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' ~ v, v o vs-' —o vijr' Jfc —C &>—-' Zfc -<'' '&Cj ' if ~) / \ \ \ ,g£gß«6lyfllrjK\ l Z /) \ A\ ktM&f* . - gKaijfJv£a2vtfsgWs'j t. '£■ •: A VOL. 1. [Written for tlic Southern Field and Fireside,] SONG OF THE MISANTHROPE. IIo! 'tis a pleasant thing to be An outside man like me; Don't you see! m What care I! All indifferent to fame, Friendship, money-bags, or aim, Same and tame, What care I! With no stupid vice to rule me; With no lover to ]*‘fool ine, Or to school me, Whatearol! * With a peerless, grand digestion. Appetite, beyond ail question, The very best one. What care I! For disaster. Arc, trouble. Murder,‘war, or other bubble — Hang the stubble! What cure I! Would you mourn for me to-morrow ? Would you lend me, when I'd borrow ? Neither!—Keep your sorrow! What care I! Were I wealthy, how ye'd greet me! Influential—how ye’d meet me! And ye'd treat me! What care I! I'd be poisoned with your dinners, Drenched with wines by rich old sinners. And beginners: What care I! - Gods I what smiles from all the Mothers. Sister*, Uncles, Aunts, and Brothers, And the others! What care I! Rich to-day—at every rout; Poor to-morrow —“bow him out!" A fool would pout! What care II Youth and vigor?—graces? Bah! Skinny Age (with money)? Ah! “Ask Mamma!" What care 11 “Thirty pieces”—(J. lsocariot— See SL Mathew,) —and a chariot— Don't they marry it ? What care I! Then, hang your griefs and pleasures. Public aims and private measures, And your treasures! What care I! Cheat and lie, and go to tot; Sell yout souls, like Swiss or Scot; Die!—forget—and be forgot! Tis your lot! What care I! —-—i«i [Written for the Southern Field and Fireside.] Entered according to the Act of Congree «, Ac., Ac., by the Author. MASTER WILLIAM MITTEN; OR, A YOUTH OF BRILLIANT TALENTS, WHO WAS RUINED BY BAD LUCK. BY THE AUTHOR OF THE GEORGIA SCENES, ETC. CHAPTER 111. Master Mitten takes Ms first lesson in Logic from Master Glib, which leads to very had hick—He gets a Remarkable Private Teacher. Mrs. Mitten now determined to keep her son at home of nights; she therefore charged him, “upon pain of her sore displeasure,’’ not to leave the house at night without her permission. William promised obedience, of course; and like ; a good boy, kept his promise for two nights and a half, without ever asking leave of absence. On the second night she seated him at the stand to read to herself and his sisters. He had pro ceeded about a quarter of an hour, when three strange whistles were heard near the house. They were not noticed by Mrs. M. as yet; but the first had no sooner sounded, than William began to read horribly. “Now, William,” said his mother, “you’ve got tired of reading already; and you're trying how bad you can read, that I may make you stop!’’ “ No, I declare I a’nt, ma.” “Well, what makes yon blunder and halt and miscall words so? What does that incessant whistling mean!” “ That’s the way the boys whistle at school,’' said William. “ How do they do it! for it sounds like blow ing in large phials.” “ They do it by blowing in their hands.” “ What are they blowing about here for? they never did it before. Go out William, and beg them to desist." William obeyed promptly, and as it seemed gladly. The whistling ceased as soon as he went out; and in a few minutes ho returned. “Who are they?” enquired Mrs. Mitten. “ A parcel of school-boys,” said William, “ But they said they wouldn’t whistle.about the house any more.” He resumed hisAfet, and read pret ty well until his mother excused hini. ' The next evening the whistling was renewed; I JANES GARDNER, I I Proprietor. f but at such a distance from the house, as to at tract tlie attention of no one; unless, {>crchance, William from the events of the proceeding night, was led to notice it. “ Ma,” said lie, “ mayn't I go to the Juvenile Debating Society to-night ?” “ Certainly, my son; but come home as soon as the Sbeiety adjourns.” He set out, but happening to fall in with Ben and Jeff Glib by tho way, (so they were called for short) they proposed going by Squire King’s \ garden, and getting a few June apples. Ben said i “that Lawyer King was a very clever man. and didn't care who took his apples, if they didn’t break his trees; and only took what they want ed to eat.” Jell' said that he knew “that to be a ! fact; for he heard him tell William Strain, his | wife’s little brother, that very day, to go in with I his playmates, and eat as many as the) - wanted, I but not to break down his trees.” “ Well, if that's the case,” said William, “I’ll 1 ; go; but I wouldn't steal apples for anything in tho world.” “-Neither would I, said Ben. Law, no! Not ; for the world.” “ Oh, it's nothing like stealing,” said Jeff.