Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

J J —j JI — 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.