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The dormitory was a large room of a hundred by thirty feet, with three rows of beds the entire length. A large drum stove stood at either end, which gave a genial warmth to the apartment. Soon to my drowsy eyelids came “Tired nature's sweet restorer—balmy sleep,” which continued dreamless and unbroken until the bell aroused me at dawn to the commencement of my first day’s experience at a convent boarding school. I have already entered too much into detail, and will therefore only state that we were duly installed in our different classes, and after the first feeling of homesickness wore off, we were very happy in our new situation. Among the girls the one with whom I became most intimate was Mary Seaton, a fair haired, blue-eyed, delicate-looking creature, whom every one felt almost compelled to love. Perhaps what first attracted me towards her was her en thusiastic admiration, expressed on all occasions, of Sister Cecilia, whom I had loved from the first moment that I beheld her. This affection grew into a species of idolatry, which feeling was fostered by the seclusion in which we lived, never going anywhere and never seeing anyone except the inmates of the Convent, I regarded Cecilia with that worshipping reverence, which a pious Catholic feels for his patron saint. She moved amoug us, but not of us—a being of a higher sphere. Her rapt expression, and far-off gaze seemed, at times, to denote that her expectant ear caught the distant murfhur of an gel voices whispering, “Sister spirit, come away." One day Mary said to me, “ Gertrude, did you know that Sister Cecilia had the consumption ?” “ Oh, no, no,” I exclaimed, my eyes filling with tears at the thought. “ You must be mis taken, Mary.” “ No I am not,” she replied , “ for she told me so herself.” And from that day, my love, if possible, for this angelic being grew and strengthened. She, too, seemed to prefer me to any of the other girls, and when we were together, I would nes tle closely to her side, she putting her arm af fectionately around me, while a sense of perfect happiness would fill my heart. After my conversation with Mary, I noticed that Sister Cecilia did have a cough which seemed to be troublesome at times, and now, with my eyes opened, I saw that, day by day, her step grew feebler and her pale cheek thin ner. She appeared to suffer no pain, but to fade gently and slowly, even as the summer flowers. She was compelled, at last, to give up her clas ses, which was a sore trial to me, for it seemed so much easier to study when I knew that I would receive a smile of approval from her in return for a well recited lesson. Finally, she was confined altogether to the infirmary. Here I was occasionally allowed to visit her, and she would talk to me of God and Heaven, and the delight that she felt at the prospect of soon bid ding adieu to this fair but deceitful world. One afternoon, Sister Vetoria, the disciplina rian, came to my desk and told me that Sister Cecilia wished to see me. I obeyed the summons with alacrity, and was quickly beside her bed. No sooner had I looked upon her than I perceiv ed that a great change had taken place since I last saw her, and even to my unpracticed eyes, the shadow of death was visible upon her coun tenance. She feebly extended her thin, white hand, which I clasped within my own, while passion ate sobs convulsed my whole frame. “ Weep not forme, Gertrude,” she said. “My ransomed spirit will soon be rejoicing in its long wished-for freedom. Already has extreme unc tion been administered to me, and pfter fulfilling one more task, my earth-weary soul will be ready to obey the call of its Saviour, and its God. You have been dearer to me, darling, than any other human being for years. I tried to close my heart against you, and fix it only on Heaven, but its love could not be controlled. I wish now to give you the history of my past life—a life replete with human joy and human woe. “My name, ere I became a member of this sis terhood, was Gertrude Archer ; I was wealthy and accomplished, and people called me beauti ful. My home was in one of our northern cities, where I dwelt with my parents and one only brother. At the age of seventeen, I met Charles Ellsworth—nay, start not, for it was indeed your father—l soon learned to love him with all a young heart’s first pure affection, and I had rea son to believe that love returned. And when in low, sweet tones, he breathed his passion, and pleaded, oh 1 so eloquently, that I would be his bride, I did not refuse, and for a brief interval, we lived as in a blissful dream. But alas ! too quickly came the rude awakening. “ One day Edgar, my brother, said to mo:— ‘ Gertrude, I am sorry to see young Ellsworth paying his addresses to you, and should he pro pose, I hope that you will discard him at once, for he is unworthy of you. Only last night, at a convivial party, I heard him boasting to some of his associates, of how completely the haughty Gertrude Archer was in his power—that she loved him so devotedly as to be completely his slave. 