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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-