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VOL. 1.
For the Southern Field ami Fireside.
A DREAM
Oh what a dream of holy love,
This morning's beams have chased,
Yet still that vision, pure and bright,
Is on my spirit traced !
As dew to evening's drooping flowers,
That gleam of bliss was given:
It left my heart refreshed, and filled
With longings after Heaven.
A precious brother's long lost form,
In angel beauty, came;
Though all arrayed in Heavenly light,
I knew him still the same !
Oh, ne'er did smile so sweet os his
On earthly features rest;
Ne'er bliss like mine, when on my brow
Those angel lips were press'd.
“ Oh sister, come 1” mcthought he said,
“Come join our happy band!
No tears are shed, nor cares annoy,
In yonder spirit land !
“ Oh, could'st thou know the fount of lov
There gushing deep and free,
And hear our rapturous song of bliss,
Thou would'st not weep for me !”
What light o'ershone my brother's face:
How radiant of the skies !
As o'er my trembling form he bent, .
And wiped my weeping eyes.
Then softly breathed—“ Once more adieu.
Sweet sister of my love !
Oh, lift those streaming eyes andjtrack
My glorious path above 1"
Then upward, with a burst of song,
lie flew on wings of light,
Up—up—up—up, away from earth
Beyond my eager sight!
Oh bear me hence ! I vainly cried ;
Far from this world, with thee
And the bright throng of the Redeemed
To be eternally!
I woke —'twas gone 1 How like it was !
That blue eye’s tender beam—
His very look—his smile—his tone!
Oh ! was it all—a dream ?
Long may this gleam of glory bright
A spell upon me rest,
To lure my soul from earthly scenes
To joys more pure and blest!
A Misistf.b's Wife.
White Spring, Hamilton Co., Fla.
——
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
Entered according to the Actof Congress, <Scc., etc.,
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 XXIII.
Mr. Beach reaches Xewark in safety with his charge
Writes a flattering letter to Mr. Sanders con
cerning the boys — Mitten with Mr. Fin
ley, and the other boys in Princeton--These enter
College with credit — William makes fine pro
gress —Goes to College—Tries an exper
iment —Enters College—Gets in love ana
ed to be married — Consequences.
Three days’ staging placed Mr. Beach with
his charge in Savannah, and an eight days’ voy
age landed him in New York. He proceeded
immediately to Newark, whence he wrote a let
ter to Mr. Sanders, concluding as follows : “Re
port our safe arrival all in good health, to Mr.
Markham. He told me that the boys were
raw, nntraveled youths, whom ho feared would
give me much trouble; but I assure him that
they gave me no trouble at all. So far from it,
they sought every opportunity to relieve me from
trouble. They seemed to contend for the plea
sure of serving me. They are tour of the most
genteel, well-behaved, clever boys I ever saw.
Instead of giving me trouble, they were a plea
sure and delight to me all the way. As they
were from the South, used to be waited on, and
not used to work (as I supposed) I did expect to
find them all a little lazy ; but they were ready
to turn their hands to anything. On board ship
they were all very sick, and as they had all been
so kind to me, I took great pleasure in waiting
on them. In two or three days they were all
well, and ever since have been as hearty as
bucks. They are now at my house, quite the
delight of my family. To-morrow and next day
I shall take them over to see New York accord
ing to promise, and the day after go with them
to Basken Ridge and Princeton.”
This letter of course went the rounds of the
families most interested in it, and gave unspeak
able satisfaction whithersoever it went. Mr.
Beach fulfilled his promise. Markham, Thomp
son and Brown entered the Sophomore class
without difficulty. It was exceedingly mortify,
ing to "William to find himself under the nccessi.
tv of going through a preparatory course in or.
I JANIES GARDNER, I
I Proprietor. |
der to enter the Freshman class, when his old
schoolmates were all honorably admitted into
the next higher class ; and he determined to
make amends for lost time by assiduity in study.
The weather and the place favored his resolu
tion, at least for several months, for he was kept
in-doors from the cold, and there were few, if any,
dissolute youths at Basken Ridge to tempt him
t« vice. His first letter to his mother spoke in
highest terms of Mr. Finley and his “ charming
family and the first letter of Mr. Finley to Mrs.
Mitten was not less complimentary to William.