1 should have resented the insult, but he was not aware of my presence, and I did not wish to bring you thus before the public.’ “ How all the pride of my young nature rose in arms at these words—for I did not doubt their truth, as my brother could have no object in deceiving me. He sought only my good, I thought, in thus destroying my fairest, brightest hopes of earthly happiness. “ Oh I the agony of that love —even now, on the confines of eternity, I cannot recall it with out a thrill of pain—when I discovered that he, upou whom I had lavished all thtf wealth of a loving heart, was undeserving. I immediately wrote him a brief, cold note, in which I inform ed him that all must be at an end between us, but gave no explanation whatever. I also told him that it would be useless to endeavor to ob tain an interview, for I would not see him. Ho did call, however, and whon I heard his loved tones entreating to see me, my hoart almost failed me, and I was upon the point of rushing into his arms and confessing all. Well for me would it have been had I done so, but pride, that curse of angels, held me back. “ The next I heard of him, lie had gone to Mississippi, where he had an uncle and other rela tions residing. Though my heart was well nigh breaking, I hid my grief under a gay ffnd care less demeanor, and plunged into every kind of dissipation and excitement that would serve to banish thought. “ Edgar had a friend, Alfred Mortimer, dear to him as his own heart's blood, for they had been close friends at college, had travelled over thousands of miles together, and Alfred had once saved Edgar’s life at the imminent hazard of his own. A few months after Charlie’s de parture, this young mao, whom I loved as a bro ther, offered himself to me. It is needless to say that he was rejected, though Edgar prayed and entreated me to wait awhile ere I decided. I answered that no second lovo could ever fill my heart, and that I never expected to marry. “Edgar was highly exasperated, and for weeks would scarcely speak to me. One night he camo home, complaining of a severe head ache, and the next morning found him confined aOBSSUSBjE BXKLB ASS SUUK&XSX. to his bed by a fever of a very malignant type. Our family physician was at once called in, and gravely shook his head, pronouncing his patient's situation to be very critical. For dqys Edgar lay balancing between life and death, but the Allwise Providence saw fit to spare his life. But during his illness, when he thought that the grim king of terrors was about to claim him a 3 his own, he confessed to mo that he had de ceived me with regard to Charles Ellsworth. He told me, that he had never liked my betroth ed, why he could not tell, and that he had so set his heart on seeing me united to Alfred Morti mer, as to stain his soul with falsehood in order to accomplish his object. “ With a lighter heart than I had known for months, I hastened to my room after this inter view, determined to put aside all false delicacy and write to Charles, giving him the facts of the whole case, and telling him that I still remain ed true to him. The letter was dispatched and for ten days I waited, finding suspense most difficult to bear, and then came an answer crushing out all hope and joy from my future and leaving me groping in worse than Egyptian darkness—the darkness of a soul whose’ only feeling was to curse its God and die; for he whom I had set up for the idol of my life was no longer free. He had only a week previous to the reception of my letter been united to your mother—a sweet gentle girl, he described her, with whom, though she had not succeeded in calling forth such ardent and passionate love as he had felt for me, he hoped to pass his future years peacefully and happily. “ My child, may you never suffer such anguish as racked my heart throughout the live long night after I read that letter. On bended knees I prayed for death, but God refused to hear the blasphemous cry. As soon as I had somewhat recovered from the shock, I came to this con vent where I had been educated, resolving to abjure the world and all its vanities and dedi cate my life henceforth to Heaven. Ah! how little had I dreamed, when two short years be fore I had gone forth from this peaceful retreat, full of impatience to launch my frail bark upon the treacherous tide of fashionable life, that so short a time would elapse before I should return broken-spirited and earth-weary, crying ‘ peace, peace, give me peace 1’ “ Long and arduous was the struggle, ere I could teach my sinful and rebellious heart to submit to its fate. But by the grace of the Most High I did at last succeed, and I know that my latter years have not been uselessly spent, in healing the sick and ministering to the broken-hearted. Tell your father to meet me above, where there will be no concealments, and partings never come. You are very like your father, Gertrude, and I am glad that my dying gaze can rest upon the semblance of his features. And now, my child, farewell. Endeavor to tread carefully and holily the thorny path, that leads to life eternal; bear the cross awhile, and you will wear the crown through countless ages. “ Take that book,” and she pointed to one on a table near by, “and read to me the prayers for the dying, for my end draweth very near and I will soon be ‘ where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest!’ ” I took the book and, though in a choking voice, continued to read for the space of fifteen minutes, and then looking up I discovered that only the lovely casket lay before me. The en franchised soul had burst its bonds and soared on angel’s wings to the realms of bliss. Her face was placid as a sleeping infant’s; the long dark lashes lay upon the waxen cheek, and the attenuated hands were folded above the pulseless bosom. Gently and without a sigh had “She closed her eves and stood in peace Before a smiling God.” There was no wild burst of grief as I looked upon the beautiful clay, but soothingly, as falls the summer rain, the tears dropped one by one from my eyes, until my soul was filled with awe not unmingled with happiness, for the heart-sore and earth-weary pilgrim had entered upon her rest. Noiselessly I left the room and proceeded to call those whose duty it was to prepare the body for interment. I lay awake long that night, pondering upon the sad story that had been that day unfolded to me. I had never known for whom I was named. While all of my brothers had received some family name, I alone had been called for none of my relations. Once I had questioned my mother upon the subject and she had answered that it was a fancy name be stowed upon me by my father. Now I knew, that it was in memory of the lost love of his youth, that my sire had called me Gertrude; perhaps, too, that was why I was so much dear er to him than his other children. The next day, shrouded in the same sable costume, which she had worn in life—the rosary and crucifix lying upon her marble bosom—the remains of sister Cecilia were consigned to their final resting place. The tall poplars sighed mournfully in the breeze and all nature wore a sadder aspect to my vision, as two and two, both sisters and pupils slowly wended their way to the little enclosure, where, guarded as it were by the emblem of our redemption, the ashes of the departed sisterhood reposed. In the vacation, when my father came to take me traveling until the commencement of another terra, I carried him to this quiet spot, and point ing out to him the plain white marble slab bearing the inscription: “ Sister Cecilia Archer, aged 35,” told him of the death-bed revelation of her who slept beneath. The strong man bowed his knee beside that humble grave, and raising his tearful eyes to heaven, murmured: “ Both are gone—the wife of my bosom, the mother of my children, and Gertrude, the first love of my youth, both awaiting me over the river. Now, Lord, thy servant is ready to de part in peace.” Reverently and slowly we left the consecrated place, our hearts filled with a tender sadness. And years have passed since then, and soft eyed little children cluster arcund my knee and call me “ mother”; but memory, oft, with retro spective glance, brings before me the image of her, who with palm in hand and brow encircled by the crown of glory, dwelleth with saints and angels, forevermore, in “the city not made with hands—eternal in the heavens.” — ra - When Dr. Franklin’s mother-in-law first dis covered that the young man had a hankering for her daughter, that good old lady said she did not know so well about giving her daughter to a printer—there were already two printing offi ces in the United States, and she was not cer tain the country would support them. It was plain young Franklin would depend far his sup port on the profits of a third, and this was rath er a doubtful chance. If such an objection was urged to a would-be son-in-law when there were but two printing offices in the United States, how can a printer hope to get a wife now, when the recent census showed the number to be 15,- 067? [For the Southern Field and Fireside.] COMMON SCHOOLS. Messrs. Editors : —ln two former communi cations I think I have shown, that a general free school system of education can offer no ad vantages over our present common school sys tem. I will now undertake to show, that the latter has some very marked advantages over the former. But before Ido so, I will use the occasion to remove the only plausible objection, (in my judgment,) which has been urged against this common school system. Others have in deed been urged, but a correct knowledge of the facts, as they really exist, will remove them. It has been objected that the system operates unequally, and consequently unjustly, because some counties having many poor children and paying but little tax, share too largely of the school fund. This objection may have weight, when, and