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Southern Field and Fireside.
VOL. 1.
[Written for the Southern Field and Fireside.]
RAIN JEWELS.
Hear that blessed shower come down,
' \ 1
On the gasping, dusty town,
On the baked and thirsty ground,
On the parching fields around ;
The very trees—the very sky—
Had a suffering look and dry.
But now refreshed, and showing bright,
All are bathed In yellow light
While the grass, so latety brown,
Seems a velvet turf laid down.
Each golden sheaf, so shrivelled late,
Is pendent with the sweet rain's weigh*
Every little flower holds up.
Filled with dew, its tiny cup,
Where the lady-bird may sip
Nectar fit for Goddess' lip;
E'en the little goslings there
Bathe them in the rain-pools clear,
Every bird pours forth its lay,
“All living things rejoice to day.”
As the setting sun goes down,
* , The mountain wears a golden crown,
And Jewels ! jewels 1 run and see,
Large and glorious ones they be.
Each blade of grass can boast its gem.
Each flower its sparkling diadem;
Butter-cups and daisies fair,
Change as if by magic rare.
Every weed that meets the light,
Is all bedecked with jewels bright.
Bending low, the laden trees
Scarce look up to meet the breeze,
Which scatters, as ft rashes through,
j A shower of brilliants rare ar.4 new.
Diamonds, rubles, emeralds tjffOen.
Topaz with its golden sheen,
Amethyst of violet hue,
Sapphire with its eye of bine.
There ne’er before has been, I ween,
Such a shower of glory seen.
Oh God! for all Thou giv'st to man
To cheer and gladden his short span,
For earthly comforts, earthly bliss.
All mercies undeserved, for this,
Which, in the fullness of Thy love,
Thou pourest on us from above:
Grant ns. Thy servants, more and more,
Thy grace and mercy to adore.
, And for thy common gifts, may we
Poiif forth our grateful hearts to Thee.
| [ T.
[Written for the Southern Field and Fireside.]
JCntered according to the Act of Congress, etc., 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 XVI.
Mrs. Mitten hazier than ever—Captain Thomp
son and his wife as happy as his'Sister—The
destiny of the Glib Family.
Tlie cup of Mrs. Mitten’s happiness was not
jet full. In less than a month after Captain
Thompson’s return from Willington, he embra
ced religion aud joined the Methodist Church;
and in the course of a week his wife followed
his example. The story which he told at the
first Love Feast which ho attended after his con
version, is worthy of being recorded :
“I have had,” said he “for many years before
me, a most beautiful example of the Christian
character in my dear sister. I never could see
but one fault in her, and that was ‘a fault which
leaned to virtue’s sidetoo much indulgence of
her son. She embraced religion early in life;
and often when I have seen her at her devotions,
my conscience has smitten me sorely. But I al
, ways managed to silence its reproofs, for a time
at least. Oh, how eloquent is the godly life of
a sister! Whether she was my sister, that the
inward monitor would not forsake me, although
repelled a thousand times, or because I have had
fur many years a secret leaning towards religion
which prolonged his visits, or some unknown
cause, 1 cannot tell; but a month never rolled
over our heads, that I did not observe in her
the gleaming or broad out-shining of some heav
enly virtuo which came “like lightning to my
soul.”
“As some of you know, about a month ag
my sister dispatched a servant with some com
forts for her boy at school in South Carolina.—
Knowing that I would bitterly oppose the meas
ure, she kept it secret from me. I found it out
however, and posted off after the servant in a
groat rage. The blunders of the negro increas
»l my rage. I stopped at a house to enquire for
him. A plain illiterate man came out and in
formed me that he had left the plain large road
and gone off on a by-way. In my wrath I cur
sed outright, and on the trip, I repeated the sin
oftener I believe than I had in the whole course
of my life before. As I turned to leave the good
hearted man, ‘Stranger,’ said he to me, ‘have you
j JATIKS GARDNER, I
I Proprietor. )
AUGUSTA. GA., SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 1859.
ever reflected upon the sin of profane swearing?’’
