The Opelousas patriot. [volume], March 03, 1855, French, Image 2

About The Opelousas patriot. [volume] (Opelousas, Parish of St. Landry, La.) 1855-1863

Image provided by: Louisiana State University; Baton Rouge, LA

                
LE "P ATRIOTE.
I/Err**" d'nn Ho^imc^I'ISspflt.
Elle avait dis-huit uns. Le jeune homme on
avait vingt-deux. Ils étaient tous les deux
causant à vois basse sur les balcon d'une mai
son élégante du boulevard Montmartre. C'é
tait S cette heure douteuse qui n'est déjà plus
le jour et n'est pa3 encore la nuit, l'heure des
■ conversations intimes et des douces rêveries
l'heure aimée des poètes et des amoureux.
Or, comme notre jeune homme était tout à
la^fois un poète et uu amoureux, il s'inspirait
de tout re qu'il y avait d'harmonie entre son
fime et la nature pour parler à sa jeune com
pagne, qui paraissait l'écouter avec intérêt.
— Oui, disait-il, ma chère Eugénie, depuis
que j'ai parlé à votre père, je suis assuré qu 'il
y a du bonheur pour moi dans l'avenir.
— Cependant, monsieur, mon père a mis une
condition h ce bonheur-là.
— Qu'importe! en lui faisant l'aveu de mon
amour, je n'osais pas même espérer; niais il m'a
répondu que vos désirs étaient sa première loi,
et qu'il ne forcerait jamais votre inclination.
C'était donc déjà plus que de l'espérance puis
que vous m'avez dit que vous ni'aimiez
La jeune fille répondit par un serrement de
main.
Le jeune homme continua :
— Mais votre pèro a ajouté ensuite: la mê
me raison qui me fait déférer au choix de mn
fille, c'est-à-dire, la sollicitude que je lui porte,
m'est une obligation de lui assurer son avenir.
Destinée d'abord an commerce, sa position, sans
être ni riche ni brillante, m'aurait du moins ex
empté de crainte à cet égard. Mais pour vous,
qui vous destinez à la littérature, la carrière,
permettez-moi de vous le dire, est quelque peu
chanceuse, et par les raissons que je vous ai dé
clinées, je ne puis vous accorder mon entier con
tentement que lorsque vous aurez obtenu tin suc
cès littéraire qui vous soit un titre dans le
monde ou vous voulez enti er.
— Vous m'avez dit cela Alfred. Vous m'a
vez dit aussi que co titre vous l'apporteriez sous
peu
—Oui, je viens de terminer un ouvrage en
trois actes, destiné à l'un de nos principaux
théâtres, niais les abords do ce théâtre sont
difficiles, et n'est pas admis qtii veut dans l'en
ceinte consacrée. J'ai donc dil faire ce que
font tons les débutants. Je me suis adressé à
un homme de lottzes fort connu. Je lui ai sou
mis ïses-feuvre en le priant do m'aider de ses
conseils et de son pouvoir pour en obtenir lu re
présentation.
— Et ce monsieur vous a bien accueilli ? Ten
pez-vous qu'il agisse sincèrement en votre fa
veur ?
—Bien certainement ; il doit être si doux
d'obliger ceux qui mettent leur confiance en
nous. Pour moi, il me semble que si, comme
je l'espère, je parviens un jour, je me rappel
lerai les difficultés qui j'ai éprouvées, et je tei>
drai la main avec plaisir aux jeunes gens qui
viendront à moi. Car, dût-on m'accuser de
présomption, Eugénie, c'est sur la jeunes»
qu'en tout temps il faut jeter les yeux pour
nous ouvrir l'avenir. Les jeur.es écrivains:
cœurs passionnés) âmes brûlantes, apportent
dans la littérature et do là dans l'esprit du siè
cle lu chaleur et la noblesse de leurs sentiments.
Ils comprennent davantage les besoins do cottt
société nouvelle qui s'élève sur les debris do lu
vieille société.
Le siècle n'est pas à la poésie, dit-on. En
effet, elle est, morte, cette poésie restreinte dos
Jean-Baptiste Rousseau et des Delille; mais une
autre poésie l'a remplaée,. cello do l'ftmo et de
la passion ; et si celle-là s'éteint, c'est à nous
autres jeunes écrivains de comprendre que la
poésie veut désormais un plus vusto horizon, et
si elle u été un moment, l'écho do la nature, si
elle est aujourd'hui la voix du cosur, encore quel
ques jours et elle sera l'harmonie des peuples.
liugénic avait écouté religieusement cette
petite improvisation ardeute du jeune peintre]
et elle se sentait flère do l'amour d'un homme
qu'elle enveloppait déjà d'une auréole do gloire
—Mais, hnsarda-t-ello cependant, si votre ou
vrage ne réussit pas ?