only when, it is shown that any citi zen has a claim, founded upon right, to the taxes which he may have paid to the State Govern ment. But such a claim is barred, in justice and equity, by the fact that ho has received, and is still receiving for his tax, more than ten equi valents from the government, in the safety and protection of his interests, of his rights of per son and of property. The State, then, in giving what is clearly its own, in larger shares to the more needy and helpless counties, does only that which, every patriot will say, is. its duty— and the more so, since the reflexive benefits— the education of the poor—will result in com mon good, in universal security to all the coun ties. This, then, so far from being a valid ob jection, ought to commend the system to the public favor. Now the advantages: Advantage No. 1. The common school sys tem will educate as many poor children, (all that can be got into the schools,) with less than one fourth of the funds, which would be re quired under the free system to pay teachers alone; saying nothing of one and one-half mil lions, which that system must expend in build ing school houses. This is a decided advantage. No. 2. This system is successfully executed at a very small cost. Having no salaned offi cers, the per cent, allowed to disbursing agents, which I believe is five per cent., covers all the expense of its execution. I place the sum to be distributed, at one hundred and thirty thousand dollars. Five per cent, on this sum is six thou sand five hundred dollars. This is the whole cost of its execution. Can a general free sys tem, when perfected, be executed for four times this sum ? I think not. No. 3. The common school system is educa ting all the poor children that can be got into the schools, and will go on constantly increas ing their number. The tendency also is, to in crease the number of schools, while the immedi ate effects of the free system, at its very incep tion, must be, to withdraw from the schools the State aid, and of course, to destroy a large num ber of them, and as a consequence inevitable, leave a large number both of the poorer and middle classes, for many years, totally deprived of the means of education. This is a great ad vantage. No. 4. The present system has its school houses already built, its teachers provided, its funds invested aßd yielding regular profits, and the people familiar with its operation. The free system has all these things yet to be done, and in doing them, who can say what great blunders may not be committed ? Ido sincerely believe, its inception will be a most egregious blunder— one which will strike a deadly blow at educa tion, from which our State will not recover in a century, if ever. No. s. This system leaves tho education of children in the hands of those who are best qual ified and most interested to see to it, that they are well and economically educated—l mean, in the hands of parents and guardians; while the free system must take it from parents, and place it in the hands of the State or its irresponsible teachers, who might feel no responsibilities to, and no dependence on, those whose children are intrusted to their care; and, in all likelihood, would care quite as little about their moral and literary advancement. This should bo well con sidered, for it is of vast import. No. 6. The common school system deprives no man of any right, destroys no school, nor as sumes even the shadow of a questionable pow er for the government. It simply offers a gratu ity to the indigent, and leaves them free to ac cept or reject the offer. If they accept, they en joy a great benefit. If they reject it, their con dition is no worse than it was before the gratuity was offered. Very different, in these respects, is the system of general free schools, by which some are seekiug to supercede this admirable system. Under the present free system the Government assumes tho power to lay its hands upOn the private property of a citizen, for the purpose of educating his children. This, in re gard to these children and the State, does appear to me to be a private purpose, and if so, is clear ly unconstitutional. It is true that a general good may result to the State, but this public benefit is reflexive and incidental. The exer cise of this power, to say the least against it, involves an assumption of a very questionable power—one, at least, from which the govern ment is, and of right ought to be, restrained. However this may be, there is another feature in this general free system, which is clearer.