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SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE: A WEEKLY JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, SCIENCE AND ART. WM. C. RICHARDS, Editor. ©rigtnal JJoctrg. For the Southern Literary Gazette. LINES FROM THE SPANISH OF CRISTOBAL. BE CASTELLYO. Alugana vey, ; Oh, per samienro! Seras contento. Yes, soon—sweet thought! .So long tormented, Thou’lt be contented, if cruel.love Will war on me, Six feet of earth As strong may be, And from all pain That love invented, From love, then, free, Thou’lt be contented. What most we prize, Mould life refuse, We yet may gain, When lifo we loose ; And though love's sins Go unrepented, Thou'lt he contented. W. C> W. For the Southern Literary. Gazette. GEORGIANA. BY EUGENE PERCY, M . D . On the banks of the Savannah, Long time ago, Dwelt the maiden, Georgiana, Free from all wo ; For she was my soul’s Susannah,* Heady to blow, On the banks of tho Savannah, Long time ago. Sing, ho, ho, ho, For my gentle Georgiana, Long time ago. Pure as snow on Himalaya!!, In the sun’s glow, Was this beautiful bright Baya,f Bird white as snow ; For she made, in life’s Saliarah, Green gra: ‘'grow. Blooming there, like the Elcaya.4 Long time ago. Sing, ho, ho, ho, For that beautiful bright Baya, Long time ago- Warmer than the South in summer. Was her heart’s glow, When to mine sho used to murmur Love’s words so low ; Torn, alas ! by sorrow from her, Whom I loved so, Making winter of my summer, Long time ago ! Sing, ho, ho, ho, For that beautiful bright summer, Long time ago. Like two violets in the morning, Dewed as they blow, &j§ Wero her blue eyes ever burning Tn her soul’s glow. Ah ! the world she was adorning Mourns for her now, A3 it did for her returning, Long time ago! Sing, ho, ho, ho, For thut lily of the morning, Long time ago. While the Moon, in her first quarter, /Meekly did glow, At her image in the water, Like lurid snow, Lay Astarte, Heaven’s sweet daughter, On her couch low, Like the young lamb for the slaughter, Long time ago. Sing, ho, ho, ho, For tho death of Heaven’s sweet daughter, Long time ago. Flctwn to Heaven is that bright Baya, Bird white a 3 snow ; By the cypress wells of Marab,[j Lonely I go! * Susannah means the Lily. |The Baya is a beautiful bird of Hindostan. t the Elcaya is a beautiful odoriferous flower, on tho Hills of Yemen. H Marah means bitterness NVho can make, in life's Saharah, Green grass to grow, Like that beautiful bright Baya, Long time ago. Sing, ho, ho, ho, For the loss of my Elcaya, Long time ago. popular Sales. THE SUSPICIOUS WAN. j A TALE WITH A MORAL. | BY ALFRED CROWQUILL. : 41 “ Y ou all know the sheep-sheds in our low ;er croft, by Windy Gap,” said he. “Before i I built those sheds, when it first came into my possession, 1 had often endeavored to reclaim it, but after many vain attempts l gave the obstinate bit up in despair, and put it to its present use. It is a desolate-looking nook, and its appearance carries out to a miracle the scenes of happiness enacted upon its site. “ William Mawby was born there of pa* rents well to do in the world, with everything about their farm in a thriving state. Asa mere child, he was of a peevish, solitary na ture. This I have heard from good authori ty; for I only became acquainted with him as I entered my first school, and he was just on the point of leaving it. “ Consequently, when 1 entered home for good to my parents’ roof he was a grown man, and Ia mere stripling. As so short a dis’ance divided his father’s farm from ours, 1 soon fell over him, and renewed our acquaintance.— His occupation was a foreshadowing of his miserable character: he was diligently in specting a hedge that divided a close from the main road. He thought he h*d discover ed evident traces of someone having passed into the field through the said hedge. “ I laughed at his wise and serious face, drawn into a look of profound wisdom for so trifling an occasion. “‘My young friend,’ said he, ‘men are ruined by trifles. It is not the broken hedge l value ; but I suspect the trespassers passed through that gap upon some unlawful pur pose : but I’ll be even with them, now my j suspicions are aroused.’ “ With that he tapped the side of his nose, and went on his way most suspiciously un comfortable. “The next day, to the amusement of the village, a large board appeared staring over the hedge, with the announcement of ail sorts j of penalties and spring-guns to the unwary : trespassers. His old father was a merry- : hearted, plain old mau, who never put him- ! self under the infliction of doubts; for he be- j lieved that men were all pretty considerably j honest, as the world went, and he had not the ; slightest idea that he was better than anybody else: consequently, h 6 smoked his pipe in calm contentment, and let the world wag. “ His suspicious son soon disturbed his i blissful equanimity ; for, much to his annoy- | 1 ance, he found padlocks placed on things ; that had hitherto been open to all. His neighbor had to wait for his glass of ale j while he found his