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Southern Field and Fireside.
VOL. 2.
I JAMES GARDNER, I
I Proprietor. I
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
WAITING.
When will ho come 'again ? 1
Long arc the summer days
Hot are the dusty ways.
Lonely his path must be!
Treading ’mid dainty flowers
Spend I the twilight hours,
Heavy with anxious pain,
Murmuring donbtingly
When will be come again ?
Sweet were his parting words;
44 Tis for thy sake I go,
Soon my return will be;
Conquer each thought of woe,
Mourn not when I am gone.
Is not my soul with thee J”
And my heart echoing,
Canght up the words of bliss,
omfort they've been to mo
Oft In such hours as this.
Bat, to-night, drearily
Watching the misty rain,
Weeping I wait for him;
When will he come again ?
Ah! these are coward fears,
What cause have I for tears ?
Bright eyes should watch for him,
-m«ar eyes—^at
* Oh! fbr one honr of rest, a
One hour of slumber blest,
One dream nnmlxed with pain—
Something to soothe my heart
’Till he come home again!
Day by day silently,
Sometimes e’en hopelessly,
Toil I—none care for me, *
None note my changing brow,
None read my fading cheek,
None know I’m dying now—
Has be forgotten me ?
No, no 1 that cannot be I
Oh! the dear words he'll speak
When he returns to me,
When on his heart I learn,
Sobbing the glad refrain
To our soul's happy song—
When will he come again ?
Mabel.
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
THE
PRIDE OF FALLING-WATER
A TALE
OF THE
Old French War of 1755.
BY JOHN ESTES COOKE.
LX VI.
STBATEOY OF MISS AMY.
“ Well, Amy,” said the old Major after break
fast, on the morning following the scene just
related, “how do you young ladies propose
spending this beautiful October morning ?”
The young girl glanced at Tom Harcourt, who
was standing with the rest upon the portico,
and finding that he was watching her every
movement, though he pretended to be talking
with Will, said, smiling:
“I think I would like to have a row upon the
Opequon, Uncle.”
“And who will row you ?” asked the old gen
tleman, pleasantly.
“ Oh, there are plenty of cavaliers, sir.”
“ And you intend to take your ladyship’s
choice ?”
“Certainly, sir,”
Tom Harcourt was about to step forward,
when he suddenly stopped, turning red with
anger.
With a fascinating smile, and a coquettish
turn of the head, Amy added:
“ I use my royal privilege by selecting Mr.
Beausire for the pleasing duty of attending upon
my person.”
Beausire, who was tranquilly conversing with
Isabel, exhibited an almost imperceptible amount
of annoyance.
The young girl, however, did not Dotice it.
“Os course you are not so ungallant as to
refuse,” she said to the young hunter, wkh a
charming smile.
“ By no means, Miss Amy—but are you quite
sure you could not find a more agreeable cav
alier ?”
. “ Perfectly sure, sir.”
“ I’m quite an old gentleman, you know, com
pared with your younger friends, here."
And he indicated Tom and Will.
“ I prefer old gentlemen,” was the reply.
“ Even when they are not amusing?”
“ Yes, sir—but that is not a failing of one old
gentleman I’m acquainted with.”
“Who is that?”
AUGUSTA, GA., SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 1860.
. 1— '‘liiir^" 1 111 '■-= •
“ Yourself, sir."
“ Thanks for your friendly regard,” said Beau
sire bowing; “though I fear you are only jest
ing.”
“No, indeed, I'm not!”
“/ amusing I”
“ More than that—you are interesting .”
And Miss Amy bestowed a brigiit glance up
on Beausire.
“You have seen much more,” continued the
girl tenderly, and glancing covertly at Tom liar
court, “ as well as performed much more than
others. You must not think me forward when
I say that your whole life seems like a romance
—and you know how much young girls are in
terested in heroes of romance.”
Beausire smiled again, but this time with a
puzzled expression. What did the sudden pre
ference of Miss Amy for his society over that
of all others mean ? His quick instinct told
him that therA was something concealed beneath
all this—but Im sought in vain for an explana
tion. ~'~r
“Then,” nsrstafed Miss Amy, smiling sweetly
as befofe, ' there is an additional advantago in
being escorted by old gentlemen as you say.”
“Pray, wbat Is that?”
“In case a young lady wishes support or as
sistance of any sort, she can call for it with less
ceremony.”
“ Support—assistance ?”
