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Southern Field and Fireside.
VOL. 1.
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
MY ABSENT FRIEND.
Thou art not here! I cannot see
Thy sweet and earnest face,
I cannot hold thy lily hands
Within my own, and trace
The gentle thoughts, that lie within
Those eyes so deep and clear,
Nor smooth aside, with tender hand,
Thy curls of sunny hair.
Thou art not here I Thy pictured face
Seems gazing on my own.
Almost I hear thy pleasant words,
Whisper'd in love's low tone;
My glance meets thine—those beauteous eyes!
Thy hands are clasped in mine,
I feel the pressure of thy lips—
Thy lips, as warm as mine I
She is not here! 'Twas Fancy's dream!
But one I fain would prove;
I wake to feel the hopelessness
Os earth, without her love.
Not here ! But oh! my trusting heart,
Thine image pure and sweet,
Shall guard, dear friend, from every change
Till we again do meet.
LTkconkvk.
—-
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
JACK HOPETON AND HIS FRIENDS
OR.
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A GEORGIAN.
BY WM. W. TURNER.
■ t
“ Very good, sir,” I answered, “ but you will
not find that altogether so easy a task as you
once did.”
And we walked on. I was somewhat disap
pointed, for I thought Fitzwarren had been
about to relate something of his past life. Ho
seemed to divino my thoughts.
“ Jack," said he, “ I have written a sketch of
my life for you which I may deliver into your
hands before I die, though I don’t expect to do
so. After I’m dead, you shall have it, how
ever.”
“ After you’re dead 1” answered I. “ How
many years do you suppose I’ll survive you ?
You are very little older than I am.”
“ Yes, but there is a hereditary consumption
in our family.”
“ You, however, Fitz, must prove an excep
tion. What a broad chest you’ve got!”
“ That amounts to nothing—literally nothing 1
Even now I have a cough, and if you will no
notice closely, you’ll see I stoop a little.”
I looked, and it was even so. lie read as
sent in my eyes.
“ Now you are satisfied,” he said. “ But even
if I had no consumption, men are poisoned
sometimes, and there are such things as pis
tols and daggers.”
“ Fitzwarren,” said I, sadly, fori was mnch
impressed, “ what ts the matter with you ?”
“ Matter, Jack ! Nothing. Come, my friend,
you are shocked now."
“At least,” was my reply, “ I sympathize
with the very unhappy mood in which you seem
to be this evening.”
“ I have a mission—a new mission—to per
form, Jack. My first—and principal one—was
to be unhappy. My last one is to serve you."
“ I am satisfied,” I answered, “ that you are
willing to aid mo in anything.”
“ Yes, but you don’t know how much you
need aid. A secret enemy is watching you,
and waiting an opportunity to strike you a fell
blow. I live but to ward that off. and then I’ll
pass out. When a man’s mission is accomplish
ed, he dies—either by consumption, or poison,
or dagger, or some other means.”
Fitzwarren was more excited than I had ever
seen him, and I began to concludo he was under
the influence of ardent spirits. I thought I
would get him to my room, and proposed to
walk back to the hotel.
“ No,” said he, “ not till we take that game.’’
“ It’s growing dark, now,” I answered. “It
will soon be supper time.”
“ Oh, we’ll have candles. I insist.”
I was obliged to yield. Wo passed by the
door of a bar room.
“ Let’s go in here,” said Fitzwarren, “and
you’ll see what you have never yet seen.”
“ Oh, don’t go in there.”
“ I must. You think —I see by your manner
—that lam already intoxicated. I have not
tasted any form of alcohol to-day. Since I saw
you last, though, Jack, I have been drinking it.
I’ve never yet been drunk, however, and never
will be. I only take enough to steady me.”
It was true that I had never seen Fitzwarren
tako a drink of liquor. I walked in with him,
and called for some wine and bitters.
“ Brandy-straight,” was his order.
You’ll conclude I am an apt scholar, Jack,”
ho continued, as he poured out a tumbler half
full of brandy/
“ I conclude that you’ll be drunk, if you swal
low all that dose,” answered I, looking on won
deringly.
“ No,” answered Fitzwarren, raising the glass
to his lips. “It will merely steady me, so that
I’ll beat you playing billiards."
I JANIES GARDNER, I
I Proprietor. (
AUGUSTA, GA., SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 1859.
“ Perhaps so.”
“ But here, Jack ; here’s to your success in
the Bently case,” and he drained the tumbler.
