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——'—r—l , ■ ■ I % VOL. 1. [For the Southern Field and Fireside.] ECHO AND L" After the manner of George Herbert, and to illustrate die way in which Judge Edmondson and l’oct lindgers •ondnct their “ Table Talks.’ - * I. Eclio,sa}', how may we find That boon we seek for. “ peace of mind ?” Echo. Mind — I. Mind wfiat ? the way in which we walk r With whom we speak, and hot r we talk ? Echo. Talk— i. The truth or never talk at all; Talk truth altho’ the Heavens fall 1 Echo. Fall I. Fall not into temptation, for The devil sure will catch us,or — Echo. or ~ I. If he don't, the danger, sure, Is more than virtue should endure. Echo. ’Dure— I. Endure the ills which flesh is heir to. And in the hope of Heaven, swear to— Echo. Swear to— I. Bear the load of life until, The overwearied heart is still. Echo. s » 111 I. Jog along like any ass, Until we come to that sad pass— Echo. Pass— I. Hound the hut!!! For what. Echo ? Because the spirits, sir, say so! Echo. So- I. So mutt we do, or they MU’l aide For to rap upon the table!!! Echo. ' Table— 1. “ Table lif the spirits are Truly inclined to tell if there— Echo. ‘ There— I. “Is any medium here ?—wc beg That you will stand upon one leg!” Echo. Lee— I. Leg-crdemain, it sure mnot be, Or else the “spirits” are “ into” me. Echo. (French) “Wo.” (ok/.) X. * See Geo. Herberts works, art. “ Echo,” Judge Ed mondson and Maudlin ltodgers’ “Table Talk.” [For the Southern Field and Fireside.] JACK HOPETON AND HIS FRIENDS 08, THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A GEORGIAN. BY \YM. W. TUENEK. CHAPTER XXIX. The next day I left Saratoga, and travelled with all the speed I could command toward home. I found Tom Harper and told him every thing that had passed. “ And Tom,” said I, “now I want you to go with me to Galveston—unless you arc too much occupied with affairs of the heart.” “ Oh, I can go,” lie answered. “ Kate and I are getting on swimmingly, but 1 can spare time sufficient to go with you.” Steam soon carried us to the young island city. Arrived at the hotel, wo registered our names. As I turned from the in passing the door of the reading room, I saw Fitzwarren’s cold pale face, as he sat looking over a news paper. Steppiug up, before he was aware of my presence, I laid a hand on his shoulder. Cooly lie raised his eyes. “ Ah, Jack!” he said, as he threw down the newspaper. “My dear friend!” I exclaimed, seizing his hand and shaking it vehemently. “I have known you long, but never have I felt half the pleasure in meeting you that Ido now.” “ Well,"if you only knew'my mission here, and the success 1 have met with, I should not be surprised at your joy; but since " “I do know it.” “ How ?” “ Mr. Bently told me." “But, Fitz,” I continued, “if you only knew with what great injustice I have treated you, I do not believe you could help hating me.” “ I do not see, Jack, how you have mistreated me. I have not felt any of the effects of your injustice, at least.” “ Oh! I have done notliing which could in jure you, because I was made aware how incor rect was my opinion concerning you; but I misconstrued your motives —judged you harsh ly—wrongfully.” “You could hardly do that, Jack,” said *itz warren, smiling bitterly. “ When you know the history of my life, no opinion concerning me will seem too harsh.” “At least, though but let mo tell you what I thought, and then you can say whether or not I judged you incorrectly.” Briefly and hurriedly, I then ran over the events which had occurred, from the morning when I overheard Mr. Bently and him, up to tho moment when I found him in the reading room—justifying my eavesdropping as well as I could. He listened, unmoved, to the whole. Not a trace of emotion was manifest in his coun tenance while I told of the doep villainy I thought he had committed. i JAMIES GARDNER, i I Proprietor. 1 AUGUSTA. GA., SATURDAY, DECEMBER 17. 1859. “ I must acknowledge, Jack,” lie said at 1 length, “ that you did misjudge me in this in- | stance. Now, let me tell you what I have been about, since that morning. This will show you how much pains I have taken to serve you, and I hope my devotion will tend somewhat to modify the opinion you must entertain of me, when you hear how wicked I was in early life—for the time has come to tell you all. I must relieve my mind by a confession. My first business was to prove Lorraine un eutitled to belief. For this purpose I have been to Missouri and obtained a certified copy of pro ceedings when his name was struck oft’ the list of attornies in that State, for mal-praetice. How I knew this had