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VOL l
It is- with ureat pleasure that we offer.
iUi tint first. nuiulxir of the S&ttDum Field and
Hi’i'esttl*. tfi® first chapter of a uew story by the
dlsttUgtitehed and \ cry jiopulftr author of "Geor
gia tJoaga’s. (ilianHtertyand Incidents in the first
of tl»e Bepublic." Thte gentleman,
s»iW)<W|t and well known, personally in all the 1
Soutitem Status, ami by reputation throughout
the qountry. assures us. hy letter from his new
r&ddtnua—ißlitunbia, St C.—that we may count j
\yitit umirtttem.»* upwu frequent contributions from
uiS- pun. Gnr maters, we know, will share in |
tit® gratification which this promise lias afforded.
WvHten tec tl»t SwutherH Kir lit :ui<l Fireside.]
ffnttrtd •n-'-mWtfey >* the .!< < </ < 'omsre»*. «s»'.. te-..
hy tkt Author.
EMUTt WIUIII MITTEN:
OK.
A YGUTH OF lUUL.LIAXT TALKNTS.
Wtllt*'WA{S UI'INKH BY BAD 1.l t'lk
!«S THtt urwoK OP the oboboia scenes, etc.
IWTBQDU CTION.
Atfwut nine vearsagu. I resides! in a village of
tim Wh>t, \\ 1 uvh aixiuuded iu schools and wild
Ityyes DurHig my resale ms- there, two tuertto
riOusynuug tnen established a Press in tlie vil
ifegtv trod earnestly solicited ooutrihutious from
mj\ linn, lu.Ow Ir»p* of assisting them, and of
uipntvtnK the over-indulgent motliers and un
miy youth of tlie place. 1 commenced the story
Ot' hastbb MITTRS. hut had not progressed far
with it lasfore 1 was-unexpectedly called away j
nrtnu film village toreturn to it no more. On my
departure l dropped tiie narrative. I now re- I
-anno it with tlie intention of completing tiie story
tijir publication in tiie tfoulhern Field and Fireside.
Itiiismit idl fiction. The Acthok.
CtIAITEK I.
.Ifeitr/ MittenA- lihiildhood—The admiration of
nery 1 eel ft: led }Mrtic*d«rly ot his another —
Ooas- to, school where dame Fortune takes a pre
(alter nyniust him.
Mtuiy voarft-Ugg there lives! in a small \ illage
t* tits' skate of Georgia, a pious widow, who was
left; with an only sou and two daughters. She
wets. iu easy, ojfeuiustanees, ami managed her
temporal oieucerns with great prudence: so that
law- estate increased with her years. Her sou
exhibited, at a very cart} age. great precocity of
gpwttev and tint inoiiier lost no opportunity of
letting, the w< irkl ktiow it. When he was hut
tlyo years-old. lie l»ad committed little pieces in
prase and; itoetry, which he delivered with re
markable propriety. for-his-years, lie knew as
mock >if: tins scriptures, as any child of that age
probably ever knew: ami he had already made
-otae protrtass in geography and mental arith
metic. With all tills lie was a very handsome
lip)', it is not to be wondered at, that his mother
skuuldlhe bringing him out iu some department
>i science, upon all oceaskms; ot eouse slie often
omught lhm out ui»ou very unsuitable occasions
ami sometimes kept him out. greatly to tlie an
noyance of- lier company. Not to praise his
; •e.'rHirmmKus, would have l*een discouraging to
.Master William Mitten, and very mortifying to
lnsmotiier: accordingly, wliether tliev were well
timed.or- ill-timed, every body praised them. 1 lie
ladies, all of wlaiui loved Mrs Mitten, were not
(infrequently thrown into raptures at the child's
exhibitions-' They would snatch him up in their
arms kiss hint pronounce him a perfect prodigy.
IMjitli in ljeauty of person ami power ot mind;
mal. declare tjiat they would tie willing to go
lieggans upon tlie world to have such a child.
