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Southern Field and Fireside. I VOL. 1. [For the Southern Field and Fireside.] Entered accordin'/ to the Actof Congress, <bb., <£c., bg the Author. MASTER WILLIAM MITTEN; OR, A YOUTH OF BRILLIANT - WHO WAS RUINED HA' BAD LUCK. BY THE AUTHOR OF THE (lEORUIA SCENES, ETC. chapter xxw—(Conclusion.) Mr. Mitten writes again to Miss Green, who an swers him pungently—Amanda hears of his inconstancy —Its effects upon he) — Mr. Mitten resolves to teach the public respect for him— Gains five friends by his course, and loses'ail otlhers—Mis fast friends introduce him to the card-table; but give him excellent advice—His College-mates return—Amanda returns his jewels by his cousin—llis reflections on receiv ing them —John Broun rises—lie and Mitten both address Miss Summers, 3ne worth having —She rejects Mitten and takes Brown—Mitten devotes himself to cards —Becomes distinguished in his vocation —Takes the consumption and dies. Miss Green's letter filled Mitten's bosom with horror. “ What a thoughtless fool I was,” said he, “to write that useless lie to her ! I ought to have known that she would soon learn the true cause of my sudden departure from Prince ton ! Why did I not forestall public report by a frank confession of the truth, and offer such justiiioations of myself as I could ! True it is, • that when a mau turns rogue, he turns fool,’ and no less true is it, that when a ma* turns liar he turns fool. It will almost take my life to lose Louisa ; but I deserve to lose her, that I may learn what it is to have one’s holiest feelings and brightest hopes trifled with. I will write to Louisa, make a frank confession of my errors, vow an eternal divorce from them, aud promise to be anything and everything- cliat she would have me to be, if she will remain steadfast to her en gagement.- ’ He did so, and indeed, made the most of his case that could be made of it. The answer came : “ Mu. William Mitten —Sir : Your dismissal from College, and.your misrepresentation to me, I could forgive ; but I never can forgive your addresses to me, while you were actually en gaged to Miss Amanda Ward. “Your abused Louisa.” “ All is lost 1” exclaimed lie, flinging down the letter. ‘ How did she find out the engagement ? Amanda herself must have informed her of it.” This was not true. The engagement came to Miss Green’s ears on this wise : Mitten’s atten tions to Miss Ward were notorious; and her dis relish for any society but his was equally noto rious. From these facts, tho inference was drawn by many that they were engaged. What was stated at first, as a matter of inference, soon began to be stated as a matter of fact. As it was contradicted by no one, it came to be re garded as a thing universally admitted. So Ru mor bore it to Miss Green’s ears. The mischiev ous jado was no less cruel to Miss Ward than she was to Miss Green; for she reported to her that Mr. Mitten was in regular correspondence with Miss Green from his return to Princeton, to his departure for Georgia. Amanda drooped under tho tidings —became sedate and pensive, gave her heart to One who better deserved it than her lover, fixed her adoration on the proper Object, moved among the poor and afflicted like an angel of mercy, lived to be universally be loved, kindly rejected many a wooer, and died smiling, where Mary sat weeping. The report went abroad that William had bro ken his mother’s heart. This was nearly, but not quite true. Mrs. Mitten’s health had begun to decline, before William’s troubles began, and it is probable that she would not have survived a month longer than she did, had TV illiam re mained at Princeton. But she had become un easy at the silenco of his College companions, concerning him, for some months past. The tone of his letters had changed alarmingly.— Then his heavy draft on her for money, increas ed her alarms. Then the Sanders draft added poignant mortification to her distressing fears and anxieties. All these things were wasting her away rapidly, when his abrupt appearance to her filled her with emotions which her feeble frame could not endure. His conduct cortaihly shortened her days; but it could not with pro priety be said that he broke her heart. Still so went tho report, aud it gained strength from his remarks to the Doctor, which were overheard by a visitor, and went forth with exaggerations. The consequence was, that when he began to mingle with the villagers, there was something so cold and distant in their greetings, so formal and cautious in their conversation, that he re coiled from their society, shut himself up in his room, brooded over his misfortunes for a time, became enraged at the treatment of his old friends, and with a heroism worthy of a better cause, lie resolved to retaliate upon them. He went forth boldly among them, treated all coldly, and some rudely ; made advances to no one ; I JANIES GARDNER, I I Proprietor. f AUGUSTA, GA., SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1859. stepped loftily and independently, and resolved to hold every man personally responsible to him, who had taken the liberty of using his name, otherwise than with the profoundest respect. The young gentleman had undertaken an Hercu lean task, but he deemed himself adequate to it, and acted accordingly. Ho called the Doctor to account for circulating remarks made by him -under great excitement and distress, which any man of common humanity would never have thought of repeating.’’ The Doctor declared that he never had repeated them. Mr. Mitten told him that “it was not worth while to add the sin of falsehood, to the sin of brutality, for no one else could have mentioned them.’’ Anderson’s remarks also became town talk, as soon as it was kn<*wn that Mitten had “ backed down ”in tho “ third heat.” He went to Ander son in a great rage. “ I understand, sir,” said he, “ that you have been making very free with my name in my ab sence.” “ No, Billy, I only said ” “ Don’t call me Billy, sir.” “ Well, General Washington ” “ Stop sir ! But for your age, I’d give you a caning. And, now listen to me, sir :If ever I hear of your mentioning my name in any way, I shall forget the respect due to age, and give you a chastising, let it cost what it may. If you must expend your race-course wit, expend it upon some one else, not on me.” “ When you undertake to chastise me,” said Stewy, “you’d better appoint your execu tors : for they’ll have to wind up the business." Thus Mr. Mitten went on rectifyidfe public opinion, and purifying private conversation, un i til there were but five persons in tho village or ICS vioinitj nhu CUIIW TCntOTC tO tw Upon tmns of intimacy with him. These five, two old men and three young ones, conceived a marvelous attachment to him. They forced themselves in to his affections by a thousand kind sayings of him, and as many harsh ones of all who kept aloof from him. “Never mind, Mitten,” said one of the an cients ; “ as soon as you get possession of your property, these very men who are- shying off from you now, and whispering all sorts of things about you, will be truckling to you like hound puppies. They hate me worse than they do you, just because I always take up for you. I see how they look at me, every time they see me with you. I despise those old men who for get that they were once young, and make no al lowance for a little wildness in young men.” “ Well,” said a young one, “ I’m glad to see Mitten’s independence. He is not beholden to them for anything, and I like to see him going his own way, and taking care of himself.” “ Mitten,” said a third, “ we are going into Thew’s back room to amuse ourselves with a game of cards for an hour or so; where shall we find you when we come out ?” “ Why,”said William, “1 11 go in with you.” “ You’d better not,” said two or three voices at once. “ You might be tempted to play,” said Old Fogy, “and when once a young man begins to play cards, he never knows where to stop. — Could you do as we do. just set down and amuse yourself for an hour or two. and then get up and quit, why that would be all well enough; but young people are not like old folks.” “ Well,” continued William, “ I’ll go in and see you play, but I will not play myself, for I have suffered enough from card-playing for one lifetime, I know.” “ Oh well, if you’ll do that, no harm done.” William went in, and kept his word. The same scene was repeated for a number of days. At length, William began to spend his opinion upon the play of one and another, de monstrating by the doctrine, of chances that they were injudicious. “ It’s lucky for us, Mitten, that you don’t play, or you’d soon leave us without a stake. We know nothing about book-learning, and just thump away after our old plantation way. Old as I am, I’d give the world if I only had your education.” Day after day rolled away in like manner. At length, said William, “let me take a hand, and see if my theory holds good in practice.” “ Oh, no 1” exclaimed half of them. “ He’ll beat us all to death. What do we know about the doctrine of chances!" “Mitten,” said Old Fogy, “don’t play. I’m an old man, and though I (iou't know. anything about chances, I know that the cards run so sometimes that there is no counting on them. Now, you are a high-minded, honorable young man, and if you should happen to lose largely, you would be strongly tempted to refuse to pay, plead infancy, the gaming act, and all that sort of thing, even when you got able to pay, and I wouldn’t lose my good opinion of you for all the money in the county.” “ I hope, Mr. Fogy, you don’t think I’d do that.” “ No, I know you’d die now before you’d do it, but temptations are hard things to get over. I talked just sikto young Tickler, a3 honorable a young fellow as ever was born, and what did he do ? Why he won of me day after