I was in no frame of mind for reflecting upon
any thing, and in the worst possible, for receiv
ing religious lectures; but a flash of respect for
the good man came over me which kept me
from insulting him, and I replied, that I was not
in the habit of profane swearing.’
“My pursuit ended and object gained, I now
set my face homeward, and on the way had
nothing to do but to reflect. My mind had hard
ly resumed its accustomed tone, when the ques
tion of my road-side friend, in the rude accents in
which he t ut it (for I have not given it in his own
terms) forced itself upon memory. Associated
as it was, with the ignorance’ the artlessness and
innocence of the propounder, I smiled, and en
deavored to divert my thoughts; but the ques
tion would control them, so I let it have its
way: ‘Have you ever reflected upon the sin of
profane swearing!’ No, honest untutored yeo
man, I never have! What a sin it is ! Every
other sin has something to plead in its behalf.—
The gamester, the cheat, the swindler, the thief,
the robber, the pirate, sin in the hope of gain.—
The assassin for the gratification of revenge—
the drunkard to appease a raging thirst—tho
prodigal, for many gratifications. But thou, oh,
profane swearer! what have you to plead
in the extenuation of thy offence ? It
is purely gratuitous. In one single short inpre
cation, you embody sins enough to damn a
world. You insult the Almighty, you trifle
with his Holy Name, you violate the law
of reverence, the law of love, the law
of humanity, the law of peace 1 You set
God’s power at defiance and invoke God’s pow
er to crash your neighbor and your brother !
And all for what ? What momentary gain do
you derive or promise yourself from your sin of
sins ? Often, most commonly you have not even
the flimsev plea of passion to glore over your
crime. You mingle it in your sports, your rev
els, your banquets, and horrify it with a laugh!’
“You will not wonder, brethren, that I be
came alarmed, and resolved never to swear
another oath while I lived. This was as far as
I went at the time ; but it was not as far as I
felt, by a long, long, way. Thenceforward my
sins were more constantly and vividly before me,
than ever, until I sought the pardon of them, in
God’s own way, and as I believe found it—l am
strongly tempted to say, ‘ I knrno I found it.’ ”
In religion, the captain was as he had been in
every thing else that he undertook: open, ac
tive, liberal, ardent, zealous, laborious, untiring.
What some Christians call a cross, such as hold
ing family prayer, particularly before strangers
of rank, praying in public, and speaking in pub
lic on proper occasions, was to him no cross at
all; and we advise those Christians who cannot
perform these offices, and there are such) not to
dignify them with the name of crosses.
Captain Thompson and his wife led off a great
revival in the village, upon which Mrs. Glib
took occasion to deliver her theology very freely.
“Well, well, well!”. said she to Mrs. Lark,
“this is what you call getting religion, is it?
Sinning all your life, and then kneeling down
there two or three days and then jumping up
a Christian 1”
“But, Mrs. Glib,” said Mrs. Lark, “you don’t
remember what they say. They say that under
Peter’s preaching three thousand were convert
ed and joined the church in one day.”
“Well, is old Howell Peter? or is old Sher
man Paul?”
“No, but they say that they preach the same
gospel that Peter and Paul did ”
“Oh yes, they say, they say, and they’ll say
anything to get up an excitement, and to scare
people. Now I love religion real, genuine re
ligion—that kind of religion which a person
goes to work calmly, soberly, and deliberately
to get—when I get religion, this is the sort I
mean to get; but this wild-fire sort of religion I
don’t believe in at all.”
“But they say you don’t get it when and as
you want it.”
“They do! I should like to know how they
know what I can do, and what I can’t. Now
mind what I tell you, nine out of ten of these
flashy converts will back-slide before the year’s
out—you mark it! You remember we had just
such a fuss as this five years ago, and old Groat
and John Dunn and Sally Nix. and Polly Pines
all got religion, and were mighty happv; and
where are they now!