Olliers would t sou sly exhort Mrs Mitten not to
se*;lier lieart tow much npou the child. “They
never saw tlie little creature, witlwut eommiugle'l
emotions-of delight and alarm: so often is it tlie
case that children of such wonderful gifts die
uarly. ' Her brodicr, Capt. David Thomson, a
oaudgb plain-dealing excellent man. often re
proved Mrs M. for jtaradiny, as he called it.
■ lier-child up<*u all occasions'"
• Anna, said he. -you will stuff your child
so full nt pride and vanity. ;uk! make him so pert
mid: forward that there will lie tio living with
hint From an object-of admiration, lie will soon
iai«.uime au object of detestation.''
■'No danger, lirotlier—no danger;'' she would
reply, " I take special care to gtiard him against
these viees"
.W otgiH ye;trs of age. William having teamed
all tliav lus neither could teach him, was placed
under tlie instruction of Miss Smith, the teacher
of a. female school, into which small boys were
admitted hy courtesy. Here lie continued until
llis tenth year; wlien Miss thnith told his mother
that lie was getting too old to remain in lier
school, and that she could keep him no longer.
lfe*» Miss Smitli wlnspered souietliiug to Mrs.
Mitten which drew a smile from lier, but which
lws over remained a secret letween them. It
touk.about tlie time to deliver it. tliat it would
take to say: " tlie truth is lie is too pretty and
to® smart to !*» in a female school.’’
JIIMKN ti.VBJI.IKK,
William being now out of employment, his !
mother took six months to deliberate as to what
was next to be done with him: and in the mean
time site sent him in the country to stay with
his grandmother. On his return she determined
to place him under the tuition of Mr. Markham,
one of the lest of men, and best of instructors. :
Accordingly, she Conducted him to the school
room of his second preceptor.
•• You will find him. Mr. Markham,” said Mrs.
M.. as she delivered over lier son to the teacher's
I charge. •• easy to lead but hard to drive."
If that be' tlie case, Madam," said Mr. Mark- j
ham, " I fear that your son will not do well under '
my government.'’
Why. surely. Mr. Markham, yon don't prefer ,
driving to leading."
‘■By no means. Madam—by no means. I j
much prefer leading; but no child of his age can
lie always led. Withal, a teacher must govern.
! by fixed rules, which cannot be relaxed in favor j
of one of liis pupils, witliout rendering them
worthless or unjust to all the rest.’’
This took Mrs. Mitten a little hy surprise; for <
she supjiosed that Mr. Markham would lie proud
of such an accession to his school as William.
She acquiesced, however, in the soundness of
his views: hut flattering herself “that he would
never find it necessary to drive William,” she
turned him over to the teacher and withdrew.
William made his debut at school in a dress
which was rather tawdry for Sunday, and ex
travagant for the school-room. The first ten or 1
fifteen minutes were spent by William and the
school-liovs iu interchanging looks of admiration, ,
wi t ich Mr. M. indulged, under protence of not
! observing." At length a pretty general titter be
gan to run through the school at 'William s ex
pense. Mr. Markham now interposed with a
sternness that instantly brought all to order but
William, who tittered in turn, at divers persons
and things. But this Mr. M. hapiwned not to
notice. The object of William's special regards
and amusement was John Brown, whose clothes
seemed to have l»een made of a remnant of old
bed-quilt, so numerous and party-colored were
their tHitches. John's attitude was as curious as
his dress: he seemed to have derived it from tlie
neck of a crane at rest. His head was fiat and
bushy ids feet were large and black, and his
face Ik ire a marked resemblance to that of a
leather-winged hat. In all his life, William had
: never seen exactly such a thing as this; and he
laughed at it. without stint and without disguise.
John soon liecame indignant, and raising his
l»ook between liis face and tlie teacher, he set
his mouth to going as if repeating all the vowels
and consonants of the alphabet iu quick time,
and shook his fist at William with a quiver of
awful portent. According to the masonry of the
school-room these signs meant: “ Never mind,
old fellow, soon us schooTs out m make you laugh
'father side of your mouth /"
••Come here, sir,’’ said Markham, who always
saw more than lie seemed to see. “NN ho are
vou shaking your fist at," sir?”
- Mr. Markham, that fellow keeps laughing at
me. sir.’’
“ And did'nt you laugh at him first ?”
