oh! my Julian,” cried she, “how came you so late ! How I have suffered : but now that I see you, all is forgotten; come to dinner—you must be nearly famished;” and the young wife took her husband’s arm, and conducted him to the dining-room, where they seated themselves at the table. Julian took cate not to speak to his wife of his rencon tre; he excused his long absence by pretend ing to have been detained by a client, who was explaining something about his busi ness, which it was indispensable to know; but during the whole repast, he was absent and absorbed in reflection. “ What is the matter, Julian ?” said Emi lie. “You appear sad, and you do not eat; are you sick, or has something happened to you ? Tell me, I beg you ;do not conceal anything from me.” Julian attempted to re-assure her, assuming an air of gaiety; he spoke of his father, of her mother, of all their kindness; tut lie was soon absorbed in reflection again, and Emilie dared not disturb him, for fear of displeasing him; but her humid eyes were fixed upon him, displaying all her anxiety. For some time, Julian had passed his evenings listen ing to his wife’s melodious voice, accompa nied by the piano; often, also, Julian joined her in a song, or a portion of an opera; after which, they amused themselves by playing games, until they retired to a repose which nothing could disturb. This evening, the piano remained mute : Julian was sad and silent; during the night his sleep was dis turbed by fantastic dreams ; he imagined that he saw the man with the grey moustache, who said to him: “In a month, my profits have been one hundred thousand francs!” but suddenly the old man with the venerable features would appear, and pronounce with a strong voice: “ Play is a volcano, upon whose brink it is madness to trifle.” Julian would then start from his sleep and sigh profoundly. In the morning he arose gloomy and pre-occupied with the events of the pre. ceding night. He shut himself in his cab inet: there, with his elbow resting on the bureau, he reflected on the play that chance 3®®lTo BS El &, 0 ITS IE A[E Y Us AB§¥ tg * had disclosed to him. “It is infallible,’ said he to himself: “experience proves it. This man has been playing it a month, and his considerable gains are an irre. fragible proof. What interest would this man have in lying'? in exaggerating ? The persons who surrounded him have been wit nesses of his happiness. But it is necessary to have eighty thousand francs—it is impos sible—let me drive away these thoughts—l have sworn to my father, to my wife, to her mother, that I would not play more, and I ought to keep my word. He then took a book, and strove to occupy himself, but his thoughts reverted always to the play, and his imagination became more and more in flamed. “Seven thousand francs a day!” thought he ; “ in less than a year, one might amass a colossal fortune; this would be, in deed, to have found the philosopher’s stone ; but I am anxious to convince myself, with my own eyes, of the efficaciousness of this play. Nothing can be more easy : I can go there without playing, and follow the steps which this man pointed out. At the end of several days, I will know all the chances, j without having risked anything. Oh, no! j no! I will not go. The sight of that house makes me miserable. Since lam not willing to play, I ought not to go. It is true, that I ! have sworn that I would never gamble more, | but this was on account of the sorrows, the ! • 1 evils, which would result from my losses; i but if I knew of an infallible means of al ways winning, it would be very different. I think that then l could be easily relieved of, my promise. What, then, shall Ido ?” And all of a sudden, a luminous idea struck him. He removed his hand from his 1 face, got up precipitately, opened the door of his cabinet, took a hat which he found upon j a chair, without observing whether it was j his own or not, ran through the study, through the dining-room, overthrew two or three chairs, repulsed Emilie, who came to inform him that breakfast was ready, and ran out, crying to her from the stairs: “1 j have not the time, my dear friend; it is some pressing business, which I had forgotten; but I will return soon.” y ‘ (To be continued.) Original JJoetrg. For fne Southern Literary Gazette. LINES . ON THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN HOLMES. * BY LEILA CAMERON. Sleep on, brave heart! the trumpet’s war-like blast No more shall rouse thee from thy quiet rest; The battle thunders shall disturb thee not, The strife of war no more thy peace molest! f.