son, and his son found the key; for he, the contriver, was not al- ! wavs sure where he had hidden it. “Poor William’s principal torment was his suspicion of his own father. His lynx-eye soon fathomed the soft, easy temper of his parent, and saw a thousand ways wherein i his disposition might be turned to account by : the cunning dealers on market days, when | the ale was uppermost at their simple friend ly dinners, in which the old man delighted, | and which it would have been difficult to wean him from—as, although yielding and ! I good-natured, he was too tough and indepen- , dent to be dictated to by anybody. Another j painful thorn in his side was an aged aunt, to whom the old man took a well-stored weekly basket. She lived on a small sti- j pend in the market-town. She had two , ! daughters. The old inan often took his so bering cup of tea with them on his return. He might leave them something comfortable. The thought was tormenting. “His suspicion carried him every marKet day to dog his father, with the show of the most sincere affection; which the unsuspect ing old man, with his heart glad, reported to his plain, simple dame, who rejoiced wrth i him over their imagined treasure. * •* ATHENS, GEORGIA, BATURDAT, APRIL 28, 1819. “He was at that time about eight-and twenty, and, dodge as he would, he could not escape a pair of bright eyes and rosy cheeks that met him in the before-mentioned market town on one of his suspicious visits. “He soon scraped an acquaintance, after having, by great assiduity, found out that her father was a retired miller, of good fortune, and that she was an only child. He thought this a safe investment. His position and ap pearance soon gained him permission to con tinue his visits, which were, in fact, continu al, for he was always under the apprehension that when the cat is away the mice will play, and that some other might snap up his valu able mouse. He did not feel quite assured |as to the old man's positive possessions, so made it his business in a thousand tortuous ways to make inquiries. “This could not go on so quietly, but it at last reached the old miller’s ears, who good | naturcdly put it down to Ihe young man’s j prudent foresight; but, on inquiry, he disco | vered that it proceeded from a doubt of his respectability and veracity. The miller was J a shrewd old man, and determined, before it J was too late, to find out whether the young * suitor might not be wanting in some of the | qualities lie thought necessary for the girl’s i happiness. “The old banker was a chum of the mil i ler’s, through whose instrumentality he had j invested large sums in excellent mortgages. He allowed himself to be pumped by Mawby, with the.connivance of the miller; and, con ; sequently, by winking replies to his eager I inquires, made out the miller to be little less ! than insolvent. “William’s affection sunk down to zero, although it had for months been burning, ac cordtng to his own account, like two or three iEtnas combined. His suspicions, then, were true. What an escape! thbught he. So it was for the fortunate girl. He proceeded to his intended one’s house. It being dark, he crept over the garden palings, and sneaked up towards the shutter. Here he vainly at tempted to peep through the crevices. And, while endeavoring to make out a murmured conversation, in which he thought he heard his own name mentioned, he was pinned by I tie miller's dog, who, poor brute! was curs -1 *1 with the youth’s fault of suspicion, and j suspecting that he was a thief, had seized ■ him accordingly. Here was ralher an awk ! ward denouement , and he had no right there; the path to the door lay another way. In his anxiety, he had trampled down the flower ! bed. He stammered out an excuse upon his release, and departed home, crest-fallen, hop- I itig that they did not suspect his suspicions. “ The next morning he received a polite j note from the miller, beggi.ig him “not to re j peat his visits, as the dog appeared to have ; taken a sudden dislike to him, in which he ’ was joined by himself and daughter. At the | same time, to ease his mind as to the state of ; their affairs, he begged ,to say that any res spectahle young man, who pleased his daugh ter’s taste, might have ten thousand down on the wedding-day, and as much more at his death.’ For once, William suspected right, viz: that he had made a sad fool of him self. “ Not many'months after this, he lost his j simple-minded mother. Her death gave him ; plenty of exercise for his miserable fault, for he was continually laying traps for the ser vants, as if they had been so many mice, to catch them in their little peculations, until his espionage made all around him so uncom fortable, that many of the old domestics left the farm in disgust. “ Whenever Ee met me, he was full of some deeply-laid plan to find out some mise rable suspected one, and often, in the midst of his self-sufficient tale, he would start off ’ on a sudden, without any apology, because a ! suspicion had flashed across his mind that he ! had not locked the corn-bin or preserve cup- I