day, and week after week; but when the cards took a turn in my favor, lie refused to pay tho little, nasty sum of one thousand dollars, when lie was worth forty thousand. I never asked him for it till he got his property in hand, and then he said I tempted him to play and cheated him. and I don't what all. I wouldn't have lost my good opinion of that young man for double the money." “Well,” said Mitten, “I arn not anxious to play.” And he did not. Mitten’s company and back-room sittings coming to tho ears of Mr. Markham, he warned William against his associates. He told him that they were a set of sharpers, who would certainly ruin him if he did not abandon them. “ Mr. Markham,” said William, “ these are the only men of tho village, (yourself excepted,) who have treated me with any respect and kindness since my return home. You mistake their character. They play cards, it is true, but so far from tempting me to do the same, they advise me not to do it; and consequently, I have not thrown a card since my association with them. I should be an ingrate and a fool to abandon the only frieuds who stood by me when all the rest of the world abandoned me.” Mr. Markham told him their friendships were pretended, their professions unreal, and their counsels hypocritical. In short, he used every argument and entreaty that he could to with draw him from these men, but all was unavail ing. About this time his college companions re turned, having completed their course. Brown had taken the first honor in his class, and Mark ham tho third. Thompson graduated creditably, but took no honor. The day after their arrival, Thompson pre sented Mitten a beautiful box. “ And who sends this?” said Mitten. “ Open and too,” said his cousin. no opened it, and saw all tho jewelry that he had given to Amanda. On the top of it lay a small note of velvet paper, prettily folded. He opened and read: “ Let them follow the heart of the giver. Amanda." “ How did she seem, David, when she handed it to you ?” “Heart-broken.” “Yes, poor girl!” Had I remained true to her, she would not have forsaken me, as all my colder friends have done. In a little time, now, I could have made her comfortable and happy, and for all time she would have made me happy.” Tears rolled rapidly down his cheeks as he spoke. Mr. Markham turned over his school and the profits of it to his son and Brown—he only re taining such a supervision over it as to pass it as his school. The first studied medicine, and the second law, while teaching. In a little time Brown fixed up a comfortable little resi dence for his mother, and furnished it neatly. He gave his sisters the benefit of a good Female Academy, and extended their education by his own private instruction. David Thompson be came the head of his father’s family, and trod in the footsteps of his father through life. Wil liam continued his unlucky associations. One day, while he was looking on at the game of his friends: “Here, Mitten,” said one of the seniors, “play my hand for me,” rising and going out. On his return another addressed him, saying: “ Look here, old man, take your seat there and play your own hand; we can’t play with Mitten." Mitten had won ten dollars while represent ing his old friend. “Lord,” said another, “what a benefit an ed ucation is in everything!” William now proposed to take a hand for him self. “ Well,” one sa : d, “we needn’t object on his account, if we don't object on our own, for there is no danger of his losing.” William played, and won a little. So did ho for five or six sittings. Then his winnings and losings began to balance each other pretty equally. Then he began to lose regularly, but in small amounts —then in larger amounts. About this time Mr. Mitten made divers re markable discoveries, to wit: That whenever he lost, one of the old ones and one of the young ones lost, but that they won in regular succes sion, so that, at the end of a week’s play, ho owed (for they “ played on tick,”) each, of them almost exactly the same amount. That though they often played against all the doctrines of chances, they were very sure to win. That the young one would frequently relieve himself from the fatigues of the game by playing the fiddle and walking round the table, and that s olong as he played the fiddle, ho (Mitten) was certain to lose. That the other two young ones lost and won occasionally, but, in the long run were, like himself, losers; and that their losses, like his-own, were the equal gain of the other three. Now prudence dictated that he should quit this clique, but he was largely over a thousand dollars in debt to the trio, and he could not gain his consent to do so, until ho recovered his losses. At a convenient season he took his fel low-sufferers aside, informed them of his discov eries. and proposed to them that they should play in copartnership against the other three “ only till they got back their