We passed on to the billiard room, and sure
enough, in a tew moments, Fitzwarren was as
cold and calm as usual. I soon became interest
ed in the game, and we played, with alternate
success, for some time. So absorbed did we be
come that lights w r ere called for, and not till it
was past the supper hour did we conclude to
stop.
I happened to look at my watch.
“ The duse !” I exclaimed. “ It’s past supper
time.”
“Oh!” said Fitzwarren, “lam not hungry.”
“Os course not; you never are."
“ And you, Jack, ought not to be, since you
are in love.”
“ I can’t live on love. But come, let’s go.”
“ I dou’t wan’t to eat; I’m going to my room.”
“ Will you be in the ball room, Fitz ?”
“ It is likely.”
So we separated; I going to the dining room,
and scratching up some sort of a supper, then
hastening off to dress for the dance.
The bali room was a blaze of light, as I en
tered, and there was a host of beautiful ladies
and gallant gentlemen. Ah, there is one thing
that must be conceded to old Georgia : She can
boast the prettiest women in the w’orld. It is
useless to deny it, reader.
But the music filled the room, and the circle of
dancers were keeping time to its passionate pul
sations. There were bright eyes which shot
their dangerous glances from under long eye
lashes. There were rosy cheeks winch might
be natural, or might be—paint. There were
coral lips which parted to give utterance to the
gay jest, or the merry laugh. Cavaliers basked
in the sunshine of thoso eyes, or listened,
rapt, to the accents which fell from the rosy
lips.
It was a gay scene, but I was looking for one
“ bright, particular star.” I saw her at last.—
She and her partner happened to be standing
still at the moment, and she appeared to be lis
tening attentively. The gentleman’s back was
turned, and I could not see his countenance, but
I judged from his courtly bows, his easy man
ner, and his seeming fluency, that he was one
calculated to please ladies.
I went into the colonnade to take a turn or
two, till the cotillon should be over. This was
soon the case, and I hurried back. I walked to
where Helen had gone to get a seat, and before
she saw me, spoke, extending my hand.
“I am glad, Miss Helen,” I began, “ that
you concluded to grace our watering place with
your presence.”
She turned quickly, as I spoke, and so did her
late partner. A look of complete surprise and
pleasure passed over her face.
“ How could I resist coming?” she asked, as
she gave me her hand.
But it was my turn to be surprised, as I re
cognized in the man, now my vis a vis, my old
acquaintance Lorraine. He also immediate
ly knew me, and started, while that look of ha
tred I had already seen, several times kindled in
his eye. It was but for a moment, however. —
To my further surprise, he seemed to change
his notion, and bowed courteously. I could not
be ontdone in politeness, and returned his bow.
Helen looked at us in some little wonder, for
we both seemed to have forgotten her presence.
I, indeed, was so very absent-minded, that I re
tained her hand all the time this dumbsliow
was going on between Lorraine and myself.—
Seeing Lorraine glance curiously at our locked
hands, with a slight blush and a look of re
proach at me, she withdrew hers.
“ Really,” said she, gayly, “you gentlemen
seem to be oblivious of the fact that you are in
a lady’s presence. Since you are so much inter
ested in each other, let me introduce you : Mr.
Lorraine, Mr. Hopeton ; Mr. Hopeton, Mr. Lor
raine.”
“ I believe,” said I, with a low bow, “ I have
met Mr. Lorraine, before.”
“ Not under very favorable auspices, though,
Mr. Hopeton,” answered Lorraine, with great
politeness and cordiality. “ Let the acquain
tance, which 1 am so proud of forming, date
from this moment.”
My only answer to this speech was another
bow ; for I was determined to know something
more of the man. before I cultivated too close an
acquaintance with him.
“You two,” said Helen, “ought to be great
friends, for you both have served my brother,
and have in him a very warm common friend.”
Not knowing exactly what to say, I was si
lent, while Lorraine commenced another speech.
During this I happened to look toward the other
side of tho room, and my eye met a sight which
caused mo actually to start. Fitzwarren was
standing a few paces from us, with folded arms,
and gazing upon some one in our group—l
could not determine exactly whom—as an angry
tiger gazes at his foe. Never, not even when
Tom Harper looked on the face of Jim Harda-*
way at the three oaks, had Tseen a glance more
full of concentrated Hatred and malignity than
now. His ordinanly pale face was now white
and rigid. His lips stood apart, while his thin
nostril, disteuded, quivered with emotion.
So remarkable was the apparition, that con
versation almost ceased, and people in the room
gazed iu wonder at it.