— S'il no réussit pas? Eugénie .... Mais
n'admettons pas cette supposition, il doit réus
sir, car jo n'ai pas écrit cet ouvrage do gaieté
de cœur, entre uu déjeuner et 1111 diner, son:
l'inspiration d'un verre de Champagne; mais,
pendant un an j'ai travaillé avec ferveur
conscience: j'ai élaboré mon travail dans le si
lenco do la nuit. Je ne 1110 suis point fait i
plaisir des personnages imaginaires. En cré
ant une action dramatique, l'ai cherché mes
portraits à l'eutour de moi; j'ai voulu que la
jeune fille fut au théâtre ce qu'elle est à la vil
le et 11011 pas guindée et maniérée comme les
héroïnes do mélodrames, 11011 pas hardie ot ris
quée comme les grisettes de vaudeville. J'n
voulu Mais c'est assez nous occuper do co
la. Parlons d'autres choses. Varions de nos
projets, ma chère Eugénie. Faire des projet,
est les bonheur do ceux qui n'en ont pas d'au
tre.
—Quels projets pouvons-nous faire quo nous
n'ayons déjà faits cent fois ? I 'our co soir nous
nous en tiendrons là, bon ami. I ji nuit est
venue et c'est l'heure do partir.
— Déjà vous quitta-, Eugénie. .. .Et quand
vous reverruis-je.
—Demain, après demain, tons Us jours, mon
sieur; je le veux, j'y compte bien, afin de vous
distraire de vos trop graves pensées.
—Vous êtes un ange, Eugénie. Vous me
faites entrevoir tant de bnnhour que s'il doit
m'échapper, j'en mourrai.
— l)u tout Vous np mourrez pas, mon
sieur. Il serait fort inutile que je fusse un an
ge si je ne vous gardais de tout malheur. Adieu
à demain! ajouta-t elle, eu lui tendant la main
Alfred porta cotte main à sa bouche, et. sou
front, se trouvant alors légèrement incliné l'an
ge au creur de femme, aux lèvres de roses, y
posa doucement un baiser, puis toute confuse
de cette action, la jeune fille s'enfuit rapide
ment.
! <e jeune homme ému regarda un moment
son bonheur s'cli igner, et lu main sur si u «cur.
rêveur et soucieux, il se dit:
Il y a quolq:». ••luise île ].'-i- m * r.
mour d'une femme, c'est lu gloire qui peut éter
niser cet amour !
Le jour suivant, Alfred se rendit chez 1 hom_
? de lettres en question, que nous désignerons
ici sous le pseudonyme de Blarviile, mais cclui
i n'avait pas eu le temps de songer à lui. 11
y retourna donc le lendemain, le surlendemain,
plusieurs fois de suite, toujours inutilement. Ce
ne fut qu'au bout de quinze jours qu'il put ob
tenir une réponse.
Alors commença entre le débutant et l'auteur
consommé une petite guerre de discussion qui
devait durer jusqu'à l'époque de la représenta
tion.
—Oui, disait Bîarville, l'ouvrage est général
ement bien. 11 y a de l'étoffe, plus d'étoffé qu'il
n'en faut; mais mon cher ami, vous n'avez pas
l'habileté du théâtre. Tout cela a besoin d'ê
tre retouché par un homme initié à tous ces
mystères, en un mot, il vous faut ma collabora
tion.
Et le jeune répondait:
— J'accepterai avec plaisir votre collabora
tion, monsieur, car je tiendrai à l'honneur de
voir mon nom écrit à côté du vôtre, et si vous
oulez me faire part de vos observations.
Alors Bîarville lui déclina la série de notes
qu'il avait prises;
L'idce première était excellente, quoi qu'un
peu philosophique;
Le plan était bon, mais il avait besoin d'être
un peu modifié ;
Les caractères bien chosis, mais pas assez des
sinés ;
Le style était correct, mais c'était d'une miu
ime importance.
lie jeune homme pâlissait à l'énnmération de
ses défauts.
-Mais cependant, monsieur, dit-il, je ne puis
pas être de votre avis; si mon ouvrage pèche
sous tant de rapports, il est tout entier à re
faire.
Non pa*. C'est inutile. Eu deux traits
de plume nous arrangerons cela. Le rôle du
jeune-premier n'est pas assez triste; le comique
n'est pas assez gai.
—Mais, hasardait le jeune homme; si nous
agissons ainsi, nous tombons dans le mélodrame
d'un côté, et dans la charge de l'autre.