“But Mrs. Glib, you must do them the justice
to say that a great many more of them than
that, held on their to religion.”
“Yes, such holding on as it was. Holding on
like Sam Strap; who is mighty sanctified all day
Sunday, and slandering people’s children all the
week—saying that genteel people’s children
are little better than a den of thieves. That’s
what you call holding on, is it? That’s what
you call religion, is it? And there’s old Turner
prosecuting little boys for a little harmless sport
—and he a preacher at that! Don’t tell me
anything about any such religion as that. You’d
kill yourself laughing if you could see my Flora
Claudia Lavinia take them off: Now you know
Mrs. Lark, that I don’t allow my childen to
make game of religious people of any sort
But some nights w r hen we come home from
these night meetings, she begins ’ before I
hare time to stop her, and when she begins
I get in such a laughing fit, I can't stop
her. She takes off old Ilowell to perfection
—his very voice, action, and words—then old
‘brother’ Mcßoon's praying—the very twang.
And old ‘sister’ Mcßea, creeping about among
the mourners. And ‘brother’ Wilson's sing
ing! It seems to me sometimes she will kill
me. I always reprove her for it. I said to her
last night, Flora, you naughty girl, you really
must quit this, if you don’t, I shall get right an
gry with you—they mean well, poor things, and
you must not make fuu of them.”
Nine weeks after this conversation, Mrs. Glib
was brought to death's door with the bilious fe
ver ; the first man that she sent for to pray for
her was Captain Thompson; the second wau
“brother” Mcßoon. The first woman she asked
to pray for her, was Mrs. Mitten, and the second
was “sister” Mcßea—charging every one of
them, while they prayed for her, to pray for her
children, also, - and for Flora in particular. She
professed conversion in two days from the date
of the first prayer that was put up in her behalf,
and died. Flora never professed conversion.
She married, in three weeks after her mother's
death, a worthless, silly fellow, nahied Curt, who
administered upon Mrs. Glib's estate because
no one else would, took the guardianship of the
boys, because no one else would, hired a man
of some property and no principle, named Carp,
to go upon his bonds, sold out all the property
of the estate, except the negroes, ns soon as he
could, and moved off with his security and the
whole tribe, white and black, to the frontier of
Alabama, to the great relief and greater delight
of every body. Nine years afterwards, the
younger came back to the village to
' learn something about the estate. To the amaze
ment of all who knew tiie family, he was a de
cent, pious, but ignorant man. His story was
that Curt and Carp settled near each other in
Alabama. That in a very few years after they
got out there, Carp had got from Curt every ne
gro that belonged to the estate, and then moved
still farther West. That the elder Glib got into
a difficulty with a gambler, who shot him. Os
his sister, he could be got to say no more than
that he did not know where she was. That his
other brother was thrown from a horse in a
quarter race and killed. That he himself, seeing
nothing but poverty and ruin and disgrace all
around him, had sought and obtained religion.—
That as soon as he did so, a good Baptist man
of considerable wealth took him by the hdhd,
gave him employment on his farm, telling him
that if he would do well, he would give* him
good wages till he came of age, and then give
him a little start in the world. That his friend
had been as good ns his word, and that he had
now enough to live on comfortably, though he
was not rich. The records showed of what the
estate consisted. He took copies, went to the
old family mansion, sauntered round it for a
time, wept, and left the village forever.