“Yes, indeed, Mr. Beausire!” exclaimed the
sntFold not look at Tom Harcourt, but he un
derstood her allusion.
“It is very improper—and very disagreeable
—on such occasions," she continued, “to call
upon a young man, of one’s own age, and /, for
one, don't like it. Now, I wouldn't mind old
gentlemen of twenty-four or five!" *
And she again glanced, smiling, at Beausire,
while his rival writhed.
The young hunter looked at Isabel, with
whom he had promised himself a delightful
morning; sighed; smiled with a resigned air;
and said:
“ Well, Miss Amy, it is impossible for me to
refuse after your very flattering opinion of me
so kindly expressed. I will of course accom
pany you, and we may as well go at once.”
“I'll run and get ready in a minute 1"
With which words Miss Amy darted up stairs,
and soon returned in a broad-rimmed flat, se
cured beneath her rosy chin by a blue ribband.
She looked very lovely as she took Beausire’s
arm; and Tom Harcourt reddened with anger.
“ You all walk down after ’while,” the young
lady called out, “ and come back with us. But
not now: Mr. Beausire and myself are going to
have a tete-a-tete."
Miss Amy, in her anxiety, over-acted her
part, and a young gentleman in his sober senses
would not have failed to understand that the
regard which was so carelessly and openly ex
pressed, could not be very deep.
But, Tom Harcourt was by no means in his
sober senses—and, at the unmistakable evi
dences of preference for Beausire, which the
damsel exhibited, found himself shaking with
rage, and revolving in his mind that bloody de
sign which he had conceived on the termination
of his conversation with the priest.
LX VII.
THE STEPPING STONES.
An hour afterwards the younger members of
the household—lsabel, Clara, Will, and Tom
Harcourt —set out for the banks of the stream.
It was an exquisite morning, and Isabel
drank in the delicious sunlight with all the ar
dour of a child. The new influence operating
upon her life had made her wholly another be
ing. Her cheeks were fresh, plump and rosy;
her eyes sparkled with happiness; and her lips,
red as carnations, were half parted in a tranquil
' smile, the very reflex of joy and lighthearted
ness. In the beautiful girl, with her laughing
eyes and lips, her bounding gait, and her merry
voice, no one would have found any resemblance
whatever to the “pale, drooping maiden,” of a
few weeks before.
They came in due time to the banks of the
stream; and as they reached it, Beausire and
Amy were seen slowly descending the current
in the little skiff, which floated at its “ own
wild will ” upon the painted water.
As his eyes fell upon the occupants of the
boat, Tom Harcourt started wrathfully.
Miss Amy was reclining upon one of the seats,
with her hat tossed back from her'rich dark
curls; and with her beautiful head thrown back
until the snowy throat was visible from the
dimpled chin to the edging of white lace which
was scarcely discernible against the neck as
white, looked into the countenance of her com
panion with a long, lingering regard of what
seemed the deepest tenderness.
As they approached the spot where the party
stood, Miss Amy, who did not seem aware of
their presence, quietly took in her own one of
the young hunter's hands, which she retained,
in spite of his effort to withdraw it —and look
ing into his face, with an affection greater than
before, remained silent, blushiDg deeply.
—wr*
That blush uroso froth -he simple fact that
Miss Amy had descried the party upon the bank,
and daring as she wag, -elt something like con
tusion ut playing her part so boldly.
Tom Harcourt, however, did not for an instant
suspect what Isabel did very shrewdly, and
scolded Amy for on their return —the comedy.
The youth took it In earv/st, and his cheeks
flushed with wrath and wretchedness. Then as
his eyes fell upon the smiling countenanco of
Beausire, who, despite the opposition of the
young lady, qniotly witbdiew his hand, Tom
Harcourl’s oyos flashed with menace; and his
trembling hand stole unconsciously to the bilt
of an imaginary sword.
ILis rage was not destined to decrease. An
other event speedily occurred which drove him
nearly to frenzy.
It will be remembered that Miss Amy had
extolled old gentlemen escorts ns superior to
younger ones, upon the grtrpud that when young
ladies required " assistance ” they could apply
to sucli persouages for aid without ceremony.
The daring maiden seemed determined to play
her comedy to the end, a A claimed the assist
ance in question from her cavalier in landing.
The margin of the stream, at the point which
the boat touched, was low, and marshy. Some
stones had been placed at intervals, as a means
of passing without wetting the feet, and upon
these stonep Mitts Amy m' at now step or soil
her dainty’slippere. and V le underskirts.