— I suppose that, if the government should pass a law that every citizen should educate his child ren in these State schools, no matter under what kind of school government, possibly the exclu sion of the Bible even on “ the teacher’s desk,” and affix a severe penalty to each failure, our State government would fairly deserve to bo classed with the most arbitrary powers of Eu rope. A burst of universal indignation would be aroused, w'hich would lash the government back to a better observance of the constitution. Well, the State Government, by introducing the general free system, does not do this directly, but would do it indirectly, and quite as effectu ally as the most stringent law could do it. The system, if adopted, would put down all other schools, and the people be compelled, under tho penalty of the loss of education for their child- • ren, (a most grievous penalty, truly,) to educate their children in the State schools. Now, what matters it to us, if we" are to suffer an evil, whether it come directly or indirectly? This system, then, has all the evils that can be found in the law described above, and is therefore un constitutional. The system takes from the pa rent the right to educate his children as he plea ses, thus depriving him of a right derived from a power higher than the constitution. These rights are too important to be surrendered even upon the condition that the system would edu cate every child in the State. Many of our rights are priceless, and these are of that class. The system is presented to us under very plausible colorings. Promises have been made for it, of great good, to the people, it would accomplish. Let these promises not be relied on; they are false and deceitful—just such as are always held out to the people, whenever a government de sires to exercise unconstitutional powers. Let the people look well to the price they are to pay for the system, and if they believe them right, and the constitution of less value than the sys tem, why then, let it be adopted. If not, then let a system which seeks to supplant one of the best systems, if not the very best in the world, and which seeks to do so by depriving the peo ple of some of those dearest rights, be crushed at once; —let the head of the viper be severed. J. C. P. [For the Southern Field and Fireside.] * ABORT MEN’S KISSING. BY LOUISE lUNUIEM. To Americans with whom any thiug approach ing a caress, even between the closest of rela tives, is rare, the idea of two men embracing is not in the least touching. On the contrary, it has in it, to many, something of the ridiculous. But this should not be so—it is far from being so. Education taught me the same prejudice, tho’ often as a child, I have wondered why men and boys did not love each other, as women and girls, and thought it sad indeed. Later on in life, I found this subject matter for much mirth, mostly in teasing my brother, a man past forty, who blushed like a girl on being kissed, before a crowd, on both cheeks, by an old German school teacher at Geneva, with whom he had placed his son, and who professed a furious attachment for both of them. I confess to a little tightness at my throat at this feat of the old man. and if I had had more faith in the sincerity of a friendship of two weeks growth, I should perhaps have been more touched; and then P.’s crimson blush and intense annoyance was too good a thing to let pass, and I teased and exposed him pitilessly, whenever I could, in payment of the many tortures he was ever inflicting on me. However, I got usfd to seeing men kiss while I was in Europe, and looked upon it indifferent ly, till once travelling with my youngest sister, the two children, and two other young ladies, under the protection of a very gallant and distin gue American gentleman, who was to meet at the end of the voyage a dearly beloved friend. So romantic was the attachment between these gentlemen, both having no superior in the States for birth, wealth, good looks, talents, and chival rous nature, that it was become the subject of remark in their city of adoption. The girls teased M a good deal about his friend, and I fancy were a little jealous (he was a good catch) and one of them tauntingly laughed out, “ I should not be the least surprised to see them rush into each other’s arms and kiss.” “ Kiss him 1 indeed you may expect it. Frank and I never parted, or met yet without it, and, please God, never will." The girls thought him quizzing them, but at any rate promised themselves some fun at see ing the elegant, the dignified, the cold and sar castic Mr. , kissing the brilliant, talented, handsome Frank . We entered the port. The girls and children clustered outside in the saloon of tho great steam er, in a fever of delight and expectation of friends, novelties and the arrival of Mr. . I, older and sadder, sat in my state room—and—l fear me—crying 1 not from envy of those gay care less things outside, but alas 1 I was not eighteen, and had come to give up the little children—not little now, whom I had loved, protected, and taught for seven long years, give them up to another!