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Southern Field and Fireside. VOL. 1. [Written for the Southern Field and Fireside.] LIGHT AND SHADE. I idly dreamed—(too much of life is given To pleasant fancies gliding through the brain,) That the high hopes for which my youth had striven Had glad fruition —and, like summer rain, Fell the rich blessings on my thirsty heart— Love, Friendship, Fortune—never to depart! Oh, fond deceit I Thus do we cheat our sorrow, And from life's fulling; fountains strive to bring Tho “living waters" that, perchance, to-morrow May cause the desert waste to bloom and sing : Earth’s “broken cisterns," that may not supply Our longing souls —yet, must we drink or die! I dream no more! —the summer winds are sighing A gentle requiem for the vanished hours; Nature's sweet spring-time rapidly is flying; J line has departed, with its fruits and flowers; In Autumn, now, I bind the few thin sheaves— All that affliction for the gleaner leaves! When to the glowing fields that we have tended, Comes that stern reaper, whom we shun in vain, We know, too surely, joy o’ brief season ended ; No coming summer smiles for us again I With faltering feet, faint heart, and falling tears, We watch the shadows of the coming vicars. Thus are we ever sowing—never l eaping; Yet, must i#e labor with unquailing will; Not o'er life’s blighted harvest idly weeping, But, bidding each rebellious thought be still. Walt the revealing of the truth sublime— Eternity ahull recompense our hettrUt for Time ! Tliomasville, May 24th, ISSS>. J. [Written for the Southern Field and Fireside.] Entered according to the Act of Congress, etc., dta., ley 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 VI. Hosier Mitten makes wonderful progress in two respects—Turns his talents to profit—Receives good lessons upon magnanimity and indiscrimi nate charities—Gets his pretty face disfigured — His. mother surrenders her jurisdiction over him to her brother. We left William Mitten just after liis intro duction to Mr. Cosby Smith, his fourth teacher. Smith, but recently from college, and coming in competition with Mr. Markham, of course, did not receive much patronage, though few men of his age better deserved patronage than he did. He commenced with sixteen scholars, a fourth of whom were entered by Mrs. Glib and Mrs. Mitten. William, without trouble, and with little study, went immediately to the head of this school; and he went there only to breed trouble to his teacher, and mischief, vice, and insubordination, among his school mates. Os all the pests that can be thrown in to a school, the smart boy, without a rival in it for talents, and without principle, is the greatest His talents give a charm to his vices which is irresistible to most of his young companions. School-boys make too little distinction between virtue end vice, anyhow. They never seem to think that their own character is involved in their association with the wicked; nor that they are under any obligation to discountenance sin, in any of its forms, provided it does not invade their own-rights. Hence, the vicious are admit ted to all the rights, privileges, and immunities of the little republic, as fully and freely as tho most virtuous. Look at the students of a school on the play-ground—mark their intercourse witli each otiier generally, and you will find it impossi ble to discover from their conduct which of them stands highest, or which stands lowest, in point of moral character. But you will not find much difficulty in discovering who are the master spirits among them in their studies. To these there is a marked deference and respect shown, even in their sports. For the most part, their word is law, and whether it be on the side of good or evil, it is equally authoritative. What can be worse than such law-givers, when their hearts are constantly set on mischief! For some months before William had entered this school, his applications to his mother, for money, had become alarmingly frequent; but he always quieted her alarms by representing to her that the funds desired were for some bene volent, or praiseworthy object. His represen tations brought from her many excellent lectures upon indiscriminate charities, and the danger to which his benevolent nature was exposed from impostors and worthless vagrants, who chose rather to beg than to work —to which lie generally gave substantially the same reply, namely, “ that lie was always very particular in seeing who lie gave his money to.” In this, he told the truth, at least, since he generally gave his money to one of the Glibs, whom he liad become very particular in seeing too frequently at the card-table. He had been at Smith’s school but a few months, before the fountains of his i JANES GARDNER, I I Proprietor. ( charity suddenly dried