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SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE:
WM.C. RICHARDS, Editor.
©riginal fJoctirg.
For the Southern Literary Curette,
GEORGIA:
HER UIU.S. her streams, her skies.
nV W ILLHELMISS.
Mv native .State! —thy lofty hills,
Where'er I rove, before me rise :
Anti, through thy vales, the sparkling rills
Reflect the brightness of thy skies.
M_v heart is bound, dear land, to thee,
By many soft, endearing ties ;
And mine the gentle task shall be,
To praise thy hills, thy streams and skies.
Thy Hills —upon their sunny top,
The wild deer bounds with reckless tread,
’Midst lowering pines, that “seem to prop
The clouds,” and spurn the tempest dread.
’Tis here the dusky trifees have roved,
Beneath the shades, all light and free —
These very hills and shades were loved
* *
By many a noble Cherokee.
’Tis here lie wooed his youthful bride.
And knelt before her soft, dark eyes—
Then, bounding to her gentle side,
In ccstacics of joy, he cries—
“ These are my hills, my fathers’ hills ;
See how their lofty summits rise:
Here wo may live, secure from ills.
And love, beneath our own bright skies.”
Alas! these tribes have pass’d away —
The warrior and the hunter’s gone ;
And scarce a trace remains to say,
These hills and shades to them were known.
The ploughman sings upon the hills,
And towns and cities on them rise ;
But dreaming bards, and lovers, still
Sing of these Ilills and Streams and Skies.
Thy Streams —upon their silvery breast,
The gallant steamboat speeds her way;
And often ships, in white sails drost.
With gentle breezes, proudly play.
Along their banks, the glorious Bay,
With fragrance scents the hills around—
[to snow-white wreathlets seem to say,
The conqueror yet may wear a crown.
Here, too, the rich Magnolia blows.
All interwove with lapping vine ;
The Jasmine, and the wild white Bose,
The Myrtle, and the red Woodbine.
And thou, Tallulah! bold and free —
Thy torrents brave stern reeky walls— •
The ancient mountains yield to thee.
And waste before thy dreadful falls.
The stern man moves, when be beholds
Thy rushing waters sweeping by-
Bach wave, and rock, and roar unfolds
To him, an awful mystery.
Thy dark caves seem to be the home
Os restless spirits— and the roar
Os thy wild waters, dashing foam
And clouds of spray, speak wonders more.
Thy Skies—had I an angel’s pen,
I’d paint them in their gorgeous dyes,
At morning’s dawn, at noon, or when
The sun has set, in Georgia’s skies.
I cannot sing their matchless hue-'.
.Since Georgia rear’d a nobler child.
Who, for these skies, awoke his Muse,
Now, far beyond them, lives—a Wilde.
When years have sped, and we are old.
And sadness dims the care-worn eye,
His name will brighten, like the gold
And royal purple, in the sky.
That bard is gone, but o’er his bed.
Blue, gentle skies, at evening shed
The purest dews that night can weep—
And angels guard his quiet sleep.
Bright Skies —that sleeper sang thv praise,
In lands where bards of ancient days
Have dwelt in song and praises high,
Os their own bright Italian sky.
Ui3 “ life was like the summer rose,
That opens to the morning sky ;
But ere the shades of evening*close,
Is scatter’d on the ground to die.”
Let poets sing of Swisslar.d’s hills.
And bonny Scotland’s flow’ry braes,
Or India’s sparkling diamond rills.
Where sport the airy woodland Fays—
And isles that sleep in Southern sea3.
Where strange, new stars, bedeck the heaven,
And flowers that seenfc the oeean breeze,
With rich perfume, from morn till even —
A WEEKLY JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, SCIENCE AND ART.
But give to me my own green hills,
That everywhere before me rise;
And I’ll endure life's changing ills,
And sing of Georgia’s Strcums and Skies.
Augusta, Feb., 1848.
Popular <£ales.
,# V •
Fur the Southern Literary Gazette.
LA ROULETTE.
S
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH.
’ I
CHAPTER 111.
Julian proceeded directly to the house of a
mechanist:
“Sir.” said he. “can you make a ioulette
table ?”
“Assuredly.” replied the mechanist, re
garding him with an astonished air.