'• I—l—laughed at linn a little bit; but he
keeps at it all the time. He don't do nothin' else
but keep’n’ on laughin' at me all the time.
■Well, if you laugh at other ]>eople. you must
let them laugh at you; and now, sir, go to your
seat; and if I catch you shaking your fist at any
Ikklv in school hours again, or using it upon any
hody afterwards, who has only paid laugh with
laugh. I ll shake you."
There was a little spice of equity here, that
John had entirely overlooked: and he went to
his seat much cooler than might have been ex
pected.
“Come here. William!” continued the pre
ceptor. William did not move: and the whole
sclwol was electrified at disobedience to Mr.
Markham's orders.
•• Come here. William!!’ repeated Mr. M.: hut
with no 1 letter success. Whereupon he rose, and
commenced “ leading ” him. in quick time, to his
seat. Having stationed him by it he said to him, |
•■ William, 1 know you liave been indulged so
much that you hardly know the duty of submis- |
sion to your teacher's orders, of I would correct 1
you for not coming to lue when I called you. j
You must do as I tell you; and I tell you now 1
to quit laughing Mid get your lesson — you, John j
Brown, are you tittering again already? Put
down your feet and come here, sir!” Here Mr.
Markham, byway of parenthesis, gave John
three cuts, which sounded like a whip-poor-will,
and made him dance a jig. a minuet and a polka |
all in less than a minute. He retired crying and
limping, and rubbing, and shaking his bushy
head like a museovy-drake in a ]K-t : and Mr. j
Markham proceeded: “I tell you. William, you
must obey me ”
” Yes, sir,” said William, pale as a sheet.
*• I can have no little boys with me who won't
do as I tell them—
“No, sir.”
•• If you will lx? a good boy, and mind your
book and your teacher, you need not be afraid of
me. Go now and take your seat and quit laugh
ing and get your lesson.”
William oix-yed promptly, and hardly took his .
eyes from his book until the school was dis- ,
missed.
AUGUSTA, GA., SATURDAY, MAY 28, 1851).
During tlic rcogw 4»e begged his mother to
take him away from Mr Markham’s school. He
said Mr. Markham whipr .his scholars, ami he '
didn't want to go to a atm that wlupt children."
“But." said his mother, “you must be a good
boy, and then he \viU%o* whip you. I've en
tered you now. and phirt your first cpiarter's
schooling-anil yon must go to the end of the
quarter.” *
William returned to school, and for several
weeks did remarkably well. He was put in a
class with George Marfcli&m. son of the preeep
j tor, and a promising yoOth, but equal to William
! in nothing but attention to his studies. As .
I William could get his lessons in half the time
allowed him for this purpose, he soon began to
neglect tliem, until the last moment from which
he could commit them, and then to some time
beyond tlie moment: and liere was the begin
ning of his bad luck. As he grew remiss, Mr.
Markham counseled him, lectured him. and
threatened hint; but all to no purpose. At
length he told him tliat the next time he came
P to recite without knowing his lesson, he would
correct bun. This alarmed William a good deal:
but not quite enough to stimulate his industry to ;
continued exertion: and after ten or fifteen les
sons he came up deficient again.
“Why have you not got this lesson, sir?" said j
Mr. Markham with terrific sternness.
•• I—l—was sick, sir!’’
This was William’s first falsehood: but it 1
' saved him from a whipping which he awfully 1
dreaded; for though Mr. Markham knew that he I
1 had not told the truth, he deemed it nest to nd- j
wit tlte excuse, at lew* as to withhold the 1
rod of correction for the present.
As he dismissed the school, he told William
to remain a few moments, and when they were
alone he thus addressed him:
•• William, I very much fear you told me a
falsehood to-day. I saw you ail the morning
before you on me to recite, idling and whispering, |
without any appearance of sickness; and since j
the recitation. I have seen no signs of sickness j
about you. Still I may possibly be mistaken,
and I lioi>e I am; but remember, if I ever find ■
you telling a lie to hide your faults, I will punish
you more severely than 1 would without the lie.” 1
He then proceeded to counsel him kindly aud
affectionately against the danger of lying.