—would they find the friend, the moth er I had been to them? Alast I feared not. Suddenly I heard a flutter and excitement in the little crowd gathered at my door, then a rush, then a kiss, —yes, a loud hearty kiss I—it went through my heart like a knife—then a passion ate — “Frank 1” “Guy!” I could not help it 1 I rushed to the door, and beheld the young men holding each other at arm’s length and gazing eagerly into each other’s face. Never can I forget that spectacle! Tears were in the eyes of both. I turned and looked at the girls. They were almost pale, quite still, and subdued; tears were in their eyes too, and a look on their faces which said, “ Oh, will I ever be loved like this!" /knew they never would, for all their youth, beauty and brightness, and I shrunk silently back, closed my door, sat down on my trunk and cried—Oh, how bitterly I cried 1 Since that time I like to see men kiss each other, if there exists a real sincere attachment, and for fathers not to kiss their sons, and broth ers each other, on occasions of meeting or patt ing for a length of time, I think is—well—bru tal. And when I hear people laugh and make fun about men’s kissing, I can’t help getting in a passion; and as I can’t always explain, for a certain little choking at the memory of that scene, I just get up and walk off, as I did from tho tea-table the other night, when the subject was jested upon; or, I say something sharp and bitter, which make people set me down as de mented, for I am not in the least given to cares sing myself, and then to expect it of men 1 So they shrug their shoulders and “ one of her crochets ’’ is all the response I get. — The First Steamer that Crossed tiie At lantic. —We published a paragraph yesterday, mentioning the arrival at New York, Boston and Quebec, during the month of May, of twenty-two steamers from Europe, and stated that it was on ly twenty-one years ago since the Sirius, the first steamer to cross the Atlantic, arrived at New York. A subscriber desires to know whether the steamer Savannah did not cross tho ocean several years before the Sirius. There is no doubt that she did, and we made the mention of the Sirius because that vessel was the first steam er to arrive in this country from Europe, and is generally considered the pioneer of ocean steam navigation. The Sirius arrived at New York on the 22dof April, 1838, from Cork, Ireland. The Savannah, commanded by Capt. Moses Taylor, sailed from Savannah on the 25th of May, 1819, nineteen years before the Sirius made her passage and arrived at Liverpool in twenty-two days.— This steamer was built in New York in 1818, but was owned by parties in Savannah, and was a paddle wheel steamer, of 350 tons and 90 horse power. She was a full rigged ship, and a fast sail or; on her voyage to Liverpool she had steam up fourteen days, and by steam alone could make eight knots an hour.—[iV. 0. Bulletin, June 11. Swimming Horses.— During seasons of high water, men, —in tiavers ng the p’a ns, —often encounter rivers which rise above a fording stage, and remain in that condition for many days, and to await the falling of the water might involve a great loss of time. If the traveller be alone, his only way is to swim his horse; but if ho retains the seat on hil saddle, his weight pres ses tho animal down into the water, and cramps his movements very sensibly. It is a much bet ter plan to attach a cord to the bridle-bit, and drive him into the stream; then, seizing his tail, allow him to tow you across. If he turns out of the course, or attempts to turn back, he can be checked with the cord, or by splashing water at his head. If the rider remains in the saddle, he should allow the horse to have a loose rein, and never pull upon it except wheu necessary to guide. , CHILDREN’S COLUMN. [For.the Southern Field and Fireside.] Mr. Editor: I notice a new feature in your valuable paper, which, I humbly think, should commend it to the heads of Southern families I allude to the column for children. I love chil dren, and for six years have devoted my whole time and talent (little though it be) to the pro motion of what I conceived to be their best in terests. I respectfully offer for the little folks, the following PROBLEM. What number is that, whose | multiplied by itsi, is equal to five times the number? This is to be solved by Analysis, without the aid of Algebra, Position or Supposition. Those who have advanced as far as multipli cation in \ ulgar Fractions, can easily solve it Come now, my little fellows, who speaks first? Truly yours, “James.” A Story for Boys. —lt is related of a Persian mother, that on giving her son forty pieces of silver as lus portion, she made him swear never to tell a lie, and said: “Go, my son; I consign thee to God, and we shall not meet again here till the day of judgment.” The youth went away, and the party ho trav eled with were assaulted by robbers. One fellow' asked the boy what he had, and he answered: “Forty dinars are sewed up in my garments.” The robber laughed, thinking that the boy J6St€U. Another asked the same question, and re ceived the same answer. At last, the chief called him, and asked him what he had. The boy replied: tl \ h ,*' e to ! d two of y° ur People already that I had forty dinars sewed up in my clothes.” The chief ordered the clothes to