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- - 1 1 VOL. l v [For the Southern Field and Fireside.] NIGHT AND LIFE BY J. WOOD DAVIDSON. I saw in dreams the shadow of the earth Cling to her like a reeling spire. I saw It point to all the starry spaces in Their turn—a cone within whose concave base Earth rolls eternally. That shade is night To all earth-walking men. From earth I saw The same. And here, of all things earth-seen else, ’Tis likest life. Its stars come one by one, Like thoughts in youth. The moon at various hours Arises o'er the night, a star of stars— The thought of thoughts — the light of Love— to shine ■Within our life with ever-varying phase. Such, lunar light, and such the light of Love. It glorifies—imparadises all • The dark and sunless surface of tjie world; And when It sets, that night can see it rise On it no more. Can Love that sets upon The night of life arise arise again ? When lights Os life—its stars, its moon—have set, or paled In dawn, life looks for Sun, in spirit world, To rise in splendor brighter than all life— The Sun of Love—the Light of Truth—in God's Eternal day. To such a morrow's sun. The starry night, with all its moonless gloom. May look with all the certainty of death. In night—in life—we wander, guided most But darkly, by the dim thought-light of stars, And dimly see each brother's face; and oft Mistake a demon or a phantom, for A brother's self. Our means of guidance too, Is oft a brother’s distant voice, and that Too often is a cry of agony— - - A brother, nay, perchance a sister lost! The night is darker towards the coming day, They say, just as the second childhood deepens Ere the dawn of death-land's brighter day. I watched the night—the shadow of the earth— Thus in my dreams. ’Twns ever from the sun And ever shifting, sweeping on through spaco In dizzying whirl; its dawn —the shores of life— Forever changing to each soul that lives. Its cause was light—the Sun ;so light finds cause In Light—creating Light In God. When night Be done, the world has ceased to be ; for Sun And world make night; as Gotland man, man's life. Or else, the sun may cease, and then will—night; So, else, must God be not, or man, that life, Like sunless night, forever be no more. And night conceals the earthy earth, but then Beveals the heavenly heavens above, that day Denies us sight of. Thus, as night is proof Os sun to cast it, which because of night We cannot see, even thus, is life the proof Os God—a living light beyond our view, Which is to rise like morrow's sun upon Our dawning souls and make our spirit day. I love tho night, and love tho life alike. They both in common darkness tell my soul Os light—and both assure my soul of life Beyond. And life and night have mystery. Columbia, 8. C. — [For the Southern Field and Fireside.] Entered according to the Act of Congress, 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. “But hear me, hear mel” continued Bill, “ Let me explain! You see, Uncle disliked my bringing my horse, very much ; and after giving him all the reasons I could think of to let me bring him, I told him I would like some times to go with Mr. Waddel to Rocky River Church I When I said that, I saw something in Uncle’s looks, which made me believe he thought I was telling a lie ” “And who the devil is your Uncle?” said Jones. “Do you belong to your Uncle ?” “Jones, you mustn’t say anything against my Uncle —lie’s one of the best men in the world, and ” “Oh, go on Bill; I did’nt mean to say any thing against your Uncle.” “ Well, as I was saying, I want to go with Doctor Waddel one time, and if I can go before I write my first letter and tell’em of it when I write, it will convince Uncle I told the truth, please Mother, and make them very willing for me to keep my horse till Christmas. But if I don’t, my Uncle, who watches everything like a hawk, will have a boy here after my horse as soon as the weather turns cool.” “ Oh, well,” said Jones, “ that’s not so bad; but take care of old Mose, by the way, or he’ll havo you back to Newby’s Monday morning, to a certainty.” “ But,” said Smith, “ suppose old Wad. does not preach at Rocky River, what will you do with your horse Saturday and Sunday ?" “ I shall ride him to Vienna, toenail a letter—" “ That’ll do; when you get to Vienna, go over to Petersburg, and buy a pack of cards." j JANIES GARDNER, I 1 Proprietor. | “But my orders are not to ride my horse further than Vienna, except to preaching.” “ Well,” said Smith, “you needn't ride over to Petersburg, you can go there afoot.” “ That's it,” said Bill, snapping his fingers joyously. The evening passed off with but little study. William’s class usually recited to one of the Assistants, but the next morning, it was called before Doctor Waddel. The Doctor arranged the order of recitation, so as to throw the last part of the lesson to William. He had not been over it, and he bungled shamefully. “Why, William,” said the Doctor, “what's the matter with you ? I never knew you to receite so poor a lesson. I'm afraid you don’t study at your new boarding house, as well as you did at your old one.” William was excessively mortified and his classmates no less surprised. After the class retired, William enquired of Doctor Waddel, whether lie preached at Rocky River, the next Sabbath. “No, myson,” said the Doctor, “but I preach there, the Sabbath after. Why do you ask? do you think of accompanying me ?’’ “Yes. Sir.’ 1 “I am very glad to hear that. Now you are going to made a good use of your horse. If you never make a worse use of him, you will do well.” Saturday came, and William, at an early hour after breakfast, was off to Vienna to mail a let ter. As the letter was written only to be mailed, it of course was not written in his usual diffuse, florid style; but wliat it lost in beauty, grace and polish, it gained in conciseness, nerve and point. Here it is: Will’n, Sep. 7. “Dear Mother:—l just write for fear you will feel uneasy if you get no letter from me by this mail. Tom can tell you all about me. Delight ed with my boarding house—Fare much better thansNew’s —Health good—Told Mr. Wad’l I wished to go to preach’g with him, if he went to day, but he don’t go till next Sat’y—Best love to all. In haste your af’te son, Wsi. M.” After mailing his letter, he went over to Pe tersburg and bought a pack of cards, a tickler of peach brandy, and a plug Os tobacco. “My son,” said the merchant as he handed him the articles, “ these are ugly things forsuch a youth as you are to buy.” “ Oh, I don’t buy any of them for myself, 1 buy them for Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones, who live about nine miles from here.” The merchant knew William at sight as the youth who had distinguished himself so much at the exhibition, and he naturally felt pained to see a boy of his talents engaged in such a dan gerous traffic. Hence his remark, which pro duced from William one lie and two truths, in consolidated form. He bought the cards for himself, the brandy for Smith, and the tobacco for Jones. He returned immediately to his residence, and spent the afternoon and till twelve at night, playing cards and drinking peach brandy. The next day he was sick. On Monday he went to school, was called again to recite to Doctor Waddel, and knew nothing of his lesson. It was rarely the case that the Doctor called one of the lower classes to recite to him two mor nings in succession. “What,” said he to William, “ with all Satur day, and all Monday morning to get your lesson in, come up here and know nothing about it, sir! You don’t study, sir!” The Doctor enquired of Mr. Dobbins how Smith and Jones recited that morning. “ They didn’t recite at all,” responded Dobbins. “Smith said he had been sick from Friday evening till Monday morning, and Jones cam 6 up with his jaw tied up in a handkerchief, and took on as if he was raving distracted with the tooth-ache. He disturbed the class so that I excused him from attending recitation.” Tuesday they all appeared at school, as well prepared for recitation as usual, but the Doctor lieard none of them. On Wednesday they were not noticed until after prayer in the evening. This service over, he hauled a tickler out of his pocket, and said; “ William Mitten, come forward!” William just had strength to step forward, and that was all. “ Do you know this tickler, sir ?’’ “Ye-e-s, sir.” “ Whose is it?” “ It’s Smith’s, sir.” “You took it to Petersburg last Saturday, didn’t you, sir; and got it filled with peach brandy?” “Yes, sir.” “ Who did you get it for ?” “Smith, sir.” “Whose pack of cards is this?” asked the Doctor, drawing a pack of cards from his pocket. Bill did not require an inspection of it, to give the answer: “ It’s mine, sir.” “ You and Jones and Smith sat up late on Sat urday night, playing cards and drinking peach brandy, didn’t you ?” »We—j—Jo—l did, sir.” AUGUSTA, GA., SATURDAY, OCTOBER 1, 1859. Wm. M.” “ You did, sir. Did rou play cards by your self till late at night ?■ -and drink all Smith’s brandy yourself?” “No sir; they draul some.” “ And did they sit >y and help you drink, while you played cards by yourself?” “ No, sir; they plays! too some.” “ Perhaps you may t link that I got my infor mation of your dealing at Petersburg, from the merchant who sold yoi the cards, brandy, and a plug of tobacco. Iha e not seen him, and no man in Petersburg c ■ Vienna told me a syl lable about it. Alexa ider B. Linton, bring me six tough hickories in the morning, suited to the occasion. In the langi age of Bob Roper’s com position, 1 the apple o£ discord has been cast in among us, and if not jspeedily snipt in the bud, it will inevitably expldde and shroud us in tire pitchy night of anarchy and confusion, and de luge the country with fire and sword.’ As that apple is as dangerous to schools as it is to the country, I'll try to nip it in the bud effectually, in the morning—You tre dismissed.” , As for Jones and,’ Smith, nobody cared for them, but the whole school sympathized with William. They laid all his faults to them, (rath er more than was due to them, by the way,) and rejoiced at the retribution that was in reserve for them. Gilbert Hay accompanied him for about a quarter of a Mile on his way to his lodg ings. To this point they walked hand in hand, William leading his horse, and both weeping bit terly. Here they stopped, and William broke silence: “Gilbert,” said he, “nothing gave me so much pain iq leaving as parting, with you. How happy we were in talking to gether, working together, playing together, and studying together! I'd give ten thousand mil lions of dollars if I hadn't left you “ Will, come back now.” “ It’s too late now—l’m disgraced, I’m ruined I wish that my horse and Jones and Smith were all tumbled together in the flames of Hell! Stop Gilbert: don’t leave me!" “ I will leave you, William, if you talk in that way, and, much as I love you, I must drop your acquaintance, if you use such language.” ‘ Forgive me, Gilbert, I hardly know what I say. Y r ou have no idea what I suffer”— “ Why, it’s no killing matter, to get whipped by Mr. Wad ” “ Whipped! I don’t mind the whipping at all, severe as I know it will be. If cutting my legs to the bone would just put me back to that hap py night I spent at your house, I’d take it wil lingly.” “ Then what is it that distresses you so ? You are not the first boy that Mr. Waddel has ever caught playing cards and drinking liquor, I kqaw.” • “ If I should tell you, you never would own me as a friend or acquaintance again." “ Well, it can’t be worse than I’ll think it is, if you don’t tell me.” “In less than one short fortnight, I have de ceived the best of mothers, the best of uncles; forsaken you, the best of friends ; despised the advise of the best of teachers; drank, gambled and lied —disgraced myself in my class, as you know, and disgraced myself in the eyes of all who applauded me at the examination and exhi tion. They will hear of it Why, here’s Tom! What’s the matter at home, Tom ?” “ Mas’ David is very sick. He thinks he’s going to die, and he wants to see you before he dies. Here’s a letter from Missis.” « Lord have mercy upon my poor soul 1” half shrieked William. “ Can’t I die ! Can’t I die! Read it, Gilbert!” Bv the dim twilight he read : “My Dearest Boy : Two days after you left us, your Uncle was attacked with bilious fever.— The attack is very severe, but we hope not fatal. Last evening he begged that you might be sent for. Come as quick as you can, in mercy to your horse. The Doctor says there is no prob ability of his dying in four or fiv§ days ; so do not peril the life of your horse, in your haste to get here. Your afl’ectionate mother, Anna Mitten.” “Oh Gilbert! Gilbert! How shall I face a dy ing uncle and an atliicted mother ? Show the letter to Mr. Waddel. Tell him I thank him for all his kindness to me—that I never shall forget tlio bccch “Thebeech! What does that mean, Wil liam ?” “Ho knows—he will tell you. Farewell, my dearest, best classmate!” Gilbert went immediately with the letter to Doctor Waddell, and delivered it with William’s message. The Doctor listened, read, and walked the floor in great agitation of mind. After a few strides backwards and forwards, he spoke : “It is awful, awful to think of such a star as that being eclipsed just at its rising! A breath may change the destiny of a-youth for time and eter nity. If ever there was a boy of more brilliant promise than William Mitten, three months ago, I don’t think I ever saw him. And where is he now ! Why is it that in the contact of vir tue and vice, vice always gets the advantage—at least with the young ?” “ Mr. Waddel, what did William mean by the beech t” I’ll take you to it and explain, to-morrow at twelve; but I little dreamed that the catastro phe was so near at hand ! At a proper time. I will write to his uncle, —or mother, to send him back. His heart's in the right place still, and he may yet be the pride of his mother, the boast of his teacher, and the glory of his coun try.” “If you write, Mr. Waddel, tell him I love him yet; and that the front side of my bed is waiting for him yet.” William wended his way to his boarding house, slowly and sadly. On reaching it, he went in and informed the