— Qu'importe! mon cher. On n'emeut le pu
blic, soit en rires, soit en pleurs, que par l'ex
centricité des contrastes.
— Et. le rôle de lu jeune fille ?
— Ah ! le rôle de la jeune fille! c'est différent..
— N'est-ce pas '? dit le jeune homme satis
fait.
— Il est tout entier h refaire.
— Comment cela ? Est-ce qu'il n'est pas na
turel ?
— Excessivement naturel. Yoilà le malheur.
Il y a une foule de choses très-naturelles, qu'on
ne peut pas dire au public.
— Cependant.
— Il n'y a pas de cependant. Parler au pu
blic est une science à part. Nous autres au
teurs en titre, nous avons une espece do gram
maire, à'cet effet. On y trouve une trentaine
de phrases un peu ronflantes qu'on arrange sui
vant Po'casion, avec quelques grands mots com
me homme, patrie. . .etc.
— Monsieur, j'avais cru jusqu'ici que le thé
âtre était un,art et je m'aperçois que ce n'est
qu'un métier.
— Appelez-le comme il vous plaira. L'im
portant est et de le considérer sous son véritable
aspect.
— Je ne sais si je dois.
— A votre aise, jeune homme. . .N'en par
lons plus.
— Si fait, monsieur, parîons-en s'écria celui-ci,
qui songea alors h Eugenie et à la condition de
son mariage avec elle.
L'homme de lettres se mit à tailler sa phmie
et à raturer le manuscrit. A chaque trait de
plume Alfred poûssait un soupir.
— Ah ! se disait-il; rien de tout cela ne me
paraît valoir mieux ; mais si je n'accepte pas
ces changements, il me devient impossible de
faire jouer ma pièce, et mon bonheur est là tout
entier. Après tout, ajoutait-il comme pour se
consoler; Blarviile est un homme d'esprit; il a
obtenu do grands succès au théâtre, et je crois
pouvoir m'en rapporter à lui.
Bientôt l'ouvrage fut terminé. Blarviile avait
substitué h la verve toute neuve d'Alfred, des
phrases qui roulaient depuis trente ans sur tous
les théâtres. La partie comique était devenue
triste. Cependant Alfred accepta l'ouvrage
qu'il était. Présenté par Blarviile il fut reçu
tel à Jjinanimité et mis de suite en répétition.
Alfred croyait enfin être quitte de ses tribu
lations, supprima à son tour quelques phrases
un peu trop risquées, dernier débris de l'imagi
nation du jeune homme. Celui-ci en pleura de
désespoir.
— Oh! dit-il Eugénie qui ne cessait de l'ex
horter; c'est a décourager un homme et le ren
dre fou; et si jo ne mettais tout mon bonheur
en vous, j'aurais déjà vingt fois déchiré le man
uscrit.
Eugénie lui disait de cas paroles consolatri
ces qui, parties de l'ftme vont à l'ftme, et Al
fred, plus calme, lui souriait en lui disant : J'ai
tort. Attendons.
Cependant l'époque de la représentation ap
prochait, et c'était tous les jours des change
ments à faire. L'acteur ne voulait pas risquer
tel mot. L'actrice voulait une phrase plus ron
flante. Enfin l'ouvrage avait reçu sa dernière
mutilation : on allait le jouer.
Ce jour-lu. Alfred oublia de manger. Il
avait tant à faire. Il dût courir chez tous les
artistes qui jouaient le soir, distribuer ses bil
lets, veiller, à ee qu'Eugénie eut la meilleure
loge et fut placée de manière qu^son regard
pût rencontrer le sien. Pour lui-même, caché
dans une loge voisine, il put entendre ce flux et
ce rcllux des sentiments du parterre ; soit que la
pièce éveillai ses sympathies ou se,-; murmures.
V chaque phase, de m situation, Alfred, essuyant
son front chargé de sueur, cherchait dans le
regard ou le sourire d'Eugénie, le courage qui
lui manquait . Bientôt cette consolation lui lit
défaut, ear les murmures devenant plus violents.
Eugénie, qui commençait elle-même à douter de
son amant, ne tournait plus les yeux de ce cô
té.
Tout-à-coup lç public se lassa de ces triviali
té- qu'il entendait i <•:•<!■•< soirs. LVar lu prem
fois peut-être il se demanda si les auteurs le
prenaient réellement pour un badaud arrêté de
vant uu tréteau de place publique pour enten
dre un mauvais calembourg ou applaudir un sal
timbanque. Et ce jour-là, usant du droit con
sacré, sans s'embarrasser sur qui tombait sa jus
tice, il siffla, mais il siffla bien.