Having gone thus far with the Glib family, we
had as well dispose of it finally—it is replete
with moral lessons. Carp had played his cards
adroitly to avoid responsibility. He knew the
character of the boys, and judged that none of
them would live long enough to call him to ac
count He knew, too, it would be an easy mat
ter to wheedle Curt out of all that he was worth
individually or representatively, and conjectured
that as soon as poverty began to stare her in the
face, Mrs. Curt would be setting lawyers upon
his trail. He therefore, from the day that they
left Georgia, became exceedingly kind and ex
ceedingly attentive to her ladyship. He would
often speak to her playfully of her husband’s inef
ficiency and bad management—declare that
but for her, nothing could have induced him to be
come his security; “but I saw,” said he, “every
body hanging off, nobody seemed to care any
thing for you, or your poor orphan brothers; and
I said to myself, well, as for the boys, they
will soon be big enough to shirk for themselves
—they can rough it; but what is to become of
Mrs. Curt ? I can’t see her suffer, and I’ll be
her friend if it costs me every dollar I have
in the world.”
He used a thousand seductive arts to entoil,
and he succeeded. He loaned money liberally
to Curt, often advising him in the presence of his
wife not to take it. “Mr. Curt,” he would say,
“two per cent a month will ruin you. I can get
that from other people, and therefore I don’t like
to loan for less, and I will not lend it to you
unless Mrs. Curt says so.”
“How much,” said Mrs. Curt, “is two per cent f’
“Twodollars on every hundred dollars,” said
Carp.
“Two dollars on every hundred dollars! why
that is very little indeed! I’d borrow all the
money in Alabama at that price, if I could get
it”
“Yes, Mrs. Curt, but you will not like to see your
negroes under mortgage to secure the debt.”
“ Mortgage ! What’s that ?”
“It’s a pledge of a negro to secure the debt.”
“Oh, that’s nothing—surely Mr. Curt can pay
the little sums that he borrows with only two
per cent, on them.”
The “little sums” ran up so fast that in a few
years every negro that Curt had in his hands
was under mortgage. Not all for money loaned,
but for corn, fodder, pork, bacon, and other
tilings sold ; and for large balances in horse
swaps, carpenters’ bills paid, and large outlays
for Curt, in erecting a mill; for Mr. Curt, hav
ing a fine mill-seat on his lartd, said it would
never do to let such a fine water-power be lost;
so ho commenced building a large mill when as
yet there was no body in the neighborhood to
patronize it, and when his brain was about as
well suited to manage a mill, as a claw-hammer
is to maul rails with.
About the time that the last mortgage ripened
to maturity, Mr. Carp concluded to go “and take
a view, as he said, of the Louisiana country.”
He went, and came back so delighted with it,
that he must needs move there forthwith. But
he could not go until he collected his Alabama
debts. Curt and he came to a settlement, when
it was found that Curt owed him more by three
hundred dollars than the negroes were worth by
Curt’s own valuation ; he agreed, however, as
Curt was a particular friend, to take the negroes
at Curt’s estimate, and give him a receipt in
full. Curt felt very grateful for the kindness,
and promptly signed a bill of sale of the ne
groes, drawn up by Carp himself, in which he
took every precaution to guard against “after
claps' as he called them, and which, in aftertimes
gave a western lawyer very great annoyance.
Here it is :
“Whereas on settlement this day made between
myself and John Carp, it appears that I am in
his debt for monies advanced to me on my own
account, and also as administrator of Mrs. Bri
gita Glib, and also ns guardian of the children
of said Mrs. Glib, to the amount of ten thou
sand dollars; and whereas, I did execute a
mortgage to said John of the within fourteen
negroes to secure the said debt, said negroes
not being worth by three hundred dollars ns
much as said debt, at my own valuation, which
mortgage is given up on my signing this bill of
sale, and whereas said John did become my se
curity as administrator, and guardian aforesaid,
and I being willing to make him safe from any loss
or losses for becoming my security as aforesaid,
do make this bill of sale for that purpose also, for
all these considerations I do sell and convey to
the said John the following negroes namely
(naming them, their sizes, sexes, and ages.) “And
I warrant them to said John against all claim
by me or any body claiming the same as heir of
Mrs. Glib or any other person whatsoever, 4c.,
4c.”