“ It is a commission which I have received
from a friend in the colonies, and T wish to
send it out as soon as possible-.’’
“It is a sad present which you are going
to make to the colonies. This cursed game
causes enough miseries in this country, with
out extending its ravages beyond the sea.
It is a reptile whose bite is mortal; the colo
nies would be all the better without it; hut
it is always thus: far from flying the evils
which threaten them, men attract them to
themselve; they never dream of sheltering
themselves from the storm until the thunder
strikes their head.
“Listen, sir: some months since, one of
my relations, an excellent man, with this ex
ception, permitted himself to be drawn into
one of these dens, where this play is pursued:
he ruined his family, and, afterwards, blew
out his brains, leaving a wife and four chil
dren in the most profound misery.”
Julian was anxious to interrupt this reci
tal, which was not very agreeable to him.
“ Y’ou will make it very small,” said he to
the mechanist, “and as soon as possible.”
“ I shall be able to finish it in five days.”
“ Five days ? It is very long !”
“Oh! it is impossible, before.”
“ Very well —in five days,’ then; but be
sure not to disappoint me.”
“ You may count upon me.”
Julian returned, breakfasted, and then gave
himself up to his ordinary occupations, but
without taste, without activity. The idea of
this play occupied him incessantly.
At last, the five da}'s passed, he hastened
to the house of the mechanist.
“Is it finished said he to him.
“ I am just going to give it the last touch.
Come, and see if it suits you.” And the
mechanist conducted him into his work
room. “How do you like it I” said he to
him.
“Oh! it is just as it should be,” cried Ju
lian, his eyes sparkling with joy.
“ Shall I send it to your house ?” added
the mechanist.
“No!” replied he, quickly. “1 will re
turn directly with someone to carry it home;
only, I would prefer your wrapping it care
fully with some cloth.”
“Y'es., I see—to prevent its being defaced
on the route.”
“Precisely.”
“I must,” thought Julian, in returning
home, “find some pretext for sending away
my wife, while I am carrying home this ta
ble; for, I would not have her suspect what
lam going to do for the world. Oh ! yes —
excellent idea—nothing can be more easy.”
And, stammering these words, Julian di
rected his steps to “ChivctsL” He bought
an excellent pate de foie gras, and returned
home.
“Emilic,” said he to his wife, shewing
ATHENS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 24, 1849.
her the pate which he had just bought, “ M.
Trezel has just received from Strasbourg sev
eral kinds of eatables, and he forced me to
accept this pate. See, does it not look nice ?”
“It is very amiable on his part,” said Emi
lie, smiling, “and, if it tastes as well as it
looks, it ought to be the phoenix of pates.”
“ We must have it, to-day, for dinner.”
“Why do you desire it, to-day, Julian ?”
“Emilie, I should like to have your moth
er and my father to dine with us, and profit
by M. Trezel’s present.”
“ I was just going to propose it.”
“Ah, well, you ought to go and ask
them.”
“Yes, my Julian, I will go directly.”
Emilie dressed herself, ordered her cook to
add some extras to their dinner, embraced her
husband, and departed. As soon as she was
gone, Julian sent away his two clerks, giv
ing to each a commission which would detain
him until he had had time to place the rou
lette table in his cabinet.
“But the cook!” thought he; “I must
send her away, also : women of her class are
so curious, and such tattlers! I must abso
lutely be left alone.”
He went to the cook :
“ Marianne, I wish you to go on an er
rand.”
“Not for a long time, sir?”
“For an hour, at least. You must carry
this letter to the Faubourg Saint Antoine.”
“But, sir,,my dinner! Madame told me
that your father and her mother were coming
to dine with you: how shall Ido I There
will be nothing ready. Why not send your
clerks ’Tis their business, not mine.”
“ The two clerks are gone out.”
“ But, sir ”
“Marianne, obey me,” said Julian, in a
stern manner. This letter is very press
ing—you must carry it immediately.”
Marianne took the letter with the end of
her fingers, placed it in her bosom, took ofl’
her kitchen apron, threw it down angrily,
and prepared to run as fast as possible, mur
muring : “My poor pigeons! they will be all
burnt.’’