“ What can be the matter with Mr. Fitzwar
ren ?” said Helen, in a frightened voice, as she
happened to look that way.
“ Great God!” exclaimed Lorraine, as he
looked in his turn and caught Fitzwarren’s eye,
“ Who is that man ? I have certainly seen him
somewhere.”
I could well believe this, for Lorraine was not
the man to betray emotion unless it was over
powering. But I had no time to think of these
things, for I wished to rouse Fitzwarren. I
stepped towards him, but at my first motion he
started suddenly, resumed his usual look and
walked hastily out of the room. I immediately
turned to Helen. Tho fluent Lorraine seemed
to have been struck dumb, for he could only
converse by snatches. Still he did not seem at
all disposed to leave us, and I was anxious to
get rid of him.
“Miss Helen,” said I, “will you dance the next
set with me, or are you engaged ?”
“ I am not engaged,” was the reply, “ and will
dance with you."
“But unless you vastly prefer dancing,” again
said I, “ a stroll on the collonade would please
me most.”
“ I believe I have no objection,” said Helen.
“ Then, as it will not be long before the dance
commences, I petition tliat our promenade com
mence immediately.”
I offered my arm, and we walked out on the
collonade. As we passed out, I turned to look
at Lorraine. The deadly, sinister expression
with which he had always, heretofore, regarded
me, was on his face. I paused a moment to re
turn a look of defiance, when just at this mo
ment Mr. Bently, whom I had not before seen,
came up to him.
“ Why hello! old fellow!” he exclaimed fami
liarly, tapping the scowling gentleman on the
shoulder, “what does that thunder cloud on your
brow portend ?"
“Ah! Mr. Bently," said the other, as every
trace of anger suddenly vanished from his coun
tenance, and he was all smiles and politeness,
“good evening. You are still the most gay
young man of us all, though you tfre the head
of a family.”
“Very likely. Who the devil were you
frowning on just now?”
“ That is a secret, my dear sir.”
“ Ah! some rival. I did not think Mr. Lor
raine regarded rivals sufficiently to grow angry
with them.”
We continued to make our way through the
crowd.
“ Can you tell me anything about the man you
introduced me to ?” I asked of Helen, when we
were alone.
“ Not much. Ho rendered some little trifling
aid to brother Frank, I don’t know what, and
he has letters of introduction to some of the
best people we know.”
“ Is that all you can tell ?"
“ They say he lives in North Carolina, or Vir
ginia, or Louisiana, or Texas —now you have all
I know.”
“ You say he is a great friend of your
family ?”
“ Father and Frank like him very much. —
Mother is rather indifferent toward him. As
for me, I confess I almost hate him, although,
for the sake of the others, I try to treat him
with great politeness.”
“And what possible reason can you have for
disliking the gentleman? I thought he w r as pe
culiarly prepossessing where he chose to play
tho agreeable.”
“ Yes.”
“ Well, ho has been trying this with you?”
“ You may consider my candor as vanity, but
nevertheless I admit that he has.”
While promenading the long collonade which
runs entirely around the hotel, I had managed,
God knows how, to get Helen’s soft beautiful
hand into mine, and retained it there. I looked
at the imperial face and regal eyes beside me,
which were now radiant with love.
“ But, Helen,” I ventured to say and paused
to look for the displeasure I feared must follow-.
But her eyes met mine, and they still beamed
love. I pressed the soft, warm, pulsating hand
I held in mine, and continued,
“ But, Helen, the question still recurs. Why
do you almost hate Mr. Lorraine ?”
“ I am almost ashamed to tell you," she an
swered, as a slight blush suffused her features,
though the mild light of love still shed its rays
from her glorious eyes.
“But you will tell, though, my adored?”
said I.
“ Well, then,” was the reply, while she clung
close to my side, “it was merely because I one
day heard" him make a remark slightly dispar
aging to you.”
Reader, I “ seemed to walk on thrones.” The
full consciousness that I reigned in her heart,
was to mo a thought far more exulting than
could have filled the breast of the mighty Na
poleon, even had he seen his scheme of uni
versal conquest accomplished. I don't know
what I said or did/but after a while my thoughts
turned in another channel.
“ What did the gentleman see fit to say about
me?” I asked.
“Nothing,” answered Helen, “for which you
can call him to account, or I should never have
told you of it lteally I cannot recall the words.