money.” They readily assented to his proposition, and William indoctrinated them in a set of signs, offensive and defensive, that in a better cause would have immortalized him. He cautioned them to wait the signal from him before they put any of their plans of attack in operation, and, in the mean time, to act wholly on the defensive. The parties met, and Old Fogy entertained the company with an account of his early ad ventures at the card-table, in which was this passage: “ I lost, and lost, and lost. Dollar after dollar went, and negro after negro, after negro. I bore it all like a man until I had to sell my favorite servant, Simon. This was tough, but I had to sacrifice him or my honor, so I let him go.” The club took their seats. Two hours rolled away, and the seniors gained nothing from the juniors. The fiddler got fatigued and took up his fiddle. The Juniors, as if by accident, hid their hands every time he walked behind them. He soon got rested, and resumed his seat. At twelve o’clock at night, the Juniors being a lit tle winners, Mitten got too sleepy to set any longer, and the game closed. Five sittings ended nearly in the same way, to the utter amazement of the seniors. “ The young rascals have found out our signs,” said Old Fogy, *• we must make new ones.” They did so. Mitten discovered it in three deals. “ This is a piddling sort o’ business,” said Fogy; “ let's play higher.” William had not only concerted his signs in a masterly manner, but he had away of commu nicating to his partners the most important signs of their adversaries as soon as he discovered them. While he was makiug Lis discoveries, his party lost a little. “ I don't like to raise the stakes when I’m los ing,” said William, “but luck must turn soon, and that will be the quickest way of getting back my losings, and 1 believe I’m willing to play a little higher.” Old Fogy put up the stakes very high, and William gave the signal for attack with all his armory. In less than an hour, the com (repre senting money) was streaming from the Fogy party in a perfect sluice. Mitten lost to his partners two hundred dollars, and the Fogies lost to them from five hundred to a thousand each. At one o’clock, A. M., Mitten rose from the table, saying: “ That his brain was so ad dled he couldn’t play; and that if he could, such < a run of luck would ruin the best player in the world." It would bo both interesting and instructive to the young, to trace Mitten's progress step by step in gaming, until he became a most accom plished blackleg; but our limits will notallow us to do so. He was in rapid progress to this distinction, when Miss Flora Summers, daughter of Col. Mark Summers, who resided five miles from the village, returned home from Salem, N. C. She was an only child, handsome, agreeable in manners, of good senso and well improved mind. William visited her and so did John Brown, now admitted to the bar, and practising with brilliant promise. The Colonel received Brown with great cordiality, and William with distant civility. Flora reversed things, exactly. The Colonel was not surprised at her preference, but before it had time to ripen into love, ho thus addressed her: “ My daughter, it may be that Mitten and Brown will become suitors of yours. I do not say to you, in that event marry Brown, but I do say to you, do not marry Mitten, if you would save yourself and me from misery intoler able. You know his history in part. If he did not break his mother’s heart, he hastened her death. He has rendered himself odious to all good men, and become the associate of gamblers. And yet lie is a young man of handsome per son, fine address and fine talents. These en dowments are apt to win upon a girl’s heart: but surely my daughter can fortify her heart against dangorous impressions from such a man as Mitten.” “ Yes, Pa,” said Flora, “ I can and will. I as sure you, that I will never give my hand to William.” “ Then, without feigning an attachment that you do not feel, give him the earliest opportunity of declaring himself, and let your refusal be re spectful but decisive.” “ I will. It will cost me no difficulty to re fuse Mitten but I don’t think I ever can love John Brown. Dear me, Pa, he is so ugly 1” “ Well, my child, be that as you would have it. I certainly shall not urge you to have Brown or any body else. Your choice will be mine, pro vided your choice does not light upon one of despicable character.” Mitten repeated his visits, and was received more warmly by the Colonel than at first. In process of time he declared himself and was pos itively rejected. Brown continued liis visits too, but at much longer intervals. His fame in the mean time was constantly growing. His manners were not wanting in polish, and in in tellectual endowments he now far outstripped Mitten. His visits for five or*six months seem ed only of a friendly character. Ho read well and talked well, and was both, a wit and hu morous ; but he never wounded by his sallies. j Two Dollars Per Annum, I I Always In Advance. f Flora soon became satisfied that John had no idea of courting her, and she threw off all shy ness and came upon terms of easy and agree able familiarity with him. John spoke freely and playfully of his own homeliness; told amus ing anecdotes about it, and spoke of it in such ways as made Flora laugh heartily. A simple example: After they had become as intimate as brother and sister, there was a pausjp in the con versation one day, and John after a deep sigh said, “ Well, I’d give a thousand dollars just to know for one hour how an ugly man foels."