*
“Every one is away,” said Julian; “the
occasion is iavorable; I must profit by it.”
He ran out, called an errand boy, whom
he saw at the corner of the street, and took
him with him to the house of the mechanist,
whom he paid, and then assisted the porter
to place the mechanism of sorrow upon his
shoulders.
“ Hasten,” said he, “ and I will pay you
double.”
* * /
He soon arrived at his door all sweating,
and out of breath. Julian looked all around:
“Good,” said he; “no one has arrived.
Go up quickly; place it at the door. Thank
you; I have no further use for you; take
this for your trouble.” And he gave him
some money.
Afterwards, he opened his door, carried the
roulette table into his cabinet, and had hard
ly finished, when Emilie returned.
“What have you been doing, Julian?
YT)U are covered with perspiration.”
“Oh! it is nothing.”
“But where are the two young men TANARUS”
“They are gone out.”
Emilie went to the kitchen:
“Oh, heavens!” cried she, “Julian, this
Marianne is insupportable. I am sure that
she is gone out; and I gave her so many
charges about the dinner!’ She knew that
we were to have company, to-day.”
“ I sent her out, also.”
“What do )*ou say? Everybody gone,
and I find you alone, out of breath, and cov
ered with perspiration!’’
YOLUME I —NUMBER 41.
“ You see, my friend, I had some very
pressing commissions. I like to be exact,
and, while the cook was absent, J assumed
her place to mind the dinner. The fire is,
without doubt, the cause of this perspira
tion.”
“ That does not astonish me. Y’ou have
put so much under the pigeons, that they are
all burnt.”
.Julian saw, with great pleasure, that he
had completely reassured his wife. He wiped
his face, and returned to his cabinet, arranged
papers and books over the roulette table so
as to completely conceal it, and afterwards
went out, taking care to shut the door, dou
ble lock it, and, contrary to his usual cus
tom, put the key in his pocket.
M. Menard and Madame Bellemont came
at the appointed hour. Julian could scarce
ly conceal his joy at the thought of the talis
man he had shut in his cabinet, and was, du
ring the whole repast, gay and charmingly
amiable. His father looked at him often
with eyes full of tenderness.
“My son is now happy,” thought he;
“his soul is now calm, since he is no longer
devoured by the passion which mastered
him, and the fruits of it are prosperity in his
business.”
The same ideas occurred to Emilie and her
mother. They communicated their thoughts
to each other by their looks. The pate of
M. Trezel was found to be excellent: they
drank several times to his health, saying it
was impossible to have found a better at
Chi vets’.. The parents of Julian retired
shortly alter dinner. This early departure,
which would have been considered a misfor
tune by Julian, a few days before, now gave
him the greatest pleasure. This he took care
to keep to himself. Scarcely had they dis
appeared, when he said to his wife :
“ Emilie, I have some important memorials
to write out, and, on that account, do not
much regret the absence of our parents. I
am going to shut myself in my cabinet, and l
must not be interrupted. No matter who
comes, reply that I am out.”
“Will you work very late?” asked Emi
lie.
“ Probably.”
They embraced; and Emilie could not
help sighing to think that this evening, also,
the piano would be closed. “But his occu
pations are pressing,” thought she, “I must
he content.”
Julian went into his cabinet, and bolted the
door.
“Now,” said he, “I can, at my ease, cal
culate the chances of this man’s game. Let
us see—let us commence ”
And the roulette table was freed from the
papers and books which covered it. He
took a pen and piece of paper, which he pla
ced by his side. He seized eagerly a small
ball of ivory ; his heart palpitated with joy :
he was by turns banker and gambler: nt one
time he gave movement to the roulette, threw
the little ivory ball; at another, he marked
upon the paper the result of the throw. He
went through the same movements, without
interruption, for more than half an hour; af
ter which, he made his calculations upon the
paper, where he had marked his throws. He
looked at his watch :
“Five hundred francs profits in a half an
hour! It is impossible! I cannot believe
my eyes! Let us see : let us continue.”
And he commenced the same play with
more impetuosity than ever. At ten o’clock,
he was still before the roulette table; his eye*
red—his face burning—his tongue parched.
“I shall die of thirst,” thought he, “and
there is nothing here to quench it. But nev-