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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.