up; and, what may seem very strange to some, dried up just as he began to acquire the means of more enlarged benevolence. His growing fortune first exhibited itself in a profusion of pen-knives, which he carried about him, from the most costly and elegant down to the cheapest and most worthless kind. “ William,” said his mother, “ where do you get those elegant pen-knives?” “ This one was given to me by Mr. Jones; and this one I found; and this one was given to me by one of the school-boys.” William did not show his mother his whole assortment, by three or four. ‘‘l hope, my son, that these gifts are but just returns for the many acts of charity which yon have recently done to the poor. One never loses anything in the end by this kind of charity; but you should have excused yourself from accept ing the last, on the ground that you had two ele gant knives already; and that your young friend needed it more than you did.” “ I did tell him so; but he said I must take it, to remember him by.” “ Well, my son, put that away as a sacred keepsake, and never use it but in case of neces sity.” The next signs which William exhibited of his growing fortune, were books, fishing-poles, siliuny-sticks, bunches of quills, breast-pins, and cakes, of divers kinds. “William,” said his mother, “where did you get those articles ?” “ They were given to me, by the boys, for do ing their sums for them; and taking them over their lessons—” “Oh my sou! my son! You surely did not take pay for these little kindnesses, from your school fellows 1 lam ashamed of you—deep ly mortified. Where did you learn that grovel ing, sordid spirit? 1 would rather have given you twenty dollars, to buy all these things, than to have seen you guilty of such ignoble acts. ” “Well, Ma, I didn’t wish to take ’em; but they would make me take them.” “No matter what thoy said, you should not hove received them. As a gift you might have taken them ; but as a reward for such little fa vors as these to your young friends, you should have rejected them.” These were new lights to William; for he thought his mother would be delighted to hear of his superiority over his schoolmates, and that he was already turning his talents to good ac count. “ And where did. you get the two breast pins ?” “I sold one of my pen-knives, and bought this.” “ Not the one, I hope; that your friend gave you.” “ Oh, no ma’am; the oue I found!” “ Why, William, you surely have not sold a found knife 1 It was not your property, but the property of him who lost it; and you should have kept it, to restore it to him as soon as he could be discovered; and you should have used your best exertions to find the owner, in order that you might restore it to him. I am deeply mortified at this act of yours; and if you have any regard for my feelings, or your character, never do the like again. It alarms me, and pains me deeply, to discover such principles in you. Where did you learn them ? Not from any one who carries the blood of your father or. mother in his veins, I am sure. I fear your iutimacy with the Glibs is ruining you. Nothing but dire necessity could have induced me to put you to the same school with them; but I charge you, as I have often charged you before, to have as little to do with them as possible.” “ Whore did you get the other breast-pin ?” William was saved a great deal of trouble and mortification in answoring this question, by an exclamation of liis sister Jane, who no soon er cast her eyes upon the breast-pin, than she exclaimed: “ Why, Ma, that is Flora Glib’s breast-pin. Let me look at it William, yes, here are her initials on it: F. C. L. G.—Flora Claudia Levinia Glib. I knew it as soon as I saw it; for I have seen her wear it a hundred times.” “William!” ejaculated his mother, with man ifest alarm and indignation, “where did you get that pin ?’’ “ Jeff. Glib gave it to me!” “Go immediately to him, and return it; and tell him to give it back to his sister.” The truth of the matter is, that William had made such rapid improvement in card-playing, that he had become an over-match for tho Glibs; and he was now indoctrinating as many of his schoolmates into the mysteries of the card table as he could find willing to become his pupils; and for the reasons already given, he found nearly the whole school ready to take lessons from him. Most of his articles of mer chandize, (and we have not named all of them,) were the fruits of his industry in this depart ment of science; though, some of them were, as he said, rewards for his better services to his fellow students. It would have been bad enough, had his evil influence stopt here; but it did not. He had already become mean enough to tempt his school-fellows to sin in a hundred forms; and artful enough to put them always forward, to the post of danger, in the commission of it. The AUGUSTA, GA., SATURDAY, JULY 2, 1859. consequence was, that, while he got the booty, . they got the floggings and disgrace. The iniquities of the school were most un righteously visited upon the head of the precep tor, who, at the end of a year, was compelled to quit the village, for want of patronage. “ And what,” said Captain Thompson, u> his sister, “ are you going to do with your hopeful son, now, Anna ?” “Heaven only knows! I fear he whl bring my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. I!