William went home in sadness and in tears,
for his conscience gave him no rest. His mother
sought in vain for the cause of his distress. The
next day he went to the school and acquitted
himself well for that and the four succeeding
days, for which Mr. Markham gave him great
credit and encouragement. On the fifth day he
got permission to go out. and as he remained out
an unusually long time. Mr. M. went in quest of.
him, and found him in the act of concealing his
l>ook among some rubbish near the school-house.
He was unobserved by William, and he with
drew to the school room. Just Itefore the reci
tation hour William made his appearance. What
he had been doing during his absence, was not
known; but that he had not been studying was
manifest from his conduct, and still more mani
fest from his ignorance of the lesson when he
came to recite.
•• What have you been doing, William,” said
Mr. Markham, that you know nothing of this
lesson?!’
•• I lost my liook. sir," and I couldn't find it.”
Mr. Markham passed the matter over until he
dismissed his school, when he detained William,
told him where his book was, repeated his lec
ture upon lying, and enforced it with a pretty
severe flogging. William had never experienced
the like of that liefore, and probably would never
have experienced it again, but for the impru
dence of his mother and her friends, lie prom
ised his preceptor that he would never repeat his
offence; and he went home with a countenance
and manner indicative of a fixed purpose to keep
his promise. He told his mother nothing of
what had happened, nor did she find it out for
four days afterwards. In the meantime, William
was all that she or his preceptor could wish him
;to be. It so happened, however, that Thomas
Nokes had lingered aljout the school-house, ami
seen all that had transpired between William
and his teacher. lie went home where lie found
- Mrs. Glib, one of Mrs. Mitten's most devoted
' friends—as she proved, by carrying to her all
, news that was likely to affect her peace. Mrs.
G. had stopped on her way to her brother’s in the
country, to bid Mrs. Nokes farewell and had
actually risen to depart, when Tom stept in, big
with the events of the day.
“I tell you, what,!’ said he, “Mr. Markham
give Bill Mitten jorum to-day 1”
“It a'n't jiossible, exclaimed Mrs. Glib, that
Mr. Markham has whipt that dear, sweet, lovely
j boy.”
Mrs. Nokes tried to catch Tom's eyo that she
might stop him: but his whole attention was
directed to Mrs. G., and he went on—
“ Yes he did—and he linked it into him like
flngins. I’ll be bound he made the blood come,"
Here Tom caught his mother's eye, which was
; darting lightnings at him, aud he concluded,
j “ but I don't reckon he h urt him much though!”
“ Oh, the brute!” muttered Mrs. Glib, as she
left the house for the carriage.
On the afternoon of the fourth day from her
i departure, she returned to the village, and im-
mediately hastened over to Mrs. Mitten’s. Mrs.
M. met her at the door vctt cheerfully and very
cordially.
" Oh,’’ ejaculated Mrs. Glib, “ Ik»w happy I
am to find you so cheerful! I was afraid I should
find you in tears."
“fn tears! For what ?”
“ Why, for tlie unmerciful lteating which Mr.
Markham gave to your dear, sweet, lovely little ,
William, last Friday."
“Surely tliere must be some mistake Mrs.
| Glib. William never said a word to me about
it; and not fifteen minutes before you came iu,
Mr. Markham was here congratulating me on the
! progress my child was making in every tiling
that was good."
Here Mrs. G. looked as if site had taken an
emetic which was just aliout to operate: and af
ter a short pause she proceeded :
“ Well. I hope it is a mistake: but it came to
1 me from an eye witness. You know I don't
i send my children to Mr. Markham: because I
don’t cl loose to have my children cut and slashed
about like galley-slaves, for every little childish
error they commit—breaking down tlieir spirit,
and teaching them sneaking and lying, and every
thing that’s low and mean. Mr. Toper never
whips: and I don't see but that my chihhen get
along under him as well as other people’s chil- ,
dren.” (Here Mrs. M. covered her face with her
handkerchief, either to hide her grief, or a smile
wliich grief could not extinguish, or blushes of
conscience; for she had warms! l*cr son against
I ever associating with the Glibe.) “But you
j know how strict Mrs. Nokes ia with lier cliil-
I dren: one of »Uem v-onld a# soon put hie heed
| in the fire as to tell a lie—specially hefore her
Well Thomas told me. right in her presence. (
that Markham whipt William till lie drew the
blood from him!”