— ! “ Sposcn you was to lay down anything, and say i you didn't care who took it, if they didn’t break | | it, and I was to come along at night, and take it, j ! and not break it, would that be stealing ?” “No,” said Ben, “it's no.more stealing than j pickin' up a chip.” William had attended tho Juvenile Debating 1 Society too long and with too much profit, not ; I to feel the full force of Master Glib’s logic, and | consequently his scruples were immediately re moved, and "the boys proceeded to the garden. | The fence was easily ascended, and they were j soon under the best apple tree. “ William,” said Ben in a whisper, “ this is a ! good place to learn to climb. The limbs are low j and I can push you up to them. When you get i in the tree, shake down tl»e apples, and brother ! Jeff and I will pick ’em up; but don’t shake down more than we can eat; for Mr. King wouldn't like that, and I should hate to do any thing he don’t like. Don’t shake hard. The best way is to get on a limb, and hit a little stomp with your heel and if they don’t come, 1 stomp a little harder.” Tims instructed, William, with Ben's help, ! I ascended the tree.. He starnpt limb after limb until he thought enough had fallen to satisfy the company, and was nbout descending, when Jeff said, “ Don’t come down yit—we nn’t got enough i yit—l can eat a bosom full. Here, go out upon this limb and fetch it a pretty hard stomp or two and that’ll do.” William went out on the limb as directed, and i at the first stamp, missing the limb,- he fell, and broke his arm just above the elbow. His pain ! was great, and his alarm was greater, but he i bore them with little complaint until lie cleared j the garden, lie then broke forth in heart-pierc ing groans, sobs, and lamentations; but not , i loud enough to disturb any of the villagers: 1 “ Oh, my arm does hurt me so bad! Only see j how it swings about 1 Oh, my poor dear mother; j it will kill her. My Heavenly Father, forgive me 1 this one time, and I never will do the like agaiu! j I don’t want you two boys to go home w ith me. I If you please don’t go home with me.” His cries announced his coming before he i reached home; for they became louder as ho ! approached his mother’s door. His sisters flew ; to him, and his mother rose to follow them; but her strength failed her and she fell back in her | chair. They could not learn the cause of his wailing until he entered the house; when, ad- ' vancing to his mother, he sobbed out, “ Oh, my dear mother, look at mv arm!” “What, is it broke?” “ Yes, ma'am, I can't move it.” “ Oh, my God, was ever a child doomed to ; such misfortunes! Ann send for the Doctor itn- i mediately—l have not to move. Send | for Doctor Hull and Doctor Barden both.” The doctors came, and set the arm. Os course the enquiry was from all, how the j accident happened. “ I was going to the Society,” said William, j “ and was standing by a tree, and one boy said J he’d learn me to climb, and he pushed me up | the tree, and I fell down and broke my arm.” We will not detain the reader with the many i questions which this explanation provoked, and the answers to them which William gave. Sus- j flee it to say that Doctor Hull fetched a little j grunt of equivocal signification, and took a chew of tobacco upon it, with as little interest in it ns , if he had set a thousand arms broken in this way; but Doctor Barden was as particular in his enquiries into the case, as though he meant to report it to the Philadelphia Medical Journal The next morning Squire King came over to enquire “how poor little William was.” He ex pressed, and no doubt felt, tender sympathies for the boy; but any one to have marked his eye, would have supposed that his sympathies gath ered about William’s feet rather than his arm. This might be accounted for without discredit to the Squire’s heart; for being a great hunter, he had contracted a habit of examining tracks, and track-makers, which beset him at times, and sometimes upon improper occasions, as in this instance. AUGUSTA, GA., SATURDAY, JUNE 11, 1859. , “ William,” said tno Squire with a small dash of waggishness in liis tone and countenance whicll Bill seemed to think very ill-timed; “was it a smooth-barked tree, ora rough-barked tree?” • I forgot;” drawled out Bill a little crus , tilv. “ Bid you get up to the limbs before you fell, j or just fall from the body ?" “ I got to the limbs— “ Bid you take off your shoes ?” “No.” “Aye, that's the way the accident happened. You went up with your shoes on. You should i always take off your slipes when you climb.— : The Glih-boys, who are 'the best climbers I know, always take off their shoes and stockings both. I hope, my son, yotl will soon be well.