At the end of five months, his teacher pronounc
ed him fully prepared for the Freshman class,
put in his hand a very flattering certificate, and
dispatched him to College. Instead of present
ing his certificate to the President, and making
application for admission into the Freshman
class, he excogitated a brilliant scheme, not al
together original, to be sure, but highly credita
ble to his ingenuity, wlieieby he was to get into
the Sophomore class without the needful prepa
ration for it. Thus thought our hero : “If I
apply for the Junior class, they will have too
much respect for my feelings to put me away
down in the Freshman class, if they can possi
bly avoid it. Even for the Junior class, they
will, in all probability," examine me upon those
studies which I have been over, and here I shall
acquit myself so handsomely, that they will rea
dily compromise matters, and let me into the
the Sophomore class." Accordingly he reported
himself to the President with an air of great
self possession, as a candidate for the Junior
class. The President, after gravely taking his
dimensions with the eye, to the manifest terror
of Master Mitten, said : “The Junior Class, now
more than half advanced! How far have you
advanced in Latin and Greek?” William an
swered. “In mathematics'?” He answered
again. “ Have you studied Chemistry, Astron
omy, Natural and Moral Philosophy and Logic ?”
“No sir 1” “ Under whom did you prepare for
College ?” “ Mr. Waddel and Mr. Finley.”—
“ Mr. Waddel of South Carolina, and Mr. Finley
of Rasken Ridge ? ” “Yes sir.” “We have
four students now in College, from Mr. Waddel’s
school, and ten from Mr. Finley’s, all of whom
entered without difficulty. Did either of your
preceptors advise you to apply for the Junior
class ? “No sir, but I thought may be I could
enter that class.” “ Well, Master Mitten, /think,
‘ may be ’ you can enter no class in College. I
will give you a trial, however, for the Freshman
class, if you can bring down your aspirations
that low.” “ Well, sir,” said William, with a
spirit of accommodation truly commendable,
“ I’ll try for that class.” Here William’s usual
bad luck attended him, for his ingenuity had ex
posed him to agonizing mortification, betrayed
him into a falsehood, and, as he well knew, made
the President’s first impressions of him very un
favorable.
Ho was examined, and admitted without dif
ficulty. The President was curious to learn
what sort of an examination he stood, and en
quired of the examining Professors. “ Admira
ble !” said they, una voce. The President smiled,
but said nothing.
William followed Mr. Markham’s advice,
strictly through the Freshman year, and for four
months of the Sophomore year, and the conse
quence was as usual; ho stood at the head of
the class. His letters to his mother were in the
highest degree gratifying. He spoke gratefully
of Mr. Markham’s last counsels to him, and pro
mised to obey them to the letter ; he expressed
his admiration of the Faculty, particularly of
those members of it who had charge of his
class, in terms bordering upon the extrava
gance of praise—rej’oieed that he had been
defeated j n hi ß attempt to procure a clerkship ;
and rejoiced <*;u more that he now saw the er
ror of his ways, au-i j ia d radically reformed. —
One of his epistles he concluded in this language:
“ When I think, my dearest wilier, of the trou
ble I have given you—how I abused rour good
ness. and disappointed your reasonable e«pecta
tions, my conscience smites me, and my cheexo
burn with blushes. How could I have been
such an ingrate! How could I have sent a pang
to the bosom of the sweetest, the kindest, the
tenderest, the holiest, the best of mothers !
Well, the past is gone, and with it my childish,
boyish follies : they have all been forgiven long
ago, and no more are to be forgiven in future.
That I am to get the first honor in my class is
conceded by all the class except four. These
four were considered equal competitors for it un
til I entered the class, and they do not despair
yet; but they had as well, for they equal me in
nothing but Mathematics, and do not excel me
in that. The funds that you allow me (SSOO
per annum) are more than sufficient to meet all
my college expenses, and allow me occasional
pleasure rambles during the vacation. What I
have written about my stand in College, you will
of course understand as intended only for a mo
ther’s eye.
“ Your truly affectionate, and grateful son,
Wm. Mitten.”
William’s report of himself was fully con
firmed by his fellow students of the village. He
wrote also an affectionate letter to Doctor Wad
del, thanking him for his many kindnesses, ap
proving of all his dealings with him, and cen-
AUGUSTA. GA., SATURDAY, OCTOBER 29, 1859.
suring himself for his rcjectio I of his counsels,
and disobedience to his rules Before this let
ter readied hjs old PreceptcWilliam’s fame
and prospects in College had cached the school,
where all considered themsi ves interested in
his reputation, and all rejoie cl. At his home
the rejoicing was more intens ', and all the mer
chants of tiie place, and Mr. landers in particu
lar, congratulated themselvi! that they had
offered him no encouragemeu to become a mer
chant. There was one exception, to be sure, to
the general rejoicing, in the person of old Stewey
Anderson; and he only susj ended his joy; for
he offered “ to give his prom ■sory note, payable
twelve months after date, for doublq joy, if Bill
Mitten held on that long."