This remarkable bill of sale Mr. Carp required
should be signed by Mrs. Curt as well as her
husband, and that Curt should sign it “for him
self and as administrator and guardian.” Curt
expressed his readiness to comply with all these
requisitions but the first. As to this he
“he doubted whether his wife could be I( j ucc ,i
to sign it.” “Well,” said Carp, “ -s[t liei . ( nnd ls
she refuses, all well, it w iU mid(C no difference."
Curt went to ter with downcast looks and
told her all the circumstances. To his astonish
ment she expressed her perfect readiness to sign
it. “Sign it?” said she, “yes, that I will. Mr.
Carp has been so kind to us that I can refuse
him nothing.” The bill of sale was executed to
Mr. Carp’s wishes. “And now, friend Curt,” said
Carp, “what are you going to do with no help
here ? You'd better bundle up and go with me
to Louisiana. I’ll befriend you to my last dol
lar.”
“What am I to do with my mill and my little
household plunder and farm ?”
“True,” said Carp, pondering—‘“you can’t well
leave them—oh, I’ll tell you how to manage it.
Advertise them for sale two months hence. I’ll
take your wife and child on, and fix her up by
the time you get there. When you’ve sold out
all but your best horse, mount him and come on.
Sell for cash, for it will be inconvenient for you
to come back to collect money. Pity when I
was selling ray land to Watson I did not think to
put yours in the trade too. May be you can sell
it to him yet. By this plan you can come on
with no trouble or expense hardly.”
Curt said he liked the plan mightily, but
doubted whether his wife would agree to it It
was submitted to her, and she assented to it
readily; only charging her husband to come on
as soon as possible. In four days after this in
terview, Carp and all his negroes were ready to
take the road. He had provided a nice little
Jersey for Mrs. Curt and her child, and for fear
of accidents, he promised to drive it himself all
the way to Louisiana. Just as the caravan
was about setting out, “Stop,” said Curt, “where
shall I find you in Louisiana?”
“Sure enough 1” exclaimed Carp, “Now did'nt
we like to make a pretty business of it! you will
find us in Chuckiluekimaw Parish, on the Sabine
river. Here, I'll give you the name on a piece
of paper —Tonnafoosky is the town where the
Post office is. If you write before you hear
from us, direct your letter to Tonnafoosky Post
office, Chuckiluekimaw Parish, Louisiana. There,
it is all written out so you can't miss it.” So
saying, the whole caravan moved forward, leav
ing poor Curt in loneliness, wifeless, childless,
helpless, and in money penniless. Carp settled
on Buffalo creek, Wilkinson county, Mississippi,
where he and Mrs. Curt lived as man and wife
for many years. Several children were the fruit <
of this union. Mrs. Curt had been dead about
I Two Dollar* Per Annum, I
1 Always In Advance. |
tlirej montlis when Glib traced Carp to his hid
ing place. Her death was awful. When the j
Doctor told her that she could not possibly live
more than twenty-four hours, she raised a scream
that was terrific. “Doctor,’’ cried she, “I am
ruined, I’m lost. Lost, lost, lost forever I” A
minister was sent for and came. “You need’nt
talk to me, sir—you need'nt pray for me, sir—l
thank you—but if you knew—oh what shall I
do!
“If I knew what, ma’am ? Is it too bad to be
told ”
“It might be told, but telling it will $o no good
and much harm—lt isn’t passed, it's now —yes, it
has been for years, it’s now, it’s all the time.”
“Can’t you tell it to your husband, or some of
us?” said one of the several ladies at her bod
side.
“He knows it—he knows all about it No, my
husband does'nt know it—lie’s innocent, poor
man—yes, he knows part of it, but not all of it—
not half of it, not a quarter of it, not a thou
sandth part of it—was’nt it a shame to treat
him so? (another scream.) “Her mind’s gone,” j
said one. “No, it isn’t! I know all that lam
saying—l know you, I know everybody here.