“Mercy on me! - ’ groaned Mrs. M.. "why
didn’t William tell me of it!"
“ Oh, that is easily accounted for. My George
Washington Alexander Augustus says that John
Brown told him. that •if any hoys went to car
rying tales out of Mr. Markham's school, lie'd
make 'em dance juha.' Poor William dare not
tell of it. John said, moreover, that Markham
dragged him from his scat the first day that he
went to school, and would have whipt him then,
if he had lieon in school a little longer."
“ I fear, said Mrs. Mitten, with streaming eyes,
that I offended Mr. Markham when 1 placed Wil- j
liam under him. by telling him that William was
easy to had but hard to drive. He immediately
showed sonic reluctance at receiving him. But
I only meant to apprise him of Hie child's dispo
sition. Poor chikl until all his talents. I fear he
is doomed to bad luck.”
“Oh, no, madam; I can explain tlie matter
better than that. George Markham was given
up on all hands to lie the smartest boy in school
Now every body knew what a prodigy William
was; and old Markham knew that as soon as
William entered the school, his bebted, darling, j
precious George, would have to come down a
notch. All the boys say that William is smarter j
than George, and yet that old Markham is always
pecking at him. Who can't see the reason?"
Just at this moment William made liis appear- ;
anee with a bright and joyous face; and holding <
up a most beautiful edition of Sanford aud Mer
ton. “See, ma. said he, what Mr. Markluun
grave me to-day lor keeping head of George three
days. And he says if I'll keep head of him
eight days more, lie’ll give me a book worth
twice as much, and I mean to do it too.”
* “ Wliat hypocrisy!” exclaimed Mrs. Glib.
“ He's got wind of ftl”
i “William," said his mother, “did Mr. Mark
ham whip you last Friday?” In an instant his
: countenance fell and his eyes filled.
“Yes, ma’am.” whispered William, “But I
don't think he will whip me again, for 1 mean to
; be a good boy."
“Poor, blessed, little innocent angel-lamb!"
sighed forth Mrs. G. with honest sympathy.
“ And haven't you always been a good boy. j
my son ?”
“ Ye-e-s, m'm.”
“ Then what did lie wliip you for ?”
“He said I told a lie, and wouldn't get my
lesson!”
“ Oh, shocking, shocking—worse aud worse!" i
vociferated Mrs. Glib. “ I’d stake my salvation
on it, that child never told an untruth in all his I
life.”
i It was very unlucky for William, that Mrs. G. j
madotliis remark; and still more unlucky that his i
mother did not suspend her examination here,
until Mrs. G. retired.
“ William, it would break my heart to discover
that you had told a lie; but if you have told one.
confess it, my child, to your mother.”
William paused and pondered, as well lie !
might; for having Mrs. Glib’s salvation and his
mother's heart in one eye, and Mr. Markham's
awful lie-physic in tlie other, he was in a »nost
perplexing dilemma.
“ Don’t you see, Mrs. Mitten, that child is
actually afraid to deny that lie toK a he ? He
knows that if it gets to Markhai*s ears that lie
denied it, he’d l>eat him to jsfttli. Ddit he
wiiip you very severely, WiMani ?’ *
“Yes, ma’aiu.”
“Where did lie whip you?’
1 “On the calf of niv legs.”
w. _ a el
i Two Dollar* Per Annum. (•
> A!w«)« In Airtnrf. *
" Well now. do lot us examine tliem; I lay
the marks of the whip are upon them to this
day.”
William s pants were rolled up. and at the first
glance. his legs seemed as white and as spotless
ias pure alabaster. But a glance did not satisfy
Mrs. Glib. She was confident that William had
received i 'jonn h," and that mark? of it might
, yet be found. Accordingly, site put on her specs
and squatted down to a close examination of
William's legs, beginning at the left.
"Look ltere. Mrs. Mitten.” said she, after a
short search. " isn't this the mark of a whip?”