“ Billy,” said Stewey, “is a Belair colt; ho
beats everything for a quaver, but he can’t
stand a long run, I’m afraid; lie's entered now
for the four mile heats, and I think he'll break
down about the second or' third mile, sure.”
There was something, too, that chilled the ardor
of Doctor Hull’s delight, though no one knew
what it was. But that lie partook of the gene
ral feeling to some extent, w)s manifest; for he
never took a chew of tobacct and grunted when
William was praised.
Up to the close of the fourth month of Master
Mitten’s Sophomore year, he had almost entire
ly neglected Mr. Markham’s advice t(niching his
recreation hours; indeed, he hardly allowed
himself any recreation hours: but occasional
visits to a beautiful little Princeton lassie, by
the name of Amanda Want, feminded him for
cibly of his remissness iu this particular, and he
resolved forthwith to amend his ways. Miss
Amanda was not pious, but she was sprightly,
witty and graceful; and for her age (for she had
hardly “ entered her teens,”) she was not want
ing in intellectual culture. William's interest in
her increased with every visit to her, and his
“ recreation hours” began to increase with his
interest. The necessary consequence was, that
his study hours became more arduous. Still he
maintained his reputation and his place in his
class, with only a hardly perceptible change, in
the promptness and fluency with which he dis
posed of his recitations. Soon after his first
visit to Miss Amanda, William’s talents were
made known to her, as well as his fortune,
which was represented to be something under
the square of what it really was. She was
quite too young and too romantic to have any
thing venal in her composition; and, as his hand
some person, brilliant talents and interesting
conversation began to win upon her affections,she
became touchingly pensive. By as much as she
lost her vivacity, by so much did William s in
terest in her increase. He loved her before, and
now he sympathized with her deeply and tender
ly. It was a floating sympathy, to be sure,
seeking, like Noah’s dove, a resting place and
finding none; but it was none the less sincere
on that account, and none the less appreciated
by the lovely object over which it hovered, and
diffused its grateful incense. Often from the
gloom which overshadowed the dear Amanda,
would she send forth mellow twiuklings, liko
those which sport upon the bosom of an evening
cloud, and which would irradieate tlifc counten
ance of her anxious friend for a moment; but he
could not persuade her to reveal the cause of her
depression.
Under the combined force of love, sympathy,
anxiety and suspense, "William's spirits forsook
him, he became sad and gloomy, and study be
came irksome to him. Late sittings with Miss
Amanda, and then much later sittings to make
up the lost time, began to make inroads upon
William’s health, and all his fair prospects would
probably have been blighted before the close of
the term, had he not determined to act upon
conjecture as to Miss Ward’s anguish of mind.
He judged, not without good reason, that it pro
ceeded from love to him, and that she was wast
ing away under the consuming passion, because
she supposed that it was not reciprocated. He
resolved, therefore, with becoming frankness to
unbosom himself to her and offer her his baud.
Accordingly, »t their nexj interview, he thus ad
dressed her:
“ Miss Ward, you know that I am not blind
to your despondency, and, by a thousand proofs
you know that lam not indifferent to it. Be
lieve me, that my oft repeated enquiries into the
cause of it were prompted by a purer and holier
motive than mere idle curiosity. No, Miss Ward,
that heart which is not touched with the griefs
of the gentler sex, must be insensible indeed;
such an one, I am sure was never reared in the
genial clime of the sunny South. He who could
obtrude a selfish curiosity into the hallowed
sanctuary of womarv’s sorrows, never breathed
the balmy zephers which waft the odors of the
magnolia and the orange.’ Twas sympathy, Miss
Ward, which prompted my questions—an honest
desire to share your griefs, if I could not relieve
them. Your generous nature will appreciate
my motives, and pardon one more question—
the last, if answered negatively: Am lin any
way, directly or indirectly, connected with your
mental perturbations?”
Torrents of tears from the eyes of the fair
Amanda relieved her gallant suitor’s suspense,
while she struggled for utterance with her irre
pressible emotion;. At length she spoke:
“Mister Mitten, your noble natureassures me
that I may trust the dearest secret of my heart
to you, without fear that you will ever betray
under any changes of feeling, time or
place. I frankly own that I and have lung
been most ardently attached U you 1 have
sometimes thought—hoped—that our attach
ment was mutual. Yet, why did I hope it?
when I knew that we never could be united.”