be ripped open, and the money was found. “ And how came you to tell this?” “ Because,” replied the boy, “ I would not be false to my mother, to whom I promised never to tell a lie.” “Child,” said the robber, "art thou so mind ful of thy duty to thy mother at thy years, and am I insensible at my age of the duty I owe to God? Give me thy hand, that I may swear re pentance on it.” He did so, and his fellows were struck with the scene. “ You have been our leader in guilt,” they said to the chief—“be the same in the path of virtue,” and taking the boy’s hand, they took the oath of repentance on it. There is a moral in this story, which goes be yond the direct influence of the mother on the child. The sentiment infused into the breast of a child is again transferred from breast to breast. Parental Consistency.— Parents, asks an exchange, how many of you consider what ob servant little eyes and ears are noting all you say and do? This saying and doing of yours, is training your children in the way they should or should not go, more powerfully than any oth er influence. What a blessing it would be to every child born into this sinful world, if parents regulated their words and actions as if they re alized this fact; and likewise, that it operates more effectually when the mind is tender, and uncontaminated by the deepest hypocrisy, and deluding opinions of society as it exists, than it can ever afterwards. The infant mind imbibes the ptrong impressions by precept and example from loving parents, and thus they become their guides, whether right or wrong. It seems that st. nn onrly ago, they possess almost an intuitive perception of right and its opposite, and it is surprising oft-times, how correctly they judge of the words and acts of their seniors—a convinc ing truth that too much circumspection cannot be called into requisition, in our intercourse with the little ones, as they are sitting in judgment on all they see and hear. An instance in proof of this, now presents it self to my recollection. A bright, active little boy, (who, in after life, became a clergyman,) was very urgent, while frequently teasing his mother for a coat like his brother’s (who was several years older) with “pockets behind,” ap pearing to believe that thereby his manliness would be greatly increased. To his often and urgent importunity for it, his mother generally replied: “You are a little boy —they don't wear such coats; it would not be proper; when you get to be a man, then you will wear them with “pockets behind.” Abaut this time it became necessary to visit a mineral spring on his be half, that ho might drink of, and bathe in its waters; the baths were more formidable than he had ever entered at home, and he manifested some considerable fear, flinching with dread.— His mother said: “ R—, you are a man, you should not be afraid.” The retort was instanta neous : “ When I ask for pockets behind, you say I am a little boy, now you say 1 am a man.” That mother received a lesson from the circum stance that was never forgotten. [For the Southern Field and Fireside.] ENIGMA, NO Vn. I am composed of nineteen letters: My 8,4, 6,1T —is what we should always be. “ 1,10, 12, B—is an animal. “ 2,6, 5, 7—is a title of nobility. . “ 1,18,8, 2,19,12, 7—is a military title. “ 9,10,15,14, 4—is a residence. “ 12,15,17, 15,16,8 —is a season of the year. 18,11,15,1.1, 7,18, s—is one who breaks the revenue “ 9,10,19,13, 2—is an animal. “ 1, 8,12,17 —is an insect “ 5,15. 11—is a liquor. “4, 6, B—is what we all do. “ 10,19, 6, 8,1,18 —is a fruit. My whole is a distinguished Officer of the American Revolution. Answer next week. Charleston, 8. C. Natalie B. ENIGMA, NO. VIII. I am composed of twenty letters: My 1, 6,11,15, 9, 20— was a brave soldier. “ 1,9,8 —is an interjection. “7, 14, Id, 12—is a girl's name. “ 2,lß—is a verb. “ 13, 17, 4, B—is an elevation. “ 10,19,1 —is an adverb. “ s—is a vowel. My whole was a President of the Union. Answer next week. Richmond Factory, Ga. J. W. R. CP”Answer to Enigma, No. V.: “ Trust in God, and keep your powder dry.’’ Answer to Enigma, No. VI.: Dr. Daniel Lee. Correct solutions have been received from Stephanie of Charleston; Ccbiositt, of Augusta; J. A. H. T., of Macon; J. W. R., of Richmond Factory ; Fanny, of Washington, Ga; Frank Farleigh, of Edge field, 9. C. t3?“The “Extraordinary Enigma” sent by J. B„ (a whole, composed of only eighty-four parts,) is respect fully declined. His desire 9>r promoting the ingenuity and amusement of all who take an interest in the Enigma department, is duly appreciated—but the space allotted this feature of the Field and Fireside, will forbid the publication of Enigmas containing more than a square (fourteen lines.) Standing Rcle. —Enigmas sent Jor publication must be accompanied by the real name of the writers, as well as the solutions. Poisons of any description which have been intentionally or accidentally swallowed, may be renderod almost harmless by simply swallowing two gills of sweet oil. 203