landlord of the distressing ti dings from home, and that he would leave at the dawn in the morning. He refused supper, and walked towards the study, near the steps of which Smith and Jones were standing. “ Well,’’ said Smith, “ you’ve stayed so long we thought you’d run away. You’ve got us into a hell of a scrape, and you may well look sheep ish.” “ Smith, that boy has just come for me—my Uncle’s at the point of death ” “ Y r ou’re d nd lucky, to have a sick Uncle just at this time.” The words were hardly out of his mouth, be fore the onset of William’s fight with Black was renewed precisely ; but not with precisely the same results. In his fall, Smith’s head struck the corner of a step, and ho came senseless to the ground. Jones, supposing that he was only a little stunned by the fall, and that he would soon rally and give William a tremendous beating, (jsut what he desired) did not interpose. liam supposed so too, (i.e., that he would rise) and he resolved to improve the interim q ! the best advantage. Such language, at a " time, from such a character, set his whole soul j on fire, and inspired him with supernatural strength and inhumanity. Ho dealt blow after blow upon the face, neck, and ribs of the unre sisting Smith, with a force and rapidity that hor rified Jones, and would have astonished any one. It was in vain that Jones cried out “for God’s sake, Mitten, stop, he’s dead!” “ If he isn’t dead, I’ll kill him,” said Mitten. Rising from the body, he stamped Smith in the face with his heavy nail-pegged shoes, and was in the act of repeating the injury, when the land lord and Tom both seized him and forced him into the house. As they dragged him away, “ Stop,” said he “ let me give Jones a little, and then I’ll be satisfied.” He was given in charge of Tom, while the landlord and Jones took care of Smith. His head was cut to the bone, and the wound was clogged up with blood jjnd dirt. His face was like nothing human. He was washed, undressed, and put to bed; but he did recover his senses, though he breathed, and his pulse beat. There was no physician within miles of the place, and the landlord did not sup pose it nectssary to send for one so far off, as he deemed it certain that Smith would die or be out of danger before he could get there. In a hali hour’s time William became cool, and sur rendered himself to grief again. A bed was prepared for him in the house, his trunk was brought in, he washed, changed his bloody clothes for clean ones, packed such as he need ed in the saddle-bags, sent Tom to attend to the horses, and threw himself on the bed to wait, in tears, the coming dawn. In the meantime, Jones and the landlord were at the bedside of Smith, in a state of the most intense anxiety. The former was in the deepest agony. He and Smith had agreed to run away from school the next morning. It was further arranged that Smith should give Mitten a sound dressing over-night, because he had not managed his purchases in Petersburg with sufficient cun ning ; because he had not extemporized lies ac cording to his talents, under Waddel’s examina tion ; because he had told the truth where he ought to have told lies, and bungled even at the truth, and because “he wanted whipping any how.” There was a short debate between them as to which should have the pleasure of chas tising William. Smith said that he was so much over Bill’s size and age, that it would look a lit tle mean in him to do it. “Now you, Jones,” continued Smith, “are just about his weight, and you are but a little older than he is; if you woul J fan him out, there would be some honor in it.” “Oh, I can whip him easy enough,” said Jones, “and will do it if you insist upon it, but he will be certain to bung up my face a little at the beginning of the fight, for you know be can throw me just as fast as I can get up, and I hate to go home with my face scratched and bunged up. It will be hard enough for me to make peace with old John [his father] anyhow. But you can tie him—you can flog him without a scratch, and don't hurt him much. It would be mean in a boy of your size to hurt him much; just whip a little common sense in him.’ The matter was arranged accordingly: but instead of Smith’s whipping a little common sense into Bill, behold Bill had knocked a great deal of very common sense out of Smith. To run away and leave Smith in his present condition was not to be thought of. To remain with him until after prayers the next morning, womd be certain to awaken Doctor Waddel’s curiosity concerning the state of his health, as early as old Hector could bring him hither; and as his old prejudices had greatly strengthened j Two Dollars Per Annum, ( j Always In Advance. f that day, he had no dispositionjto encounter him anywhere. From what had passed Between him and Smith, there was a fair implication that if Smith did not whip William, he would; and though Smith might not hold him responsible for the implied pledge, he would be very apt to hold him responsible for allowing William to beat him while he was in a state of insensibility. William's retiring remark, too, made him feel very uneomiortable; for though he had done nothing to incur his wrath but sympathise with Smith in every thing, and drop one disrespect ful remark about William’s uncle, already atoned for, it was plain that William's mind was not in a condition to allow the proper credits, in closing up his uncle’s claims. He was very certain that William would sleep none that night, and if he should conclude to come out a little before day and give him a parting blessing when all were asleep but tho two, it would be— very ill-timed, to say the least of it. So that, upon the whole, none of the household spent a more uncomfortable night of it than poor Jones did. To have got rid of the troubles of that single night, he would have been perfectly willing to sign a written pledge to love “old Moses” all his life, elegantly, and to accom pany him to Rocky River Church monthly, du ring the term of his pupilage. Smith did not come fully to himself until about twelve o'clock. When he recovered his mind, and saw with but one eye (for he could not open the other, and one not fully,) Jones and the landlord koe»«pg watch over him, his shirt .11 bloody, 4 \3Bpd himself in pain all over, “ Why, wm4r%e matter with me V” mutter ed he from two U’teAtaly swollen lips. “Sever mind, “lie still and be quiet till morning, and we’ll tell you all about it.” While Jones was talking, Smith was feeling his face and head. “Why how did I get in this fix ?” enquired he, “ I’m in a dreadful fix—my back, hip, head and face all pain me awfully. Jones, tell me who ‘ treated me so? Have I been out of my head? What i’clock is it ?” “ Never mind, Smith—never mind,” said Jones, “you’ll soon be over it if you’ll be quiet. Lie still till morning, and we’ll explain all things to your satisfaction.” “pidn’t Mitten clinch me ? Did he strike me with a stick ? He couldn’t ” “ Oh, go to sleep, go to sleep, Smith, and quit talking. A bad accident has happened to you, and you must be quiet, or there’s no telling what’ll come of it.” “ I don’t recollect anything after he clinched me; but it’s impossible he could have hurt me so bad—ls he gone?” “ Yes,” said Jones, “ he’s gone long ago—he didn’t do it—it was an accident, I tell you, and you must be quiet and not talk, or you muy lose your life.” In this way Smith was quieted, dropped to sleep, and did not wake until an hour by sun the next morning, when William was ten miles on his way homeward. By ten o’clock Doctor Waddel was at Mr. ’s. The whole matter was explained to him. He told Jones to stay with Smith and nurse him untd he was able to walk to school. Jones did so; but instead of walking to school, they walked home —or rather walked to where they could get horses to ride home. It was the Doctor’s habit to follow runaways and bring them back, but he was too glad to get rid of these gentlemen to do so in this instance. William’s purchase in Petersburg soon became the town talk, for almost every body in town knew him as the bright boy of the exhibition, and every body deplored the indications of ruin that his purchases gave. Tho talk soon spread from Petersburg to Willington, and from Wil lington to Doctor Waddel's ears. He went im mediately to Mitten’s room, where he found the cards and tickler unconcealed, and surprised Mitten with them, as we have seen. Thus did he possess himself of the few facts, from Which he drew out of William all tlxat the trio had done after the cards and brandy reached their room. He explained to young Hay, according to his promise, William’s reference to the beech, the import of which William fully understood after his disgrace. What a lamentable thing it is, that there is no way of inducing the young to follow 1 the counsels of the old I (to be continued.) Original Anecdote of Washington.—A correspondent sends to us the following : The mother of Miller Bledsof, (the well known old time Baptist preacher of Georgia,) lived I near Fredericksburg, Virginia, in the neighbor l hood of the mother of George Washington. ! Going over one evening, to visit her neighbor, Mrs. Bledsoe found Mrs. Washington at her cow pen, when, pointing to her calves, she said: “ That if George did not quit fighting the French, and come home and attend to the stock, all the calves would die of the lice.” Author. —A man who thinks aloud, that others may do without thinking. —• ■ i Age. —The only secret a woman keeps. NO. 19.