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i i 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.