“X-no." said Mrs. M.. carelessly. "! blieve
it's nothing but a vein.”
“ It's no vein, my word for it; it's too straight
for a vein. I'm told tliat whip-marks, just be
fore they disap|>ear. can ltanlly be distinguishes!
from veins.”
Proceeding from the left leg to the right, she
examined for some time with no better success.
At length, liowever. on the right side of the limb,
she found three palpable marks of • jonntt.'' For
reasons tliat need not lie givea I hok* myself
perfectly competent to explain this matter with
unquestionable aceuraey. J-mtum is always ad
ministered with a scarificator; ami in receiving
it. it is almost impossible fcr tlie patient to keep
: hi.* legs still The consequence sometimes is.
that the scarificator, which is made and intended
to act simultaneously, and equally upon both
limbs, hardly seratolies one. while it spends all
■ its force (double force) upon tl»e other. William
had obviously “ danced jul<a ” under the opera
tion, and in three of his movements he luid so
distracted tltc insrn uncut ™hai the end of it
pressed much harder upon the flesh In these
plates tliau the operator intended, and of course
it left its most permanent mark where it pressed
hardest. Xor is it true, as Mrs. GKfe was in
formed. that its marks retire in likeness to a vein,
but with a greenish, straw-color, as the case be*
fore her proved.
Mrs. Glib had no sooner discovered these
marks, than she went through divers evolution
of horror, letter suited to the Inquisition than to
this occasion.' At length she became composed
enough to speak.
“Oh. Mrs. Mitten, see what your dear, lovely,
brilliant l*oy has suffered. Think of when it was
done!”
“Mrs. Mitten looked and burst into tears
1 afresh.” Just at this point, her daughters made
tlieir appearance, and the matter being explained
to them, they burst into tears; and William see
ing his mother and sisters weeping, he burst into
tears. In the midst of this affecting scene. David
Thompson. Mrs. Mitten's brother, made his ap
j pea ranee, aud he didn’t burst into tears,
i ••Whv. what's the matter —what's to pay?"
enquired no, with no little alarm.
The ladies all answered at once, with different
degrees of exaggeration, but all to the same
I>oiut, namely, that Markham had beaten Wil
liam most unmercifully.
" Why. nothiug seems to be the matter with
him tliat I can see.”
" Look at his legs 1”
, "Well I see nothing the matter with liis
i k‘gs.”
" Look at his right leg."
“Well, I see nothing the matter with his right
leg.’’
“ Look on the right side of his right leg."
" Well, I see notliing on the right side of the
right leg.”
" Look here, Mr. Thompson," said Mrs. Glib —
“l>cnd down a little—do you see these marks?"
Psh-e-e-c-t! Why, surely you have all run
crazy 1 Is it possible you're making all this fuss
| over these three little specks?"
“ Those specks as you call them, brother, are
tltc remains of what was put on my child's ten
der flesh four days ago.”
•• And have you all just made up your minds
to cry about it!’’
"We did not know of it brother David, be
forc."
•Whv, didn't William tell you of*-
•• No, 'poor child, he hardly d** talk about it
now. He is completely cowe*- he went
to school lie seems to have l**n buried; nobody
notices or speaks of the -hild any more than if
he were dead." „
"Yes. there it is* you have been feasting
upon his praises *o long, that you cannot live
without them. What did Markiiam whi t him
** r chvW 1 was, telling a lie, and neglecting
his less*
« w’tJ, are you sure he did not tell a lie T
• cn, brother, how can you ask such a ques
iit»i right ltefore the child’s face! Yes, I'm just
.s sure of it as I can be of anything. I never
detected William in a lie in all my life.”
“ No, nor you never will, the way you're going
on, if he told a thousand. Now, if Markham
whipt him for lving, I vouch for it he told a lie.
and Markham knew it; for he never moves with
out seeing hia way clear.”
“ I think he has a prejudice against W.llium,
and I think I know the reason of it.”
“ Prejudice 1, He's incapable of prejudice
tl anybody, much less against littto silly
n. I'll go over and see him and learn the
truth of the matter.” * % ‘ ,
no. r.