They were merely some common, trite, harm
less sarcasm—nothing reflecting on your char
acter at all. I only remember the impression
they made on me ; I remember, also,” she con
tinued, “ that I replied to his sarcasm—which, I
am afraid, was impudent.”
“ No,” I answered, “ but it was very kind. —
You make me too happy, Helen; lam afraid
such bliss cannot last."
“ Well, Mr. Lorraine looked very keenly and
in much surprise at me, when I answered him.
Since that time he has always spoken well of
you.”
“ Did he say he was acquainted with me ?’’
“ He had met you, but never had an intro
duction.”
I thought it useless to tell Helen anything
concerning my meetings with Lorraine. For the
remainder of our promenade I gave myself up
to tlio delicious intoxication of love, and that
night I sought my pillow the happiest man at
Catoosa.
CHAPTER XXV.
“ llow do you do, Mr. Bently ?” said I next
morning at the breakfast table. “ I am happy
to see you enjoying the pleasures of the season
with as much gusto as we youngsters. I saw
you last night in the ball room.”
“ Thank you, Mr. Hopeton,” was the civil re
ply. “My excellent health enables me to enjoy
life vory much. I hope you are well."
“ Very well, thank you."
“ But you had the advantage of me last-night,
if you saw me in the ball room. I did not see
you.”
Helen was by her father’s side. I omitted to
state that I had bowed with a “ good morning,
Miss Helen” to her, when I first took my seat at
the table. I glanced at her as her father spoke,
and saw an expression of some confusion cross
her face. There was no one near us three. I
had never told Mr. Bently I loved his daughter,
but I thought ho must know it, and I concluded
now would be an auspicious moment to give him
a hint. My mind misgave me a little, too, for
Mr. Bently’s manner, though perfectly polite,
was certainly very grave and reserved—entirely
different from his ordinary, gay, cordial bearing
toward me. Nevertheless I spoke.
“Nosir. I was not in the ball-room much.
I did not dance at all.”
“Strange, fpr a ladies’ man like you. Why?”
“ I did not get to the room till the ball was
half over, and then a very bewitching young
lady allowed me the extreme honor and pleas
ure of promenading with her a half hour in the
colonade.”
“ Indeed! That was pleasant.”
“It was, sir—so pleasant, that when the
promenade was over, and I had led her back
into the ball-room, unwilling to mar the happi
ness I had enjoyed by converse with any one
else, I sought my couch.”
“Ortho tiger— which?” asked a gay voice be
hind me.
I turned, and beheld Frank Bently, with his
fine-looking mother on his arm. I had made
no point with Mr. Bently, as I intended, for it
was evident that he did not miss his daughter
from the ball-room the night before, and he was
not aware that it was she to whom I was allud
ing. However, the greeting from Frank and
Mrs. Bently was cordial as ever, and when they
sat down I thought it was as pleasant a little
breakfast party as I ever was in.
So gaily did Frank rattle on concerning belles
and billiards, love and betting; 'so merrily did
his mother chime in, though occasionally re
proving him for his wildness; and so full of
spirits did Helen seem, that Mr. Bently caught
the infection, and so far lost his unwonted re
serve that, before the breakfast was over, I
had forgotten it.
“ But I insist on knowing,” said Frank, at
last, “who.it is that Mr. Jack Hopeton was
spouting about w hen we came up and cauglit
him.”
“Oh!” was my roply, “ I was' merely telling
of the delightful promenade, by bright moon
light, I enjoyed last night with Miss Helen.”
“Hal ha! ha!” shouted Frank, “’twas you
then, that I encountered several times on the
colonade, when I was promenading with that
sweet young creature —I won’t tell her name.
I thought you two the most troublesome, an
noying couple I ever saw, and kept wishing you
would go back to dancing.”
Mrs. Bently tried to look unconcerned, but
she could not help smiling at Helen, who, in
spite of her efforts, sat blushing.
But Mr. Bently looked very grave —almost
angry—at least I fancied so. However, he was
a well-bred man, and he tried to change the
subject.
“Frank,” said he, suddenly, “have you
heard anything more from home ? Any let
ters?”
“ No, sir.”
“We may be compelled to leave this, in a day
or two.”
“ Leave here, sir? Why, I never was enjoy
ing myself better in my life, and I thought you
all were pleased.”
j Two Dollars Per Annum,
| Always In Advance.
“No doubt mao,” said
Mr. Bently, almost sMSpßiibut there is some
thing else for me, at least,!© think about, be
sides pleasure. You can stay, if you wish.”