(other : David, why do you not talk to him?” “ Talk, the devil 1 I have talked to him, in all ways* that I can think of; and what good docs it do? He has got so, of late, that when I talk to him, I can hardly keep my hands off of him. I can see, in the looks and actions of the young rascal, that nothing but fear keeps him from laughing outright in my face.” “Oh, brother, I think you judge him too harsh- ! ly. I know he has got into bad habits; but j still, I am sure he respects and loves you.” “ And lie respects and loves you, too, don’t | he?” “ He must be a brute if he does not,” “ Well, I suppose he does love you; but I | can assure you he cares no more for your eoun- I sels than he does for mine; and that hardly a day goes over his head that he does not practice some deception upon you.” “ There, brother, I think you judge him a bale too hardly again. ITe generally does wnat I tell him.’’ “Well, tell him to quit playing cards, pilfer ing from gardens and orchards, * cussing and swearing, smoking segars, drinking spirits, fre- ; quenting kiteh .” “ Oh, mercy on me, brother David! what en- j emy of my child has filled your ears with these | calumnies ? He is bad enough, I know, but lie j is not a devil yet. 'I cannot believe lie is near I as base as you represent him to be.” “ Very well; what are you going to do with him?” “I do not know. Will you take him under ! vour charge ? for I confess I fear he is getting into bad habits.” “ Yes, I’ll take him, and clothe him and feed him at my own expense. if you will only give me your word that you wjll not interfere with j my management of him. Will you do it? If you will, I’ll perhaps save your boy from ruin and ; you from a broken heart.” “ Where would you send him to school ? To Mr. Markham ? ’ “I should prefer him; but as I know you object to him, I will engage that Bill shall not be sent to Markham. Indeed, lie must be got out of this place ; or forty bushels of salt, and as many pounds of saltpetre wouldn't save him.— I’ll send him to Mr. Waddel. He’ll fetch him straight.” “I’m told Mr. Waddel is very severe. ” “Not a whit more than he ought to be, I’ll warrant you. lam told his pupils generally like him, and improve wonderfully under him. Now; Anna, if I take him, remember the terms. You are to have nothing to do with him. You surely ought to know, that I can have no object in taking charge of himfljut his good and your peace. If, therefore, ray conduct seems unkind, or severe, to him, don’t let your matertial par tialities lead you to interfere in any manner with my authority over him. By this time, you are surely convinced of the utter futility of your mode of managing him, and that if some new course of discipline be not adopted towards him, he will bring both himself and you to an untime ly grave. You must not only make up your mind to give me unlimited control over him, 1 during his pupilage, but you must pledge me i your word, that you will show me every letter that he writes Jo you during his absence from you at school, or I will have nothing to do with him. Why do you weep, Anna ?” “ Brother,” said Mrs. M., “ it is a hard thing for a mother to wean herself from her own child —to tear him from her bosom, and hand him over as property to another. I know, my dear brother, that your intentions are good—that you have ; the interests of my child dec-ply at heart, and that all your aims are for his good and mine; i but I fear that you have so often been provoked by William, and have become so prejudiced j and embittered against him, that you cannot ; judge of his conduct impartially, you cannot make . the duo allowances for his faults, and that you t will lean as much too far on the side of severity in your government as I have leaned on the side ] of lenity in mine. Why cannot you act a fath er’s part by him, without, usurping exclusive authority over him ?” “I had a long answer to wliat you have said, Anna; but your last remark suggests a very brief one, which I think is conclusive. Now, all j I ask is that you put me exactly in his father's j place. Had bis father lived, he would have exercised absolute authority over William, in all matters touching his education. He would have demanded—or rather you would have freely grant ed to him, the perusal of all your