Alfred, au milieu de cette tempête qui gron
dait autour do lui, tourna encore une fois les
veux vers s^n étoile polaire ; mais Eugénie a
vuit disparu.
* Et quand au milieu des sifflets le public de
manda l'auteur, le directeur croyant conjurer
l'orage, ne lit annoncer que le nom de Blarviile.
Et le jeune homme ?
Le jeune homme? on n'en dit pas un mot;
mais lui-même, s'il en eût eu l'envie, ne songea
pas h réclamer. Haletant, éperdu, la tête brû
lante, il était sorti du théâtre, ne voyait, nfen
tenduit plus rien. 11 comprenait seulement que
son rêve était fini. Il dit mentalement un «lien
à Eugénie et passa la main sur sou front comme
pour efl'acer le baiser qu'elle y avait posé, et il
marcha.
Il marcha longtemps, une partie de la nuit
sans savoir où il allait. 11 arriva près des hal
les et ne reconnut pas où il était ; mais il en
tendit du bruit et il s'enfuit. Il continua sa rou
te si travers les rues boueuses do ce quartier,
marcha encore longtemps, jusqu'à co qu'il sen
tit quelque cho«e de froid et d'humide qui lui
mouillait les pieds. Il regarda et vit la Seine
devant lui. Alors il lui passa dans l'esprit une
idée affreuse, une idée crirniuelle. . . Criminelle!
non pas. Peut-être était-il déjà fou ? MaÎB
mesurant du regard l'étendue de l'eau qui cou
lait à ses pieds, il mit. la main sur ses yeux,
murmura le nom d'Eugénie et continua de mar
cher ..
... I.e surlendemain, on lisait dans les jour
naux à la colonne des faits. Paris : Le corps
d'un jeune homme de vingt-deux ans à été re
trouvé hier matin sur les bords de la Seine. Pes
papiçrs qu'on a trouvés sur lui l'ont attribuer
cet événement à uu suicide, et ce suicide à un
désespoir amoureux.
Et plus bas, aux nouvelles des théâtres otdes
arts.
La pièce représentée avant-hier sur le théâ
tre de .... a obtenu du public 1111 accueil peu fa
vorable ; elle est cependant d'un auteur connu
par de nombreux succès. C'est l'Erreur d'un
homme d'esprit qui prendra sa revanche.
Quand à Eugénie, nous ignorons si elle a eu
connaissance du sort d'Alfred ; mais il y a un an
que ces faits se sont passés, et elle est aujour
d'hui gantière dans 1111 des plus beaux quartiers
de Paris, où elle fait l'admiration des lions qui
assiègent continuellement sa boutique. \n\n ■V Slight Mistake.
I flaw him haro his throat ami seize
The Uiio, cold, gleaming steel,
Anil grimly try the tempered edge
Ilo was so soon to feel.
He rai. : ed on high the glittering blado ;
Then first I found a tongue—
" Ilold, madman ! stay the frantic deed ! "
.1 criéd, and forth I sprung.
lie heard me, but he heeded not ;
One glance around he gave,
And, ere I could arrest his hand,
He had begun to shave.
A N iobt with a T io -P oi.ango.— There
have been more extraordinary stories told by
travelers o'i' adventures with snakes, probably,
than with any other beast, bird or reptile.
The last one we have met with is subjoined.
It seems that an ollicer journeying in India
stopped for the night at what is termed a " rest
house," and, on retiring to bed, felt a singular
motion under his pillow. It was an tuieasy,
oscillating motion, and continually became
still more perceptible. But let. him tell his
own storp : " Strange, thought I, as I sat up
and tossed the pillow over on the bed beside
me, to discover the cause. The cause was an
parent in a moment-.. Feeble as the light given
by the old lamp standing in the corner of the
room was .1 could plainly discern a dark length
ened object, curled up for the most part, but
just beginning to untwist itself and raise it
head—altogether as disgusting, slimy lookini
and detestable a reptile as one could well see
any where, and, if out of place any where, cer
tainly out of place when under one's pillow !
it was a snake with 11 small, deadly looking
head, two cold glassy eyes, shining in vivid
contrast to its dun-brown body—a snake grad
ually increasing in thickness from the head
towards the center of its body, and tapering off
again towards its tail. The forked tongue
played, incessantly, like the feelers of an insect,
over' the nose and upper jaw—the heal was
being elevated rapidly—and 110t u moment was
to be lost, for the first glance assured me it was
a tic-polango, one of tin deadliest of serpents.
To leap from the bed with one bound into the
middle of the room was the work of an instant.