been done, you will perceive, in time. “As to this Florida hanging, you and Tom Harper can best manage it. “ My next step was to come to Galveston and look into this robbery ease. I found, as I ex pected, that there was a mistake in the matter. The Galveston paper that Lorraine* showed Mr. Bently was genuine, and the proclamation was by authority. Lorraine himself had made a de position against you, before a magistrate; but before the proclamation had been published the second time, the man who had perpetrated the crime was discovered, and, moreover, it came to light that if any robbery had been committed, it must have been by your accuser. “ He saw the turn affairs were taking in time to make his escape from justice. In the • u«Tt. number of the Galveston papers was a statement of the affair as it really happened; they apologizing to ‘Mr. John Hopeton, ofGeor gia,’ and denouncing Lorraine as a perjured man, and, probably, a thief. We can get—l have al ready made arrangement—copies of these news papers. I have also applied for certified copies of all the proceedings against the man who committed murder in Galveston on the very day of your alleged crime. “ But besides this, all the papers have prom ised, in their next issues, to review the whole matter, exonerating yon, and reiterat’ng- the charges against Lorraine. Everything will be ready, in a few days, so that we can start back to Georgia or or Florida, Jack,” said Fitzwarren, with a feeble, ghastly smile. It struck me that there was something very peculiar in that smile. Indeed, I had thought, several times, when talking to him about Florida, and about Helen Bently, that his smile had a very strange meaning—that it was forced, in fact. “ Fitz,” said I, “ let me ask you the same question you once asked me. l)o you love Hel en Bently?” * Let us go up to my room, Jack,” lie replied, “ and I’ll give you a very short sketch of my life. You can then see whether lam in love.” I complied, and we were soon seated, alone, and free from interruption. My companion was, for some moments after wc reached his room, silent. He seemed agitated much more so than I had ever seen him —and at a loss how to begin. At length, however, lie commenced in his usual firm tone : “ lam about to reveal to you, Jack, things I have never told to any mortal except one bene factor, now ‘ dead.’ I am about to give a de tailed account of circumstances which happened years ago, so dreadful in their nature that never, since their occurrence, have I dared to review them, minutely, even in my own mind. It is true, their memory, like a dark shadow, has given coloring to almost every thought and feel ing of my existence, but it has been in spite of a continual effort on my part to shut out tho horrible recollection. “ I must not waste words in a preface, though. I was born in Maryland. My mother was an intellectual, accomplished woman, kind and in dulgent, but firm in her discipline. I was truly blessed in having such a parent, for, while she lived, she soothed, curbed, and, to a great extent subdued, in me, as devilish a spirit as e\er was allowed to afflict mortal. Had that mother sur vived till now, who knows but I might have been living a quiet, innocent, peaceful, happy life, at the old homestead? As it is, lama restless, miserable, guilty outcast and wanderer. “ You are surprised to hear me speak so dis paraging of myself, Jack—l who am so proud, so haughtv, so disdainful in my intercourse with my fellow-men. I make such confessions to none other than you, but although I appear to despise the world, and most people suppose I do, I am all the time feeling as if the world des pises me. “ When I was twelve years old, my mother died. 1 My mother! * Hovcrcil thy spirit o’er thy sorrowing son Wretch even then, life’s journey jnst begun? “My father was a rather weak man, intellec tually, and a very poor disciplinarian. Some times he would allow me to follow my own in clinations without control, and again he would treat me with harsh severity; imposing the most trailing restraints. You may easily guess what effect such a course had on a disposition like mi » X W as born to bo miserable myself, and to make those around me unhappy. An extraor- | dinary person, like my mother, might, with the j , best sort of management, have made my life en j durable. Such a man as my father would only ! aggravate my natural moroseness and vindie- | tiveness. j “ I was an only son, and my father was ! , wealthy. His property consisted mostly in stocks. He had invested it in this way—merely ! reserving his house and a small part of his es tate