— Mrs. Mitten, if there's anything that I have that can minister to William’s comfort, it is at your ; service. I have some very fine June apples, and I will send him over some; little boys commonly like such things. j “ Thank you—thank you kindly, Mr. King. I know he will prize them very highly—William have you no thanks to give Mr. King, for his 1 kindness?” Mr. King retired. “William,” said his mother, “ it seemed to me j you were a little rude to Mr. King.” “ I know him,” said Bill sulkily. “Well, you know a most excellent, kind i hearted man.” “ He’s always poking his fun at people.” “ I'm sure there was nothing like fun in what ho said to you. It was all tenderness and kind ness.” William's arm kept him.- for the most part, confined to the bouse for five weeks or more ; during wbicli time he was quite lucky; for noth ing happened to disturb his, or his mother’s peace. He had l>eeu so long kept from the Ju venile Bebating Society that he had become very anxious to attend it; and his mother's consent I being obtained, lie departed once more for the ! arena of youthful polemics. He did not return until the family retired to rest; and in passing to his room he made such a noise among the chairs, as to wake up his mother. “Is that you William?” said she. “Yes.” “ Is that the way you answer your mother ?” “ Who put all these chairs in the entry ?” “ There are no more there, than are always there,” “ It’s a lie.” “Oh lieavens, niy child is deranged! My child! my child! That arm, that arm!” Mrs. Mitten sprung from her bed, and before she even lighted a candle, dispatched a servant j to Boctor Hull with the request that he hurry over immediately; for that her soon was out of : his senses. She had hardly got a light and a I loose-gown thrown over her shoulders,'before | the Boctor was at the door. They met in the i eutry, just as William had come the fourth time , time to a chair which had been heading him ! ever since he entered the house. He seized it, j (for it it had naturally enough exhausted his pa ; tienee) and slung it with all his might as far as he could send it. “Oh Boctor!” exclaimed Mrs. Mitten in the deepest agony of mind, “can you do anything for my poor unfortunate boy!” “Oh yes ma’am—jes ma’am. Don’t be alarmed. I pledge myself to have him sound and well lie fore nine o’clock to-morrow morning.” “ Oil Doctor { how can you speak so confidently \ without even feeling the child’s pulse.” Just here, William having got hold of a small j | table that stood in the entry, and which lie prob- j j ably mistook for a wash-basin, poured out upon : ; it a villanous compound, of heterogeneous ele- j I ments, whicll it would nave required a stronger i head and greater capacity than Bill possessed, to j ! keep together iu peace for a single night.” The Boctor grunted, as usual; but with unu sual indications of sympathy for Master Mitten. i “ Why, Doctor, it seems to me,” said the good j lady, “that I smell peach brandy!” j “It seems so to me too;” said the Doctor, “and segar smoke to boot.” “ It's a lie,” said Bill. “Jle tells a lie, and you tell a lie.” “ Bo you think my child is drunk, Boctor?” “No doubt of it in the world, madam. Notli ! ing else is the matter with him.” “Then my fate is sealed. lam doomed to j wretchedness for life.” And she sobbed and i shrieked by turns. “ Retire to your room, madam. I will put him "to bed, and stay witli him until he gets sound asleep; and he will be well in the morning.” She did so; but it was. to walk her room in tortures through tiie live-long night—not to sleep. It was late in the morning before William rose. Ho had learned from a servant all that past on the preceding evening; and it was an hour after ho rose before he could venture from his room, to face his mother. At length he came, and mingled tears of contrition with her tears of sorrow—confessed his fault, and promised never to smoke another segar, or drink another drop of liquor, while he lived. About noon, on this day, an elderly, good looking gentleman made his appearance at Mrs. Mitten’s and introduced himself as Mr. Judkins Twattle. He said lie had seen Mrs. Mitten’s ; advertisement, and iiad come to oftfer liis ser vices as a private teacher. Mrs. Mitten desired him to call again at ten the next morning, when her brother would be present, whose counsel she wished to have in the matter. At the appointed hour the parties met. “Hayo you any certificates of character and capability, Mr. Twattle?” Paid Captain Thomp son. “More, I presume, sir, than you will lie will -1 ing to read.” Whereupon lie produced a largo bundle of certificates, running by long jumps through twenty years, and growing colder and eolder, with very few exceptions, from the first to the last. They all agreed, however, in representing Mr. Twattle as fully competent to teach all the