— Flora laughed immoderately. “Well, John,” said she, “I think you might for a dollar know how such an one feels for a life-time.” Then John roared. Thus matters went on until Flora began to feel that John’s society was a very im portant item in her life of single blessedness. She met him with smiles and parted with him— not exactly in sadness, but with an expression of countenance and “ good-bye,” which seemed to say, “John, it’s hard to part with you, you pleasant, ugly dog.” Still John never whispered love, while every body spoke his praises. About this time Col. Summers got into a lawsuit, that alarmed him greatly. He employed Brown, who disposed of it, on demurrer, at the first term of the court At his next visit to Flora, she expressed her gratitude to him very tenderly, and added, “ John, I hope some day or other we will be able to repay the obligation tliat we are under to you." “ Why, Miss Flora,” said John, “ it’s the easi est thing in the world for you to cancel the obli : gation and make me the willing servant of you both ” “How, John?” “Why, just let your father give his daughter to me, and you ratify the gift.” Flora looked at him and blushed, and smiled, looked serious and said: “ Are you in earnest, John ?” “ In just as sober earnest as if I were preach ing.” “ John, I don’t believe you love me.” “Yes, I do, Miss Flora, as ardently as ever man loved woman, but until recently I believed my love was hopeless, and therefore I concealed it, or tried to conceal it, for I know you often saw it.” ( “ Why, John, you astonish me!—Go, ask Fa and if he gives me to you, I’ll ratify the gift. I might get a handsomer man. but I never could get a more worthy one.” “As to my beauty," said John, “ why that’s neither here nor there. One thing is certain about it, and that is, that it will never fade.” “ Well, John, if we live ten years longer, I am sure / shall think you handsome; for your features have been growing more and more agreeable to me, ever since you began to visit me." “Well, Miss Flora, iftliey are agreeab’e to you— tolerable to you, it is a matter of perfect indifference to me what any one else thinks of them. An other great advantage you will have in marry ing a homely man, and that is, you will not be ex posed to the common torments of the wives of handsome men.” “ I’m not so sure of that, John. Splendid talenta renown and fascinating manners are much more apt to win the admiration of our sex, than a pretty face.” “ If you see all these things in me, Flora, you see more than I have ever seen. As you are getting in a complimentary strain, I’ll thank you to ask your father in; for though I bear compli ments with great fortitude, they always embar rass me, and when coming from you, they give mo a peculiar drawing to the lips that utter them." “Well, how do you know but they would bear the drawing with great fortitude, too?" So saying, she bounced to her room and left him alone, saying, as she flitted away, “ I’ll send my father to you and listen how you draw to each other." The Colonel soon made his appearance. John looked at the Colonel, put his right leg over his left, took it down again, and patted his foot. The Colonel took a chew of tobacco, cleared his throat and looked at John. John cleared his throat too, coughed twice, blew his nose and looked at the carpet. “John,” said the Colonel, “Flora said you wished to see me." “Yes, sir,” said John, “I have long had a warm attachment to your daughter—and I thought if I could gain your assent to address her ’’ “To address her! Why, she says you are en gaged, and only want my consent to get married. If that is the case, you have my consent freely. There is not a man in the world that I would prefer to you for my daughter." So saying, he retired. Flory immediately re-entered, laughing im moderately. “Well John,” said she, “I don’t think you had much of a * drawing' to Pa.” “ Confound this asking for daughters 1" said John, “ I’d rather ask forty girls to marry me, than one father for his daughter. I never acted like such a fool in all my life !” Three weeks from this date, John Brown and Flora Summers became one, and remained one in the best sense of the term, through life. Mitten surrendered himself to cards ; distiu- NO. 26.