| • * Thine was a gallant heart, and Georgia’s sons Full well its high heroic virtue know ; And long and truly shall each patriot breast Mouru for the hero in the grave laid low ‘l Not on the battle field the summons came To bid thee from the scene of strife away; No cannons boomed, no banners waved around. And yet the messenger brooked no delay. ’Twcre easy for a heart like thine to brave A thousand deaths, while combat round thee raged; No shade of fear can blanch a hero’s cheek, Though hand to hand in mortal strife engaged! But ah! ’twas hard to die as thou hast died, To part with life when all thy hopes were high — When glory wooed thee to press on, and win The victor's wreath, beneath a foreign sky ! E’en while thy breast with martial ardor glowed, To conquer, or to share the soldier’s doom, The fiat of Omnipotence went forth, V And fell disease prepared thee for the tomb ! Ah ! many a gallant breast was filled with woe, And many a manly heart with anguish bled, When pealed thy doath-knell o’er the prairio wild, And low in dust they laid thy noble head! What thoughts were thine, while mourning comrades stood Around thy couch, in far-off Monterey, While pallid brow and waning strength foretold The shades of Death were tdosing round thy way ? Was not thy spirit stirred with thoughts of those Who long and vainly would thy coming wait? The dear ones, in thy distant Georgia home, Thy fair young children and thy gentle mate! Yes ! e’en In death, thy noble heart was true To her who won thy fervent early love; Thy last sad thoughts were hers, thy dying words Commended her to Him, who reigns above! Alas ! fond wife, thy cherished one has reached That distant bourne whence trav’ler ne’er returns, And thou, all lone and,sad, must linger here, E’en though thy widowed heart to join him yearns! But not atone shall thou lament his loss; For all who knew him loved the gallant heart, Where every gen’rons feeling had a home, And base dishonor never shared a part! Sleep on, brave Holmes ! within thy quiet grave The call to glory cannot reach thee more ; A sorrowing country mourns her hero son, A thousand hearts her grievous loss deplore ! Peal high the requiem for the gallant dead ! From Georgia’s hills let echo catch the sound ; Upon thy country’s scroll thy name shall live, And thy last resting place be hallowed ground ! ijomc (fforrcspcmience. For the Southern Literary Gazette. NEW-FOBK LETTERS—NO. 40. New York, Feb. 7, 1849. My Dear Sir , —The papers of yesterday morning brought great relief to many anxious hearts here, with the announcement of the safe arrival of the long expected steamer, United States. Her protracted passage was caused by the bad weather, from which all vessels have, lately, more or less suffered. The packet ship Cambridge reached the Quarentine on Monday, after a boisterous passage, from Cork, of some eighty or ninety days. Among the themes of town-talk, for the past w'eek or more, have been the non arrival of the steamer just mentioned; the staple subject, par excellence , of El Dorado , with the departure, yesterday, of the “ Cres cent City,” with over three hundred passen gers for Chagres; the result of a commission lately deputed by the city authorities to Con gress, touching the establishment of a Mint in New York; the new and reformed Munici pal Constitution, now in agitation: the late action of our State Legislature in relation to prize-fights, making them penitentiary crimes ; suggestions about removing the post-office to Dr. Spring’s church, opposite the Park; whispers of the erection of anew and ele gant edifice, for balls and concerts, on the site of “ Old Drurythe reduction of the present rates of postage to a uni form'charge of two cents; the approach of St. Valentine’s Day; the Anniversary of Washington’s birth day, and the last French Revolution; the re opening of the Gallery of the American Art Union, and the ensuing exhibition of the Na tional Academy of Design; Mrs. Osgood’s “ Letter about the Lions;” Lowell’s “ Vision of Sir Launfal; “Minutes of the Colonel’s Club,” now publishing in the columns of the “Literary World;” the grand theatrical exhibition, to take place to-night at the Ope ra House, in aid of the Dramatic Fund Socie ty ; the forthcoming illustrated edition of Ir ving’s “Knickerbocker’s New York;” the opening exercises of the Free Academy; the fire at the