ordinary branches of an English education, with Algebra, Geometry, Latin and Greek. The two first were very flattering, and spoke in unmeas ured terms of his skill as a teacher, his talents, attainments, gentlemanly demeanor, and spot j less moral character. The two last merely tes- I titled that “Doctor Twattle was a good scholar j and fully able to teach Latin, Greek, Matheinat | ics, Ac., Ac.the one almost a literal copy of the other. The first and second were from Ver mont—the third from Pennsylvania—the fourth from Vermont—the fifth from Virginia—the sixth from New Hampshire—and the seventh from Kentucky—the eighth from Vermont—and the rest were from various places, under the de signations of “ Bethel Seminary," “ Betliesda In- | stitute, Pinoville Lyceum," “ Buckhead Athe neum,” “Goosepond Literary Parthenon,” “Big Lick Acropolis of Letters,” “Tickville Empori um of Literature and Science,” Ac. Captain Thompson knew nothing of Mathe- I matics, Greek, or Latin; but he could under- I stand certificates as well as Newton, Demosthe nes, or Cicero; and he spared no pains in study ing them upon this occasion. After he had j looked them over until he wore out the patience i of his sister and Dr. Twattle, he observed: “You soem to have been a great traveller, , Doctor.” “ Yes, sir. I early conceived a desire to set- j tic in the sunny South; and as soon as I raised j money enough to bear my expenses, I left my j native State for Pennsylvania; but, my health . failing. I had to return. As soon as I recovered | my health, 1 set out again for the South; but, ; my health again fading, I was again constrained j to seek a Northern clime. And thus I weut on : until advancing in years, I found that I could i not only endure a Southern climate, but that it , was. now more congenial to my constitution than j a Northern one. Thenceforward, I have always ; resided in the South. Having no aim but to i spread the lights of science through our favored country, and no disposition to accumulate money, : but a strong propensity to travel aud see the world, I have so ordered my life as to fill the j measure of my wishes. I teach from place to !• place, for longer or shorter periods, as 1 like or dislike the people; but never make an arrange- , inent for more than two years at a time. Thus ! it is, sir, that you see so many certificates from j different places.” “ What gave you such a strong desire to visit the South?” “At first, nothing but my inborn roving dis- ' position; but after residing awhile at the South, 1 particularly in Virginia, I became so much en amored witli Southern manners, customs, talent, i spirit, generosity, hospitality, and vivacity, that ! I determined to fix my abode here as soon as I I . could do so without rushing, witli my eyes open, ! right into the jaws of death.” | “Emph-liemph!” nosed out the Captain, pou deringly. “Whatarc your terms, Boctor?” “Six hundred dollars a year, if I have to ' board myself and visit my pupil twice a day, and sometimes at night, (for I expect to teach Astronomy) through all seasons, and all weather; or two hundred, if I board in the family with my pupil.” “ Why, that is a vast difference, Doctor.” “So it is; but I detest taverns so much, that I would rather sacrifice twice the price of board than board in one at any price.” •“ But you can find private boarding in the vil- ! lage, in genteel houses, for much less than four hundred dollars.” • "Well if you prefer it, get me board in a gen teel private family and add to the tuition as much as it may be less than four hundred dol lars ; and send the pupil to my room, instead of requiring me to go to his.” “ Why not let the tuition stand at two hun dred dollars, and we pay your board?” “No objections in the world, if you will allow me to board where I please, and ailow me every accommodation that I could havo at a tavern and send the pupil to me. I understand Jiat Mrs. Norton is a nice woman, and takes ord ers. I will board with her and pled/** myself that my hoard shall not cost you ove “iree hun dred dollars.” “Mrs. Norton’s is the deares' Boarding house in town, and fully one mile fH n m 7 sister’s.” “ WeU, if that is too so foT the scholar to walk, how much harder >iOT me to walk I Nor can you expect me to tst you choose my board- . -r ——— i j Two Dollars Per Annum, I "( Always in Advance, f iug-liouse, and fix the price that I slmll pay too ! Allow me to board at Mrs. Norton’s and I will knock off fifty dollars from the tuition.” “ Or, 1 suppose, allow you to board at my sis ter’s, and you will do the same." The Doctor looked as if he had committed a terrible blunder; and, after a little halting and smiling, lie replied: '‘Well sir, you’ve got mo where the owl had the hen: so that I can nei ther