board before he left home, j “ His whole occupation seemed to be to i find out things that would make him uncom fortable. The food preserved for his ownta | ble he constantly dotted or nicked, that he ! might see, upon their being brought to table again, whether any one had ventured to pur loin the smallest particle. “He once got in his own trap. One night, late, he had an engagement to go to some neighboring dance: so he sent all the servants to bed and locked the back and front doors, and to make all secure, hid the ponderous i key. On his return, he could not think of j the hiding-place ; he therefore had some hours to walk up-and down in the night air before VOLUME L—NUMBER 50. day-dawn, when the imprisoned servants dis covered him feeling about in hen-coops and under thatches for the missing key'. At last his hiding-place struck upon his memory, and he had the mortification of withdrawing it before the tittering servants, who thus disco vered his suspicions, and the retribution on himself in his long night watch. “ His father, who had now grown too aged to attend to the farm, left it entirely under his | control. Here his suspicions had nearly fin ished him off—for he suspected during his harvests that his shocks were pulled and rob ! bed in the night. He therefore hired a clown to s*t up as a watchman, armed with an old | double-barrelled gun, loaded with slugs.— The first night his suspicions would not let him sleep. This watchman might be bribed to connivance, and he get laughed at. He was soop dressed, and creeping along the hedge, when? his suspicions were verified bv hearing low, murmuring voices. He crawl ed close in their vicinity, and there discover ed that it was the poor fellow's wife, who had biough him something comfortable for his supper. He crept back cautiously, but stumbling over the root of a tree, roused the attention of the watchman, who challenged him immediately. He lay still for a moment hoping he should ecape observation in the darkness of the night, but upon his first at tempt to raise himself, he received about a dozen slugs in his arm and back, for his watchman was a better shot than he suspect ed. The picking out of these by the village surgeon was a positive satisfaction to the many to whom his character had become pretty well known. “ Thus he went on, until his father’s death left hirn entirely alone, for his suspicious mind never allowed him to form a friendrhip which can only be true and valuable where there is a mutual confidence and an openness of character. He, by his suspicious nature, had locked himself within himself, which is the most fearful of imprisonments. “ His father's wealth enabled him to please his fancy, so, to set his mind at ease, he sold the farm, that he might, as he thought, be free from a host of pilferers. He built himself a house in the croft 1 mentioned at the begin ning of the tale, the very DtjotoLyne of hjm. self It had a most suspicious look—it had but one door, but windows were placed so tbal he could see all that was going on on every side. ■ “ Ha'lia:! -butjone domestic, an old cripple, without relations, who was too lame to go j out, and of course, had no visitors. It was well known in the neighborhood that he had withdrawn large sums from the different country bankers, where it had been invested by* his father, and it was strongly believed that he kept it in the house, as he suspected that these speculative gentlemen might, one fine morning, turn out to be insolvent. His i walks were confined to within sight of his solitary mansion, the precincts of which he was never known to leave, as age crept on him, but wandered about like an unquiet spirit around his self-imposed tomb. “In the course of time, his old domestic was conveyed to the village church-yard, i much less solitary than the abode which she ; had left. “For a moment, the old man stood aad ga zed after the bearers, his white hair blown about by the cold w’intry wind, and his shriv elled hand shading his eyes. He turned slowly from the sight, and closed the door. “ Many were the kind offers from the sim ple people of the village, but all offers he resolutely declined, as he suspected that his age and wealth were calculated upon to a nicety, and a thumping legacy looked for ward to as the reward of some trifling atten tion. Distant relations began to hover around him, and make tender inquiries. These he always met on the door-step, which was his only audience chamber for such call ers. “That solitary old man sat as long as day light lasted, at a window overlooking the high road. Here he passed his life in read ing and watching. The same window showed a light burning during the hours of darkness, for he always appeared on his guard, as up on any person approaching nearer than usu al to the premises, his ears were saluted bv the deep growl of his dog, which never left 1 the house any more than his master. “ About two years after the decease of his house-keeper, the nightly light was missed ’ from the window, for it had become quite a guide to many coming to the village. This,