New York University; Dubufe’s pictures of Adam and Eve, at the Academy Rooms; the new Art-Journal, just issued by the International Art-Union; the unusual se verity of the season, with its attendant colds and the increased demand for Mrs. Jervis’s candy, etc. etc. Let us add a word or so to some of these allusions: Os the California fever, I may use simply the stereotype phrase, “it remains unabated.” Os the Mint movement, lam glad to record that our deputation returns, in the confident hope that Congress will take speedy and favorable action in the matter. of St Valentine, there is every prospect the pleasant compliments and guises ( T occasion will be unusually general and m “ ry, and that Cupid will have a nice til deed. The new series of papers in the Lit’ erary World, entitled the “ Colonel’s Clnl gives the goodliest promise, in the num> already issued—Minutes of Meeting rvF- The jolly old Colonel chats delightfully his pleasant associates upon all sorts ‘ themes, as they sit in “ Perpetual Commit! of the Whole on the State of the Work •Large.” Their circle is one, as the Cold .says, “the groundwork of whose union i the combined experience, observation ?M j opinions of its members—enlisted for the n,„ tual benefit of the whole, to be interchanged without reserve, and received without cm sure, so that the acquirements of each shop be the advantage of all; a circle in w hich Perpetual Good Humor is the President. Good Sense the Door-keeper, and Pleasant Recol lection the Secretary— c in which satire is ad mitted without calumny, criticism without insincerity, wifwithout buffoonery, politic, without partizanship, opinion without dog. matism, religion without cant.” At the pro sent meeting, Mr. Attic is quite facetious but the best thing which he does is a most capital poem, entitled the “ Carnival in Eu rope.” Scissorize it for your readers. Mr Duyckinck will excuse you. These papers vividly recall to one’s memory the delightful “ Noctes” of Christopher North, and specu lation is rife in our Literary circles as to the identity of the “Chiel thus taking notes.” Os Irving’s Knickerbocker, Barley, the “ illustrious illustrator,” as Mrs. Osgood calls him in her “Lions,” is now up to his elbows in the designs. The title-page is al ready completed, and gives the happiest ear nest of the complete success of the series. It very felicitously embodies the dream of Hoff, as he sleeps, like the fat old Dutchman, which he is, on a bed formed of the shells of the oysters he has just stored in his inner man, the pipe between his lips still sending forth volumes of smoke, as by a sort of per petual motion : Santa Claus, in the shape of a dwarfish octogenarian, sits musing by his side, and the other personages and objects of his sleeping fancies are dimly shadowed forth on the earth and in the air around. The fire at the University was discovered in the lovvei chapel, between 8 and 9 o’clock, on Sunday morning, having caught from the falling of cinders upon the floor. The gal lant exertions of the fire department happily confined the damage to the room in which the flames broke out, but not until every apartment in the vast edifice had been thrown into great alarm and confusion. The valua ble Library of the State Historical Society is kept in the south end of the building, and was, at one moment, thought to be in such extreme peril, that the books were hurried away, pell mell, by doors and windows. It was quite amusing, soon after, to watch the procession of librarians and members, restor ing the ejected volumes to their places; each one loaded down with heavy and musty tomes, which thus received an airing lor the first time in many long years. The opposite end of the edifice is a noted den for artists, and most of the rooms there are occupied by them as studios; Like the long-unnoticed folios of the Historical Society, old canvass es, here, stalked forth, like ghosts irom then neglected abodes, to see what all this unusu al rumpus was about. The knights of tin pencil themselves, on hearing the alaim, opened their doors only to be suffocated by the dense volumes of smoke, which Idled al the passages and corridors of the building As they were unable to see their hands In fore them, in the density and blackness e the fumes, it seemed a hopeless case to .n tempt an escape in the usual way, evell the passages below should not be, as tbe> supposed they were, already destroyed or' ll veloped in flames. In the dilemma, recour t