It isn’t anything passed, I tell you. It’s now, I’m
dying in it, and what good can praying do? It’s
too late to get out of it. If I were to get well I /
couldn’t get out of it. My children scare me,
my husband scares me, the negroes scare me,
my thoughts scare me, everything—send for
Mr. Carp here, and you all go out of the room.
Go clean away, Wnd all the children away,
and all the servauls, and I'll tell him all about
it.”
It was done and Carp entered the room.
“Mr. Carp, see what you've brought me to! I
never would have thought of it, if it bad’nt been
for you- .j
“Haven’t 1 treated you well, Flora ?” “Yes,
better than I deserved; but what does it all
amount to? You've brought me to everlasting
ruin. It was bad enough in me to leave my
poor husband; but to leave him as we did—with
nothing to live on—to fill his ears with lies—to
make fun of him—to send him all over the
country lumting for us!
“Oh, Flora, don’t take on sol Try and com
pose yourself. Everything depends upon it.
Think of your children ! The thing’s past, and
gone now, and fretting over it can’t mend it ”
“Our children! Our children! Look *^ eTe )
Look there! Mr. Carp! Mr. ar p] Jt r .
Carp” Another scream— -nd mind
was gone. She lay for a few m ; mites in a stupor,
during which tho om p aD y were called back.
Then she b*j n a j ow ca i m tone of voice:
Ma! Ma, did you tell them ?
rou’ra scared-— ‘ Pray for Flora!’ You
laughed No No yes, both In the
Pulpit——Mrs. Mcßca (a wild laugh!) Mr.
Wilson! (another) There, its bed time All
dead but me I Ben’s alive we’ll all meet in
heaven He was so stupid Sabine 1" An
other convulsive laugh—and she died.
Carp was asked repeatedly what it was that
distressed his wife so much in her last moments.
He said she had told him all about it, but tliat
it was nothing of any consequence—she was
out of her head.
Benjamin Glib soon explained the mystery.
After satisfying himself fully that Carp was in
Wilkinson, he went to a lawyer in Natchez, and
unfolded the whole history of his case from the
death of his mother to Carp’s elopement with
his sister. Mr. Stark, his Attorney, advised him
to remain in Natchez until he (Stark) could go
to Wilkinson, and ascertain all the particulars of
Carp’s history from his settlement in Mississippi
to the time present. Two days were amply
sufficient to assure him that Glib’s story was
true in every particular. He immediately took
the preliminary steps necessary to the institu
tion of suits against Carp, in behalf of both Glib
and Curt’s daughter Sarah, now going under the
name of Sally Carp. The child’s interests could
not be secured without letters of guardianship;
and Stark assisted in procuring them. He did
not allow Glib to apply for them until he had
fortified himself with proofs impregnable, to sus
tain his application. As soon as it was made,
all Woodville was thrown in a ferment Carp’s
infamy was exposed, and the horrid death of his
putative wife disposed every body to believe it
Sarah caused some difficulty at first, but as it
was much more agreeable to her to pass for a
legitimate than an illegitimate child, it was easily
removed. The suits were instituted and recove
ries had which swept away nearly the whole of
Carp’s estate. But we must not suppress the his
tory of the bill of sale.
As soon as he was served with process, Carp ,
went te Mr. Smith, a great Attorney of Wood
ville, to engage his services. “Well,” says Smith i
“let us take up one case at a time; what have
yon to say to Glib’s case?”
“Lord bless your soul, squire,” said Carp, “I’ve )
got ’em tied so fast that they can’t kick. Turn
which way they will, they’re headed.”
“Well Carp, I'm glad to hear you say that, old
fellow, for public prejudice is very strong against j
you.”
“Just look at that bill of sale, squire, and tell >
me how they’re to get out of that, will you ?” 1
Smith read it, and while reading it, his coun-
NO. 15.