The stiffness I had felt on jumping from .my
horse had marveloualy disappeared : .1 felt it
110 longer. The disturbed reptile, annoyejfirst
at the unwonted pressure of my head, uiïd after
wards still more annoyed at the removal of its
warm and convenient covering, stood erect at
the bed's head, half its length perpendicularly
elevated, while the rest remained coiled upon
the mattrass, the forked tongue playing more
rapidly than ever—the diminutive, sharp-point
ed head oscillating gently backwards and for
wards, ils if undecided as to what should be at
tacked—the cold glassy eyes peering after me,
as 1 grasped a bar of wood with which the door
was usually fastened within, calling loudly for
my servant the while 1 did so. But Nogo was
busily engaged at the moment discussing a do
lieions meal of rice and curry, and found it con
nient not to hear me. I brought the bar down,
with all my force, upon the venomous reptile,
still standing in the attitude of attack as it had
becu. I brought Hie bar down, and left it there
to see tilt ellect of the blow, for to have eleva
ted it. again, without due caution, might- have
been dangerous, inasmuch as the snake might
possibly have been raised with it:, and have drop
ped upon my head—anything but a comfortable
position lor either of us. The blow had inllio
ted much injury on the enemy, but lie was not
dead. His head now made its appearance be
tween the wooden liars of the lied, which served
as a rail to support the pillows—the body,
bruised and injured, was rapidly following. 1
sti/ied the wooden bar again, and elevated it
nlol'i ready to strike another blow, but found no
opportunity. Twisting and twining his body
about between the rails, the reptile, bent 011 re
treat, not. 011 attack, made its way in a moment
under the mattrass." A s may be naturally sup
posed. our traveller suddenly "left'' that, apart
ment, and the following morning the "rest
house." Up to the time of resuming his jour
ney, no one had been found bold enough to at
tempt driving the. poisonous reptile from Iiis
The Reveille.
Rouse thee ! Life is daily (lying •,
By tbe pulses in thy heart
Thou canst feel the seconds flying—
Thou mayst count tlieui as they part
Over Time's deep, solemn ocean
Currents flow that bear our fate ;
Launch thee on the favoring motion :
Thou art lost if then too late.
When thine angel, ever waking,
Stirs the hidden springs for thee,
Hail aud seize the brightly breaking
Tide and opportunity !
God in mercy gave his blessing
To his judgement, as its seal—
Raise the curse on Labor pressing ;
Labor changed from woe to weal.
Wert thou born to wealth and station?
From a proud ancestral train ?
Keep thy place—the rising nation
Measure minds, and gauge the brain.
Let them say who hear thy dirgen,
" This man hath been all he might,
Like the beacon o'er the surges,
Highly placed, a guide and light."
Hast thou genius ?—Coin thy treasure,
Cheer or help thy fellow man ;
Lapse not in a life of leisure—
Take thy place in God's great plan 1
Free thy gift 1 it passes glowing .
From the light of Heaven to thee !
Not through human parents flowing
Down a genealogy.
Thou, within thy rhamber writing.
Minds unknown mnvst move and bend,
Beauteous thought, and brave inditing,
Slaking all mankind thy friend.
Feelings raised by thee and bidden,
Mingle with thy readers' will ;
Waste that music sweet and hidden,
Let the living key-notes thrill !
Bless'd if thou shalt strike one fetter
From the souls that tend to rise ;
If to higher things and better
Thou mayst lift another's eyes.
Work while it is day. my brothers !
God commissions- such as ye—
Lighten—clear the way for others :
Human faith must feel and see.
Naked goes the soul nnd lonely
Where our thoughts and labors ceaso,
Taking with her—taking ouly
Deeds of mercy—hopes of peace !
Monumental ftraiuleu
' MOXTROVILLI:
• of 31i>;sLssi})pl Valley,
SV. DICKESON, M. D.
By invitation of Dr. Coleman, of Jefferson
county, Mississippi, Doctor Taylor, Fori and
myself mounted our horses and repaired to his
residence. We arrived at the Doctor's in the
evening', and after partaking of his kind hospi
tality, we (accompanied by tli?. Doctor) repaired
to the store of .Mr. Pano, whore, in most coun
try towns, all important gossip is to be collect
ed. Here we met with several of the planter-,
whose plantations join the one containing this
interesting group of tr.ounds. A number
gentlemen volunteered ihvir service*, and al,
that of their force, to join us at the group i
the following morning. Aftea chatting tiil 0
o'clock, and ascertaining the localities of many
mounds in this country, and receiving a num
ber of fine unique relics found at sundry times
at the base and summits of the mounds, we
bade adieu, and retired to the Doctor's man
sion. The Doctor had l>ecn collecting these
relics of that un historic*! nation for a number
of years, and had accumulated some hundred
and fifty fine specimens, nil «?f which are now
in my aboriginal cabinet, through the Doctor's
politeness.