son’s letters to I you. In all else you would have ruled the boy | conjointly. Now, give me the absolute control of ■ him in the matter of liis education, let me see ' his letters to you. and in all else you shall have unlimited control of him. I need not tell you ' why I exact these terms of you. They are in dispensable to the proper management of your son/’ - This reply brought Mrs. Mitten to a dead si lence; anil while she was pondering upon it, very opportunely for its success, in steps Mas ter William, with his beautiful face “pretty con siderably” disfigured with bruises and scratch es. “Why, William 1" exclaimed his mother, almost at the fainting point, “who upon the earth has treated you in that manner ?” “Jim Fox,” muttered William. “ What did you light about?” “We were playing, and lie got mad, and in sulted me, and I struck him.” This was strictly true, but not quite the whole truth. The playing was with cards, and the in sult was, "Bill Mitten, you're the biggest cheat that ever played a card in this town.'' Captain Thompson said nothing, peradventure, he might, at this critical period, strengthen his sister's convictions that he was undidy prejudic ed and embittered against her son. With the promise to call the next day for her decision upon his proposition, ho left rather abruptly. As soon as he retired, Mrs. M. addressed her son as follows: “William, I’ll have to send you afvay from this village, or wicked associates will be the ruin of you. I find that it is vain to counsel you against keeping bad company, and the only* alternative left mo is to remove you from it. I have concluded, therefore, to send you to school to Mr. Waddcl, an excellent ” “i’ll not go,” said Billy', crustily. This was Bill's first indication, when sober, of open revolt against the authority of hi* mother, and she met it with becoming spirit. “Well, sir,” said she. “I see you are getting too stout for my government, and, therefore. I will turn you over to your uncle, and see whether he cannot make you go. Now, sir, my word is out, and you know I’ll keep it” “Ma,” said William, in a subdued tone, “I'll go any where else but to Mr. Waddol's school.”— Every body says that he is the severest man that ever kept a schooh He whips boys just for the fun of it, for he laughs all the time he's doing it. You know Uncle David hates me. and he’ll put me there just to have me whipped.” “No, William, it is unreasonable to suppose that any man can take pleasure in punishing his pupils. Mr. Waddel's school has a high reputa tion, which it could not have if he were the man you take him to be. Your uncle does not hate you; but the town keeps him constantly excited with reports of your misdeeds, and, therefore, he sometimes seems cross to you; but he has a kind heart, and desires nothing more than my happiness and your good. Oh I that I had fol lowed his advice sooner!” “Well, Uncle may take me to Mr. Waddel's, but he’ll not keep me there; for I'll run away and come home as soon as his back’s turned.” • “That matter, sir, I'll leave to be settled be tween you and him.” Here William saddened and wept; and his mother did likewise. The next day the articles proposed were agreed to. without qualification, save as to expenses of clothing and tuition, which were to fall on the mother. [to be continued.] — Brokers’ Technicalities. —Tlrompson’s Bank Note Reporter thus defines some of the phrases used in stock circles, and by newspapers : A bull is one who buys stocks on speculation, thinking they will rise, so that he can sell at a profit. It is to his interest to have stocks rise, and he will resprt to every means to bring about the desired residt. A bear is one who sells stocks on speculation, thinking they will fall, so that he can buy in for less money to fill his contracts. It is to his interest to break down the market, and he will resort to the most desperate means to accom plish his object. A corner is when the bears cannot buy, or borrow the stock to deliver fulfillment of their contracts. A deposite is earnest money, lodged in the hands of a third party as a guaranty; "5 up,” “10 up,’’ etc., is the language expressive of a deposite. Overloaded is when the bulls cannot take, and pay for the stocks they have purchased. Short is when a person or party sells stocks, when they have none, and expect to buy or or borrow them in time to deliver. Long is when a person or party has a plenti ful supply of stock. A flyer is to buy some stock with a view to selling it in a few days, and either make or lose, as luck will have it. A wash is a pretended sale, by special agree ment between the seller and buyer, for the pur pose of getting a quotation reported. Gold ix Alabama. —There is g r f at excite ment in Taladega, Ala., upon tlx- subject of gold discoveries in the neighborhood- It is said that very rich specimens have been taken from a mine on the place of Mrs M. W. Biddle, and that the impression prevails of other mines in the vicinity. v ( Two Dollar* Per Annnm, I. | Aiwa)’* In Advance. ) [Written for the Southern Field and Fireside.] TOIL AND VICTORY. * UY MISS AXXIE It. BLOUXT. CHAPTER VI. Led by simplicity divine, She pleased, and never tried to shine, . Hannah Mors. “And Fashion non- hath smoothed the fold Os that luxuriant hair, Where once the tress of flossy fold Waved wild I y outlie air.’’ Mrs. Vinton, accompanied by her pets, Nettie and Theresa, was spending the summer months at Springs. Remenilier, reader, that several years have passed away since we last beheld them, and, consequently, our school girls have ripened into young ladies. Neither have as yet made their entrance into society at home, as such, but being at a fashionable water ing place they are allowed by Mrs. Vinton to re ceive tlie attentions of gentlemen. Nettie ia a be witching little fairy yet, and not one whit more sober than when she upset Aunt Vinton’s chairs, and fought Theresa’s battles. She still puts up her hair in the “same wild way” and decks it with fern leaves; and she still rofnps and says a hundred queer things; for she “Will be evermore a child; Is all laughter and vagery, Has the spirit of a fairy. Are you grave T the gtpsey sly Turiis on you, with her merry eye, And you faugh, despite your win. Smile on. rompi on, laughter-loving Nettie— may you nevey liat|p cause for tears 1 Theresa lias the samo quiet, lovely face; and lier brown eye* still have a trick of hiding themselves under the ample veil which nature lias provided for them—soft silken lashos. Her wee rose-bud mouth wears a placid, contented smile, and the lips part often, not to display her pearly teeth, but at some sally of Nettie's. Mrs. Vinton is very proud of her girls; but the prim, quaker-liko old lady seems to prefer Theresa, who is after her own heart! She feels herself blessed in having such a daughter, so gentle uud lovely; and has never regretted the hour when she opened her doors to the home less wanderer, and became to the worse than motherless child a mother. The two girls sat at an open window; on a sofa near them reclined Mrs. Vinton, reading the » book which she preferred above all others—her time-worn Bible. Nettie leans her head on Theresa’s shoulder, and their hands are clasped; both wear blue merino wrappers, faced with yellow silk. Nettie plays with the tassel of her’s. and says: “Well, Theresa, we are having a jolly nice time, eh ? how much better than to be poring over stupid books, and getting black marks for misdemeanor. Heigho I I would not be a school girl again for a kingdom.” _ “Thee shouldn't say jolly, now thee art a young lady," interposes Mrs. Vinton, relapsing uncon sciously into the thee and thou of her early days. “And thee shouldn’t say thee, auntie,” laugh Nettie. “I thought thee had learned to talk like other people.” Mrs. Vinton shook her head. “Ah, Nettie, dear, you are a sad tease.” “ How do you like Mortimer De Vere, The resa ? He strikes me as ” “He strikes thee, dear ? that is very unbecom ing and undignified in the gentleman.” “Now', you are a sad tease, auntie. I was go ing to say he strikes me as being the handsom est gentleman here. Such a distingue air (as mama would say), and then his moustache, and his brilliant black eyes, oh I aint they murder ous l I think he has an eye for our still-mouth here: he pulls that moustache furiously when talking to her. - ’ . “Indeed, I had not noticed it,” laughed There sa, with a little blush. “Aye, but he does,” said Nettie, heaving at the same time, an unconscious sigh. Nettie was very susceptible ; persons of her temperament usually are. “Yes, he does, I wonder it did not attract your attention —I am sure it did mine at once. - ’ “Perhaps because you are interested, yourself, smiled Mrs. Vinton, who could not help listen ing. “Now, auntie, you have made a wonderful dis covery. Columbus should have had you for a compagnon de voyage ; he wouldn t have been sailing on tbc waters so long. To punish you for that remark, I shall wear your cap and spec tacles to supper, and there is the bell now.” ‘■Xettie! Nettie 1” pleaded her aunt and The resa , but Nettie donned them, and made quite a /mndsome little grandmother. “Shocking!” said Miss Brown, looking up from her cup of tea, as Nettie entered the room as de murely as a matron of eighty. “ Positively shock ing 1” “Such a defiance of public opinion !” echoed Miss Smith. “Only a last resort to attract attention, and W'in notoriety. Gentlemen, you know, affect od-. dities,” murmured Mrs. Jones, arranging her sa- , hies. “Who is she ?” queried her neighbor. “A sick southern girl, just from school—a per fect hoyden.” NO. 6.