“ Knew that we could never be uuited, my
dearest Amanda?”
“ Never, never, never I” exclaimed Amanda,
burying her face in her handkerchief, and sob
bing convulsively.
*• Then I am doomed to wretchedness for life 1”
ejaculated Mister Mitten. 11 Amanda, you are
my first love ”
“And you aro mine, William. My first, ray
last, my only love. When you return to the
land of birds and of flowers, object of my adora
tion, send back a thought to your poor, unfor
tunate, heart-broken Amanda!”
“Amanda,” said William, in tears, “yon said
you would entrust the dearest secret of your
heart to me: tell me then what insuperable ob
stacle there is to our union ?”
“ I never violate my promise, dearest William.
lam told that you are very, very rich; and
never can.l consent to marry a man with whom
I cannot be upon an equality,—a man who must
ever feel that he stooped to tako his partner s
hand; and who may suppose that the poor trash
of earth, called wealth, had some influence upon
her choice. I should be the most miserable
wretch upon earth, to discover in the being that
I adore, anything going to show that he con
sidered me his inferior, or capable of loving him
for anything but himself.”
“ These noble sentiments,” responded Mister
Mitten. “ exalt you higher, if possible, in my
estimation than ever. Know, then, thou sweet
est, purest, noblost of thy sex that I am not
rich ”
“Not rich! Don’t trifle with my feelings,
William!”
“ I assure you, upon the honor of a gentleman,
that lam worth nothing. My mother owns a
very pretty estate, which, when divided between
her three children, will only give a comfortable
living to each of them.”
“Oh, happiest moment of my life!” exclaimed
Amanda. “William, there is my hand, and
with it a heart that idolizes you, if you choose
to take them.”
“ I receive them,” said William, “ and ex
change for them a hand and heart equally warm,
and unwavering.”
Their vows were plighted, and they separated
in ecstacies.
Fortunately for William this interview occur
red on Friday night; or it would have played
the mischief with his next day’s recitation.
The next day William visited Miss Amanda to
arrange for the nuptials; and however iudis
creet and rash we may consider the engagment,
every body must accord to them the highest
prudence in settling the preliminaries of the
nuptials.
The arrangement was that Mister Mitten (so
we must now call him, as he is engaged to be
married,) should go on and complete his educa
tion, return to Georgia and spend two or three
months with his family, then go to Litchfield,
Connecticut, and attend Judge Reeves’ Law
Lectures for one year, revisit Georgia, get ad
mitted to the bar as soon as possible, return to
Princeton, and consummate the marriage.—
Could old Parr himself, and a lady his equal in
years, have ordered things more wisely! As
soon as matters were thus happily arranged, Mr.
Mitten said:
“ I have reflected a great deal, my Amanda,
upon matrimonial engagements, and I have
brought my mind to the conclusion long ago,
that there is a radical error in regard to them,
too common in the world. Let us reform it—at
least as far as we can. I allude to the secrecy
with which such engagements are kept by the
parties to them ”
Miss Amanda started “ Why, if the par
ties are sincere and mean to be constant to each
other, should they object to the world’s knowing
of their engagement ? Were it generally known,
how few matches would be broken off! Wha'
man of honor would pay his addresses to a WJ
whom he knew to be pledged to another! * “ at
woman of honor would receive the add*® ses °‘
a man whom she knew to be engaged' * or my
part, I shall make no secret of our -ngagenient,
and then if any man dare to pay/*** 1 particular
attentions, I shall hold him per ,jna "y responsi
“ Ob, William, my dearest William, do not think
of such a thing! Our engagement must not be
breathed to a human b«* n g— n °f even to father,
mother, sister or broker. If our parents knew
of it, they weuld rfrtainly break it off if they
could, on the gynnd of our age Break it
off! No, that can never be. Sooner will the
moon cease te shed her placid beams upon the
earth, sooner will this heart cease to beat, than
your Amanda forget her vows, or human power
make her break them. But think of the trou
bles that may follow the disclosure! Oh, Wil
liam, I cannot bear a frown, I cannot bear even
a cold look from my dear, sweet parents; and
I Two Dollars Per Annum, I
| Always In Advance. |
how would it rend my heart to see them frown
on you or receive you distantly ”
“ And does Miss Ward suppose that her pa
rents would object to our alliance ? ”
“No, no, William: I’m sure they will be de
lighted with it, at the proper time ; but think
how young we are l I have heard my father
say that the man who has grown daughters in
Princeton occupies a very delicate position. To
forbid them to receive the visits of students,
would be to forbid them from receiving in the
main, the very best society that they could
have, and to violate the laws of hospitality; but
to encourage students in making love to their
daughters, was injustice to the students, and
treason to their distant parents. Now, if he
knew that we were engaged, he would be al
most certain to send me away to some boarding
school—and what pain would that give us I And
suppose another should address me; does my
William think that there is another in this wide
world who could make the least impression upon
his Amanda's heart? Can you doubt your Aman
da’s constancy? Can you fear that anything on
earth could chill her first, her only love, in a
few short years ? No, W T illiam, whether you
remain true or false, never, never, can I love
another. The very thought startles me like an
electric shock. The keenest pang I ever felt,
was at liearing my mother say that my father
was not her first love—l ought not to have men
tioned it—l have never breathed it to another;
but to you I may entrust it, for we are soon to
beftmo——From you I can conceal nothing. But
what agtay did the disclosure give me you'll
never mention it, William 7”
"Never, Amanda.”
