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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