back nor squall—of course 1 will.” “ Are you willing to contract for six months ! on trial at those rates?” “Perfectly willing—perfectly willing-provi ded you will engage not to turn me off caprici ! ously at the end of six months; and allow me to fix the time of our connection, by our next contract, provided that I deport myself to your satisfaction. Dining one day with Thomas Jef i ferson. and Nathaniel Macon, the latter made a remark which I have often proved the value of j since: “In making a eontrqet,” said he, “al | ways have a little of it on your own side.” “ Are you acquaihted with those gentlemen?” The Doctor looked provoked at himself, for having made the remark, and replied in a cour teous but hurried manner: “ No sir—that is not —no sir, no. The circumstances which brought us to'tlie same table, were purely accidental.— Neither of them, I am sure, lias now the most distant recollection of me; though we did inter change some words upon that occasion.” “Well, Doctor, my sister and I, will confer • upon the matter in hand, and if you will call at three o’clock, this afternoon, we will let you | know our decisions” * , “ I will call at the hour,” said the Doctor, ri sing, “but, to avoid any unkind feelings, it is proper that I should apprise you of my views of negotiations of this kind. When I make a prop osition, which is not immediately accepted, I do ; : not consider myself bound by it afterwards. If time lie claimed to deliberate upon a proposition > 1 of mine, I claim the same time for retracting it if I see proper.” “ That is all perfectly fair, Doctor—perfectly j fair.” The Doctor withdrew; and he had hardly cleared the door before Mrs. Mitten begged her | brother to call him back, and close tlie bargain j , immediately. “Hesecs,” says she, “whereyou | entrapt him, when speaking of Mrs. Norton, and , j his last remark was made on purpose to help | him out of the difficulty.” “ Anna,” said the Captain, “ my advice to you j is, to have nothing to do with this man. If he* is not a pickled villian I'll give you my head for : a foot-ball. A man of his age and accomplish ment running about'the country with a batch of j ! old rusty, ragged certificates in bis pocket, gath ! ered through twenty years, not one of which ten . | years old; says a word about bis moral charac ter —willing to teach for the pitiful sum of one ! hundred and fifty dollars, and confessedly with no money in his pocket I Down from Vermont, j and then back again—then South, then North, i then here, there, and every where 1 He s a ras | cal —as sure as you’re born lie’s a rascal” j “ Oh I brother David, what uncharitable beings I you men are! Every objection you raited be . j answered, as if by accident, before you raised pr even thought of them. He has accounted mast satisfactorily and nobly for the cheap rate at which he holds his services—” j “ —P-h-e-c-e-w! He from Vermont and care ] nothing for money I A literary apostle ‘to the Southern Gentiles, moved by pure love of their j wondrous virtues! So devoted to them, that sickness can’t drive him away from them! Stuff, . smoke, nonsense 1 He'll breed mischief in your ' . house; as sure us you take him there.” “ Brother David, are you going to let slip this favorable opportunity of getting a teacher for my ■ ; child at this critical period of his life,” — ' •* No,. I’m going to let yon do as you please— : If you want him, you shall have him; and I’ 1 ’ / i do the best I can with him for you; but c lCe more I pray you to let this man, alone; s.™ e expense of him and the danger of him - n “ sea, l vour son to Mr. Markham, and beg ufn t 0 whip : the devil out of him, that has bee* P etti ng nto l him ever since he was taken fro* 1 school. “ I have said again and asr*®> aU( * I now k once for all that, my child not 8° Mr. Markham.” m c “ Very well I’ll Twattle. Take him for six months’first.- I ® ll y ou will be sure of his & doing well, tM time at least 1 but look out for squalls, aft<. wards.” This was a'* w ® t°i and Me. Twattle was em- / ployed upo’ the terms and conditions already intimated That is to say, for six months, at the v rate of jne hundred and fifty dollars per annum » yj. Mitten to board him, and he to fix the J tP -fl of his next engagement. [to 1)K continued.] ft —— • \ A facsimile of the first book ever printed in England is in the Astor Library. It is entitled j “The Game and Playe of the Chesse,” and was translated from the French by William Caxton, /j who issued it immediately after he set up his V press, in Westminster, in 1374. A Miss Way advertises in the New Orleans p papers that she will debate Woman’s Rights i with a Kentucky lawyer in that city, after which w she will make a grand balloon ascension from ej Congo Square. ¥ NO. 3.