“I felt for days, weeks and months, as
if I were an orphan. Oh, how my heart
sympathized with my dear, sweet father!
He knew it when he married mother. They
live happily together. But it seems to me, the
cruel, bitter thought must sometimes present it
self, ‘ this heart was once another's —this heart
was not always mine,' and oh what pain it must
give! And what is married life, if there be any
thing in it to interrupt, even for a moment, the
constant stream of heavenly bliss which it pro
mises to hearts united in the silken cords of pure,
ecstatic, first-born love I There, William, you
are entrusted with every secret of my heart.”
Mr. Mitten was so charmed with Miss Aman
da’s sentiments, and enraptured with her elo
quence, that he entirely forgot the text. He
soon recovered it however, and after thanking
Miss Ward for her confidence, and promising to
keep it sacred, he said:
“ Under all the peculiar circumstances of the
case, my Amanda, I will consent to keep our
engagement a secret; but, as a general rale, I
think there should be no secrecy in * l| ch mat
ters.” y
Mr. Mitten's mind being now disburdened, be
resumed his studies with pfacritj', and main
tained his place to the close of the Sophomore
year. The vacation ensued, and the first five
weeks of it Mr. Mittc* devoted to Miss Amanda.
He took her out utmost daily on pleasure rides,
lavished presents upon her, of the most costly
jewelry, books, engravings, and love-tokens in
numerable; and strange to tell, Miss Amanda
received them without rebuking this ill-advised
waste of his humble patrimony. Nor was Mr.
Mitten less attentive to the decoration of his
own person, than of Miss Amanda’s. He laid in
a profusion of coats, vests, pants, gloves, stock
ings, boots, shoes, pumps and undergarments, all
at the highest prices, and in the most fashionaWe
style. To his other purchases he added a" ele
gant watch, chain, seals and key, and a hand
some diamond breast-pin. Many of « nes e things
were purchased upon a short o*mit, to be paid
for as soon as he could ge* remittances from
home. With all his acco*‘F ls hments there was
one wanting to ms'* h™ F r f ett ln Miss
Amanda’s eye, an-«'at was, “the poetry of
motion.” Here- M|S9 Amanda excelled, and
she urged hi- to P ut bimsclf under Monsieur
Coupee to jdd tl,is t 0 his man - v K races - She
said tha** I'® 1 '® was ver 7 fond of cot' 110 " parties,
but tb* c they had lost all interest to her since
learned that he did not dance. He took
, w -r adVice. As “ the poetry of motion,” cotillon
measure, consists entirely of anapoests and dac
tyls, performed with alternate feet, Mr. Mitten
soon mastered this accomplishment. Thus went
off the first month and a quarter of the vaca
tion.
(to be continued.)
- i■ i
The Song of “ The Old Arm Chair.” —lt is
estimated that this song, set to music, has clear
ed the publisher over $200,000. The following
receipt shows its original cost:
“Received, May 14, 1841, of Mr. Charles Jeff
reys, the sum of two pounds two shillings, for
copy wright of words of song written by me, en
titled “The Old Arm Chair," music by Mr.
Hine. Kuza Cook.”
The song has since cost a Mr. Kyle, of London,
about SIO,OOO, (costs of suit,) in contesting an
injunction restraining him from printing and
selling it.
Men of Letters —Sign Painters. *
Men of Understanding—Shoe-makers.
NO. 23.