After enjoying an intellectual treat of the
history of these relics, and some of the super
stitions of the negroes, accompanied with their
peculiar phraseology, which the Doctor inimi
tably gave, we retired, with the understanding
of au -early start.
At the appointed hour, while the dapple gray
of early morning still lingered on the eastern
sky, a knock was given at our door, with the
information that breakfast was waiting, and
our horses saddled in the court-yard.
One half hour saw us seated in our saddles
and wending our way toward the contemplated
group. As we descended I lie hill sides, we were
presented with the finest landscape view that
we had in all our excursions seen. All was
verdant and beautiful in the fields, and wild and
majestic on the hills.
They (the hills) frequently appear in such
wild aud extraordinary shapes that they might
easily be mistaken for castles with giants
striding on their ramparts and battlements.
The sun was just beginning to shed his lus
trous beams over hill and vale, which forms a
grand and imposing spectacle. We arrived at
the group about 10 o'clock, and as we pushed
our weary way up the steep sides of the mounds
the sun poured down upon us its rays with an
intensity of -an August heat, and bathed our
faces and limbs in profuse perspiration before
we reached the summit.
After no little toil, the high summit of the
signal mound was gained, and now, what a
prospect was before us ! J. looked around with
astonishment, while my mind was impressed
with unutterable ideas of vastness and sublim,
it v. It was my first visit, and being on a bright
sunny morning, the whole scene was very im
posing, and the view from the top of this gigan
tic structure was exceedingly grand. While
traversing the circling corridors of this immense
structure to gain the highest part, 1 was ena
bled to catch through the opening arches of
the trees, now and then, glimpses of the ruins
that lay strewn around us, and also the dark
magnolia and cypress of the distant country,
the clear, blue sky, in a calm repose above our
heads, breathed its serenity into our minds, and
the glorious sun shed its beams of brightness
on all the surrounding effects with undimin
ished spleiKtev
The mounds are situated on the summit of
the ridge ol' bluffs bordering the Mississippi
j about eighteen miles above Natchez. Thesys
j tcm is composed of seven conical mounds, five
j ol them formhig a ilattened circle, and the other
j two a short distance above. In the immediate
of hi!
,, MV%
regularly. In the center of these, quantities of
skeletons are dug up, around which arc found
many curious relics.
rhe one fronting the large mound extends
far on to the second flat, and forms a Iteautiful
promenade for those who visit them. The four
largest stand equi-distant from each other, upon
the bluff's summit ; the largest is fifty-six feet
high, and overlooks^'series of small lakes, be
tween the Mississippi and the blufTs, whose sur
face fa filled with one of the finest cypress
brakes in Mississippi, whose gigantic stems
tower to a height, in some instances, of a hun
dred and twenty feet, without a limb, with a
circumference at top often exceeding sixteen
feet, and at the butt more than twenty feet.
These cypress-brakes present an array of stately
columns, supporting a dome-like ceiling, which
excludes half the light of day.
These fine cypress columns terminate abrupt
ly, under a cap, consisting of a few diipropor
tioiiate and inconsiderable limbs, altogether
constituting a kind of vaulted ceiling ; nnd
there is so perfect a reflection of sound from it
that falling timber often causes a reverberation
throughout these silent and somber shades to a
distance of ten miles. But while the tops of
the cypresses are so disproportionate, it is not
so with their roots ; for they ramify through
the so'l in every direction, extending from fifty
to seventy-five feet from the parent stems, some
remaining parallel with the surface of the
ground, while otheriTpouctrate deep into the
more consolidated subsoil, or under strata of
clay ; and they are thus so fortified that a cy
press is rarely uprooted.
The knees which they throw np are from
three to thirty inches circumference at the ba.se
and rise to a height varying from two to ten
feet. These knees, growing from the innumer
able interlacing roots, in a dense forest of cy
press timber, are closcly crowded together, and
entblc (in all but their color) tWsUlagmitea
on the pavement of some enormous cavern ; to
which a cypress basin, take it all in all, is not
unlike. r l he base of these knees is usually very
much enlarged beyond the size of the- roots ;
thence they proceed and terminate inward in
in obtuse point, from which protrudes neither
leaf nor limb.
From the largest mound you may command
a perfect view of the Mississippi Biver, for
miles each way, and front, from eight to ten
miles into Louisiana.
We were shortly joined by our force, which
was allotted to us by the gentlemanly son-in
law of the proprietor, Mrs. Buckncr.