to live on—to avoid the trouble of mauag ! ing a large amount of real estate, j ” For some years after my mother's deatli, we j lived alone, on this small estate, but my father’s ! health grew feeble. At length be was persuad- I ed by liis brother to sell the house he lived in and go to reside with his brother. This uncle of j mine had an eye to the wealth he knew my fa- j «ther possessed. In an evil hour for me, this ar- j | rangement was entered into. | “My uncle was a bad man ;so violent in j temper that he was feared by those of his. ac quaintances who were in the least weak or timid. My father stood in great awe of him, and, at the | same time, allowed him to have much influence ! over his own mind. “My uncle’s household consisted of a wife j and three sons—great, stout chaps—two older j than myself, and another about my age. He j had another son, who was a practicing lawyer— j a very young one, though—in the* neighboring town. Tho boys who lived with their parents j were rough, rather boorish follows, although their father was amply able to oSard them good | advantages and had been pretty well edu<«**d j j himself. The lawyer was a man of considerable talent an<l polish. What concerned me more immediately, how ! ever, the boys were disposed to be very tyran- j uical, and their father always took their side in I any dispute they might have with me—while ! my father, fearing his brother, aud often really ‘ persuaded by him that I was a very quarrelsome ! aad disagreeable boy, so far from taking my part, used to abuse me terribly for a ‘ devilish j 1 dOg.’ ; “ I know —I have already said —I was devil- j ish. but if my cousins had not hunted me up | I and sought occasions for quarrels, there would , never have been any between us ; for I always | avoided them. I had an invincible aversion to I : them on account of their boorishness aud total j i want of education. As for me, my mother had i : taken care to teach me books and good manners j | also. “ From this mother, I also inherited a bold ! spirit. I feared nothing. My cousins, though j overbearing, were cowardly. I was possessed | of incredible personal strength, and they were well aware of it, so they took good care to avoid personal rencounters. In all our frequent quar- j ’ rels, they used to appeal to their father, or my ; father —it mattered not which—the decision was always against me, and sometimes I was fl&j'jed < ; —flogged, Jack, ” Fitzwarreu's voice sunk j ! into a whisper, and his lips grew ashy, parting I ' wide from over his clenched teeth. ! “ I have been whipped, Jack,” he resumed, i 1 “on my bare shoulders, by my own father, till | the blood ran down my back, because I would *| not yield to the whims of the mean, despicable, ! arrogant fellows, my cousins. “ But never could they extort from me one whine —never from my hot and seared eyeballs came one tear. 11 ith blanched cheek, but ; steady gaze, mute as the wolf torn and mangled by the dogs. I used to endure all the punish ment they chose to inflict upon me. “ As to tears, I shed some on the occasion of my mother’s death—at that time, I think all the material out of which they are formed was ex hausted, for I have not wept one since. “ When I was fourteen, I was allowed to go off to school, where I remained one year. At the end of that time I came home. I had been away from tyranny so long—l happened to get to a yood institution —that I had grown unused to it. Besides, I had some of the feelings of ap preaching manhood. My cousins immediately commenced their bickerings, and, as before, my father took their part. . “ I would not dispute with them, hoping by ; this course to get rid of them. I was deter- mined to put an end to these persecutions, and I was resolved to submit to no more unjust flog gl my cousins mistook my for bearance for cowardice. They concluded that I had at length quailed beneath their united as saults. Idiots ! They forgot that the tiger al ways crouches just before he makes his deadly I One day, my uncle and his three sons, my father and myself were out in the yard. I had ordered a horse to be saddled, for me to ride to town. It was my father’s favorite saddle horse, and one which my cousins frequently rode —often without the trouble of asking leave. As I start ed out to the gate, Jasper Ftewarren, the one about my own age, and who was much bolder than his brothers, exclaimed to me : “ 1 Warren, what are you going to do with Feacock ?’—that was the horse's name. “ ‘ I am going to ride him.’ “ ‘ Where are you going ?’ > “ ‘ That is no concern of yours, Jasper. “ ‘ But it is. I want to ride Peacock myself.’ “ T made no reply, but walked on. toward the ; gate. “ * Come, sir,’ said my father to me ; ‘ if Jos- j per wants Peacock, you must let him have him.’ I “ 1 But, father,’ said I, ‘ you told me I might ! ride him.’ “ * You may have any other horse you want,’ | said my uncle, now speaking for the first time, j “ ‘ I do not want any other,’ stud I, in a low, i distinct tone. “ ‘ You contrary wretch !’ exclaimed my fa ther ; l if you are not careful, I'll give you a flogging. You've been without it so long, you've got above yourself.’ “ * Jasper,’ ho continued, turning to my cous in, • you may ride Peacock if you wish to do so.’ “ I started towards the gate again. Jasper caught hold of me to pull mo back. I stopped, gave him one look, then shook him otfand walk ed toward the horse once more. He caught hold of me several times between the door and the horse rack, and each time I merely got loose ! from him, without proceeding any farther. I reached the horse and laid my hand on the bri- i die. •“Warren,' now exclaimed Jasper* - enraged by my coolness, and made bold by my forbear ance, ‘ you shan’t ride Peacock. Uncle says 1 may ride him, so let him loose, you impertinent scoundrel!’ . “ 1 did let him go, but it was only to give Jasper one more warning look, and then 1 again took hold of the bridle. My cousin seized my arm. I thrust him rudely to some distance from me, and was in the act of mounting. My uncle and the other two boys, with my father, had by i this time started towards me—my father, in liis unnatural zeal, far ahead of the rest. “ As soon as Jasper recovered from the thrust I had given him, he rushed toward me. I did j not think he would venture so far, and was to tally unprepared, when he suddenly spat in my face, and followed tip this outrage, by striking me on the head with his whole might, with a club he had picked up off the ground. “ I cannot say that I became excited, Jack —I do not think I was hurried or flustered in the least—but a demon at that moment usurp ed the throne of reason, and assumed complete and undisputed sway over hie. “ Quick as thought, I drew a small, keen dag ger, and plunged it up to the very hilt in the breast of my cousin. He sunk down. The de mon was not yet satisfied, and I drew out the dagger. Again. I drovo it into the body before me, and wrenched it back and forth. “By this time, my father reached me. If he had only caught hold of me, I would never have harmed him. But he raised his cane, and the blows showered thick and heavy on my bead and shoulders. He had me by the arm. In a moment more I would have been seized by my uncle and cousins. The demon again command ed, and I obeyed. “ Once more I raised high the bloody dagger. It descended, and my father fell a corpse at my feet.” “ Great God ! Fitzwarren,” I could not help exclaiming'. “ Let me go on, Jack,” he answered, in a hol low voice, *• It is my business to relate events to you in as few words as possible. Think what you please, but don’t talk till I get through. “ I fled. Kven had one of those present been as swift of foot as myself, he would not have dared to pursue me, after what I had already done. “ I proceeded immediately, on foot, through fields and byways, to the house of Mr. Jerrold —an eccentric old bachelor, who hatod my uncle, and had frequently petitioned my father to let him take me to his house. He resided about a dozen miles from my uncle’s, and it was night when I reached his door. “In two minutes, I told him what had hap pened. ‘“Fromthis moment, then, Jack,’ lie said, 1 you may look on me as a father—but it won't do to remain here. As soon as you have eaten and rested you must go on.’ •* * I can neither eat nor rest,’ was my reply. “ So, two horses were saddled, and we rode to the nearest railroad station. My kind bene factor put me on the cars, and started me, with an abundant snpply of money, to a school in North Carolina, while he rode back home the same night. “At this school I remained several years— my friend coming to see me frequently, but never allowing me to go back to his house. “ From him I learned that my uncle, after my flight, produced a will of my father, in which the latter bequeathed his whole fortune to my uncle and his sons. Os course, they spread the re port far and wide concerning my two homicides, but Mr. Jerrold said that they were in such bad odor, no one believed what they said. In fact, they were suspected of having murdered my father and me, and of having forged fbe will. “So strong did the suspicion become that their situation grew very uncomfortable, and they left the State. “ I may as well tell you, now, what became of them. The lawyer went to Missouri, where he practised successfully awhile, finally spent all bis share of the property, and his name was I Two Dollars Per Anuum, I. I Always In Advance. I stricken off the list of attomies. He now goes under the name of Lorraine. “My uncle and the other two boys are your neighbors. They have assumed the name of Warlock. "I say my kind old friend never allowed me to go lack to his house, but he lodged a large sum of money—quite a competency—in tho hands of a trustee, to ho used for my support and educa tion—in caso he should die—during my minor ity, and when I should become of ago, to be given unreservedly into my hands. “ The worthy man is lo**g since dead—peace to his ashes! “ You know pretty well what sort of life I lived at the University. It was tho same, from tho time my good old friend died, up to tho pe riod at which I formed your acquaintance. “ I frequently traveled about for a few months at a time, and you did not know where I was. In these expeditions, I was urged by no partic ular object. Restlessness had more to do with these wanderings than anything else. “ I forswore love, but when I saw Helen Bently—listen calmly, now, Jack —when I saw Helen Bently, I felt as docs the idolator of the east, when at die end of his long and weary— .almost hopeless—pilgrimage, ho beholds, at length, the shrine he lias so often despaired of reaching. Had I followed the impulse of my heart. I should have Men down and worshipped her. “I soon sod though, Jack, thataeu loved her. 1 cannot give you any aaequateraea or tho fierce straggle in my bosom between love, selfishness, and my evil genius on die one hand, and friendship for you, on the other. Suffice it to say, that the latter triumphed. I saw Lor raine cast an evil eye on you, and I resolved to watch him, and defend you from his wiles. “ He and I had recognized each other, though I was a mere boy when I fled from his father’s house. I had not changed my name, and this helped his memory. Ho had changed his name, but 1 traced out the old lineaments in his face. I don't forget. “ I have been hast}-, wandering, and incohe rent in my narrative, Jack; but I hope I have been tolerably intelligible. If I have not, some other time I will answer your enquiries. ‘•My only object now, fora long while, has been to see you made happy. When that is ac complished ” Fitzwarren ceased abruptly, and leaned his head on his hand. He had failed to enlighten me on certain points—some he had spoken of— but I would not question him then. We were both silent for some moments. “ What do you think now ?” suddenly asked my companion. “ I thinlc that you were very unfortunate, Fitzwarren. - ’ was my reply. “Os course, you do—but we musn’t sit mo ping here. Let’s go out, and finish your busi ness." • CHAPTER XXX. Fitzwarren had so arranged everything, that it took us but little time to finish our business, and one bright day we left Galveston and steamed swiftly out of the beautiful bay. I car ried the proofs which were to restore me to the favor of those whose good opinion I prized so highly. I bore a light heart, for hope had again sprung up, and I thought that now Helen Bently would cease to look coldly, since she would find how groundless were the charges against me. At Mobile, our party broke up. “ Tom,” said I, “ will you go with me to Bent wold ?” “The mischief!” was Tom’s reply. “I thought you were going home first.” “ No. I can't rest till I show the Bentlys that I have been slandered, and that I am, at this moment, as deserving of their friendship as • I ever was.” “ Well, I can't blame you for being anxious to see Miss HeleD, under the circumstances.” “You will go with me, then?” “Do you think you will require ray services, ; Jack?” “Idon’t know that I do need them, Tom, but I would be glad for you to go.” “Then, if I can be of no benefit to you, I prefer going home. Recollect. I've got a sweet heart now, too.” ' “You are excusable, Tom. You, of course,'’ I continued, turning to Fitzwarren, “will go with me.” “ Yes,” was the reply, “I go to redeem my plodge—that pledge which you thought was a denunciation. You shall stand before these people in your true character.” “Then,” said I, “we take the boat to Blakely.” “And I,” said Tom, “must find one for Mont gomery. So, gentlemen — - High health and fortune, Ull we meet again: And then—what pleases Heaven." CHAPTER XXXI. A few days more saw us in that beautiful flowery retreat, where love had first dawned on me. Mr. Bently received us most cordially, but I was not satisfied yet. NO. 30.