“ Well, I’m sure that Uelen would like to stay,
also.”
“ I certainly had rather remain,” said Helen.
“Yes," said Frank, “I’ll take care of her,
and make her behave herself.”
“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Bently. “you might see
her once in twenty-four hours.”
“ You don’t wish to remain, Helen,” asked
her father, “ when your parents wish you to go
with them ?’’
“At least, father,” was the reply, “ I’ll go
with yon without complaining.”
I felt myself rather de trop at this family dis
cussion, however vital an interest I might pos
sess in it, so Prose from the table to wait a more
favorable opportunity to converse with Holen.
As I W'ent out, I met Fitzwarren, and exchang
ed salutations witli him. He proceeded to
where the Bentlys were.
“Stop, Fitz,” said I, “don’t go there; they
are having a family consultation.”
“ Ah!” said he. “Well, I’ll aid them.”
I was astonished at this reply, and still more
so when the man actually did go, and, with bis
graceful but ceremonious bow, scat himself
lloße to the group I had just left. I did not stop
any more, but went up stairs.
Going into the parlor, I found Mrs. Holmes,
Miss Kate Morgan, and other ladies of my ac
quaintance. Tom Harper was there also, 6ure
enough, ((laying the agreeable to Kate. I
thought*' would try to find, out what Mrs.
Holmes thought of Uncle Charley.' *SHe was
surrounded by beaux, as usual, but I made my
bow.
When I first noticed her, she seemed to be
flirting e <ren more recklessly than usual, but
there was an occasional abstraction in her man
ner, as her eye rested on vacancy, after I had
watched her a little while, which made me think
her heart, or at least her mind, was far away. It
was during one of these moments of abstrac
tion I approached her.
“Ah! Mr. Hopeton,” said she, extending her
liand, as her countenance brightened, “you
don’t know how much pleasure it affords me to
see you. How is your excellent mother?”
“ Well, Mrs. Holmes,” I answered.
“And your kind father?”
“Well, also. I hope, Mrs. Holmes—but it
would be superogatory to ask—l am happy to
see that you are well, and capable of slaying
hearts. But are you as cruel as ever ?”
“ I look for this from casual acquaintances,
Mr. Hopeton. Indeed, it may be said that I
have sought it,” said the lady, sadly, “but in
you I consider it unkind.”
There seemed to be something in Mrs.
Holmes’ words or manner, or both, which soon
scattered the knot of admirers to which she was
surrounded when I went up. We were left
alone.
“ Those happy days I spent at Hopeton,” con
tinued the lady, “are a pleasant reminiscence
for me, but I fear”—she hesitated and blushed—
“ I fear,” she continued, “ they have destroyed
my peace.”
“I believe, Mrs. Holmes,” said I, “they des
troyed the peace of another also—Mr. Charley
Hampton."
“Do you know, Mr. nopeton, that flirts are
the most miserable beings on earth ?”
“ I had some such idea."
“It is true. They finally, when they think
themselves most secure, fall truly and seriously
in love with some one who trifles with their af
fections.”
“ Mrs. Holmes, you have had no such experi
ence as this ?’’
We had found a seat on a sofa in one corner
of the room, and no one could see the face of
the lady, as she had turned it toward the wall.
Just at this juncture, the party I had left at
breakfast came into the parlor; only Mrs. Bently
was on her husband’s arm, Helen on Fitzwar
ren’s, and Frank was missing. Fitzwarren en
tered into close conversation with Mr. Bently.
Immediately the ladies excused themselves and
left the parlor, while Fitzwarren and Mr. Bently
walked off in earnest conference. Now the
parlor was almost entirely deserted, except by
Mrs. Holmes and myself. I turned to look at
my companion.
She had leaned her head and covered her
eyes, while from under her hand burning tears
trickled down her cheeks. A moment she sat
thus, and, then mastered her emotion, as 9he
raised her pale, tearful countenance, and said:
“ Every heart has its sorrow the world
knows not of. In your father’s house have I
experienced what I tell you of.”
“ Mrs. Holmes,” said I, again, “ you must al
lude to Uncle Charley. If so, let me assure you
of your mistake. But suffer me to ask you a
question: Do you love him ?”
“ Alas 1 that I should so humiliate myself—
yes.”
“ Then I assure you, that not on this earth
could you bestow your affections on a more
worthy object. A truer, more devoted, more •
chivalrous heart does not beat.”
“ Yes, but he does not love me."
“ If I mistake not, he told you he did."
\ X0.28.' i