Wo divided them under directors, and set
them in from the summits and sides. A short
distance brought them to the skeletons, which
were all Flatheads, and buried with considera
ble (are, aud a number of relics, of flne work
manship. We paid but little atteution tp the
dissecting of the mounds, as our time would not
admit of so doing. Our object was to get as
many of their relics as possible.
In the large mound, in which we sunk a shaf;
eight feet wide and fifteen deep, we found quite
a number of skeletons, accompanied with their
relics, and a very curious arrangement of the
strata. This we carefully filled np, for another
and a much more minute examination, at some
future time.
The first three feet was a dark, rich, alluvial
soil, similar to the surface of the surrounding
fields, but below this it varied much from the
ordinary arrangement. It was filled with bones
of inferior animals and pottery. On the side of
one of the small mounds, our party found a skele
ton of gigantic size, and at its head lay three
finely finished vases, filled with ornaments.
Among the relics obtained from the Doctor
was a small vase, found in one of the former dig
gings—about two feet deep.
it was formed of clay and human burnt bones,
in the proportions of one. of bone to clay, burnt
very hard and elaborately carved around its
•sides. The figure resembles the letter S link
ing its extremities and thus continuing around
the vase. It is surprising what a degree of heat
these ancient vessels withstand ; they will resist
the greatest «legre« of heat you can get in the
ordinary anthracite fire, aud answer well'for
fluxing metals in for which purpose I have of
ten used them.
This vase was wrought from much finer ma
terial than is usually found, and from the care
exercised in the depositing of this relic in the
I toly Sepulcher, would indicate that a consid
erable pomp and ceremony had been performed
at its burial. It contained a number of relics,
among which were two finely-polished axe-gau
ges, formed from a beautiful green stone, rine
stone beads wrought from Chalcedony, Nav
varlite and Cornelian, and a curious nondescript
animal, four inches long, iu a dark, hard jas
per.
This curious relic of that unhistoried people,
goes far to show the great analogy between them
and the Chaldeans. Dr. Cartright says in his
paper upon those people: "The Chaldeans
wore around the neck, or suspended from some
part of the body, a charm, cut of a hard stone ;
on one side it resembled a hideous looking ani
mal, whose charm would protect you from all
monsters on the land, and on the opposite site
was cut a small canoe which would protect you
on the water." Now what seems to me so sur
prising, is that in the mounds of our Aborigi
nes we should find a relic answering in every
respect, the description given by that distin
guished writer. This I conceive to 1x2 one of the
most important relics ever discovered among
the tombs of the Aborigines, in tracing their
origin and identity.
W e examined one of the small mounds, and
found a quantity of bones, but so much decom
posed, that it was impossible to remove them
whole. 1 made drawings of a number of the
heads, as they lay in the ground : they were com
pressed from before and back.
The specimens of pottery differed both in re
gard to shape ainj ornaments, from any hereto
fore found, and curious to say, the darts found
about these mounds, are entirely different from
those found iu any part of the state. Portions
of brick handsomely finished, with an. extended
hand upon one face, have been found in <
t.h: larver mounds, plainly showing there had
of
been u structure upon it at some remote period
Extensive roiuls diverge from this system all
over the country ", and one may be traced for
sixty miles in length, passing by most of t.h 0
large tumuli in the State: the first it. touches i,
the Great Seltzer -town mound. After a severe
shower, a number of small earthorn heads of both
human and inferior animals, may be picked up
from its sides and summit. In 1843, was dug
from the large mound, a stone figure of a Bat
head Indian, in a sitting position, similarto that
in which our tailors sit. This is a masterpiece
of workmanship, and explains very well tha man
ner in which the bandages were kept on during
the time of compression. It was found by one of
Mrs. Furguson's negroes, and purchased by Dt.
Coleman, and sent to my cabinet. It holds a
huge pipe bowl in its arms, and no doubt was
used as a national pipe of peace, and much val
ued by its possessors.
A Bhort time after, I received another, ten
inches high and in a standing attitude, with flat,
•tened head, and formed from out of terracotta •
it represented an aged male, fantastically paint
ed in standing colors on both head and body.
The head and chest wore hollow, and in tbe for
mer they found two beautiful pearl beads, one
fourth of an inch in diameter, and four compo.
sition halls of the same size ; the latter cavity
contained two heads, cacli weighing upwardiof |
half an ounce, one of copper, the other galena,
both in their native state. I m ado drawings of
several finely carved pipes, which were found at
these mounds; their possessor would not part
with them on any consideration. East of the
mounds, a few miles, and under the sill of a barn
lies the bust of an Indian, as largo as life, carved !
in soft sandstone; it was found 011 the river j
shore in front of this system. It was much dis
figured by the attrition of the v titer and sand
but enough of its form remained to show that
it had been well j roportioncd and finely finished.
Coins formed from lignite, bearing rudu
impressions, similar to those figures in a former K
paper, are frequently picked up about, the large f
mounds. Throughout the contiguous field â
great number of fine axes i f all sizes arc almost
daily picked up, but none as yet have been found
in the mounds themselves.
The day beginning to decline, wé closed onr I
excavations and dismissed the force, and took
the pleasure of clambering tip the hills and ta- I
vines surrounding the group. At our right, a »
few hundred yard» from the mounds, we seated s
ourselves upon the ruins of an old Spanish set- F
Uement, called Gioso. It was in honor of tin
first Governor of Natchez, under the Spanish
rule, who was massacre! with all his people by j
the Natchez, for hiscruel'y to the Indians. It
flourished for a number < .f years, u'.-l it was at j
one time thought that it would prove a formi- j
dalile rival to Natchez, but on account of the ]
malignant disease that annually visited il, was |
finally deserted, and the buildings allowed to do-j
cay down.
The old church, however, was kept up by tho j
planters, till of laleyear;; and in this old dilapi
dated Spanish relic our much lamented I'reri-1
dent, Andrew Jackson, wa bounl in holy mat
rimony, to the wife of a brutal mau in Ken
tucky, with whom Jackson eloped, aflcr Chang; J
ing shots with the husband. At the frontet!
the hill, and at the pebbly shore, (in the cut) j
you will see a little green and their boat;itI
was here where -\ ndre v Jackson landed with j
that much injured lady, who w ilh all Iiis u.-uul j
firmness he swore to protect through iife, which J
he religiously adhered to.
It is but a few years since the old African rav 1
ho accompanied him and witnessed tbe {
grC
ho accompanied him and witnessed tbe {
grC
marriage, died ; and his narration of this adven-1
turc is fresh in the minds of many persons, new |
residing in Jefferson county, Mississippi.
"We returned to the mounds where our hersa I
were waiting, and our relies properly packed, 1
and placed in our carriage, just as t he sun was I
going down ; we saw the gigantic forest tree?,!
the picturesque hills, and the bold scenery that I
surrounded us, fading away in the obscurity of S
the distance. We mounted our horses, seize«! |
Our reins and bid adieu to our ldnd friends, audi
the strongholds in which dwelt the Kings of a|
gigantic race.
A western " poet" gets off the following, ex
planatory of a steamboat explosion :
'• The engine groaned,
The wheels did croitk,
The steam did whistle
And the boiliv did leak.
The boiler was exnmint 1 ;
They found it was mated ;
And till on a sudden
The old thing busted."
J oe M iller.— It is a fact not, generally
known, that Joe Miller, v;ho has fathered ail
our jests for the last half century, never uttered
a jest iu his life. Though an excellent comic
actor, he was the most taciturn and saturniRû
man breathing. He was in the daily luibit of
spending his afternoons at the Black .lack, a
well known public house in Portugal street,
Clare Market, London, which '.vas at that t ime
frequented by most of the respectable trades
men in tho neighborhood, who, from Joe's im
perturbable gravity, whenever any risible say
ing was recounted, ascribed it derisively to him.
After his death, having left his family unpro
vided for, advantage wi.s taken of this badinage.
A Mr. Motley, a well known dramatist of that
day, was employed to collect all the stray jeata
then current in town. Joe Miller's name was
prefixed to them ; and from that day to tliis,
the man who never uttered a jest has been the
reputed author of every jest, past, present »ad
to come.
M odern B oys.— On the last night of tho
Legislative session, when the School bill wm*
under discussion, a member complained that
school-boys had lost their p iliteness and their
respect. Mr. Hartlett, of Lyndon, said : I ac
knowledge the truth of the i p e;itloni» t s i einarlw.
I was once forced to take off my au-skin cap
to every passer-by. Now, no hoy uncovers hw
head. A few years since. 1 was riding through
Orleans county in a sleigh, und overtook a boy
who had attained the age of nine years. Ik;
stepped out of the road t o let me pass. TÎTerc
he stood upon the crust, erect, bold and aspiring,
lie did not propose to doff his hat, not he.
Said 1, " My lad, you should always take oil
your hat to a gentleman." ^aid lie, " J ahcay*
do, sir." . [Massachusetts paper.
À dispatch iVoni St. Lou
XewOrloans states that the
Robb, Dresden and !l
sunk.
• to a house itr
steamers Janus