“ Oh,€ never .eeij. -alone," she
. * wrvl, sapping ujou tj^.'liaptoy-..
ing a very pretty -pair of feet, as sh# held up
her skirts.
“You can take my hand,” said Beausire,
smiling at her childish uir of annoyance.
“But are you sure you won't get your feet
wet ?”
“No indeed —l have on my ridiDg boots, and
it is nothin?, Miss Amy.”
“Then I will try, and you are very, very
kind."
“ Hero is my hand," he said, holding it out.
“ No,” she said, “ I will try without it."
“ Very well; but I'll walk beside you.”
1 The result of this arrangement was, that in a
few moments Miss Amy's foothold upon the
stones became unsteady, she wavered from side
to side, and ended by throwing her white arm
round Bcausire's neck, and reached the shore
literally lying upon his bosom.
Tom Harcourt said nothing. But he was as
pale as death. By an enormous effort he sup
pressed his rage externally, and said nothing—
but his decision was irrevocably taken.
“We have had a delightful row," said Amy,
retreating, with many blushes, from the young
hunter, “ and Mr. Beausire has been very, very
kind.”
She looked tenderly at that gentleman as she
spoke, and that look by no means decreased the
anger of Tom Harcourt.
“At least you seem to be on excellent terms
with tho Captain,” said Will, laughing, “ and I
suppose he, too, found his time pleasant.”
“Will!” said Amy, reproachfully, “what do
youtnasn ?”
“I mean I saw you holding his hand!” cried
the youth, with great glee, “ and looking at him
as if you could eat him up. Isabel, I’d be jealous
if I were you!"
And Will revelled in Miss Amy’s obvious con
fusion. Indeed, that young lady found she had
overplayed her part, and was suffering the pen
alty which actors undergo when they “tear a
passion to tatters."
“ Then, coming ashore, ” said the remorseless
Will, “your treatment of the Captain was really
fraternal. Amy. I only wish young ladies
would recline upon my bosom in that way 1”
“I wish you would not be so rude!” said
Amy, colouring to tho roots of her hair, and
looking as though she were goiDg to burst into
tears, “to misunderstand me so, and mako fun
of me! I didn't think you’d do it, Willi”
And Miss Amy seemed overwhelmed with
confusion. This was not lessened when she
looked into Tom Ilarcourt’s pale, cold face, and
the sudden air of seriousness which her hurt
accents diffused over tho party did not serve to
place the affair in a better light.
Will ceased at once his jests when he found
that the youDg girl was really wounded, and
said, with that exquisite courtesy and delicacy
which characterized him when his serious na
ture was appealed to:
“ I beg your pardon, Cousin Amy, for my
rudeness, and you must not suppose that I
meant anything but a little teasing. lam not
really so foolish as to find fault with your tak
ing the Captain’s hand and resting your arm
upon his shoulder. Come, cousin, let’s kiss and
make friends I" added tho youth, with a merry
smile, “or if you won’t kiss me, shake hands!”
As Will was youthful, and highly privileged,
however, he received his kiss; and the whole
party returned to the homestead.
Amy ascended the hill, leaning upon Beau
sire’s arm: and not wishing to be diverted from
her scheme by trifles, again gazed long and ten- |
derly into his face. It was a very excellent 1
imitation of real love on the part of a woman
for a man; and Tom Harcourt's veins flushed
with renewed wrath.
That wrath grew to white heat when Beau
sire, with a smiling air, at the portico, bent
down and courteously kissed the maiden's hand
after the fashion of tho time.
Tom Harcourt’s decision was from that mo
ment like cold iron.
LXVIII.
■ HOW TOM lIAItCOURT HELD A PRIVATE INTERVIEW
WITH BEAUSIRE.
It was early in the afternoon, and Beausire
was standing upon the portico, looking thought
fully forth upon the variegated forest, when he
felt a finger upon his shoulder.
He turned and saw close behind him the pale,
cold face of Tom Harcourt, full of hatred and
menace.
“ May I request the honour of a few moments’
private conversation with you, sir?” said the
young man, in a voice scarcely recognizable.
“ With me 1 ” said Beausire, in profound as
tonishment.
“Yes, sir, with you,” was the reply.
“ A private conversation I ” repeated the
hunter with unaffected surprise. “Did I hear
you aright, Mr. Harcourt?”
“Yon did, sir! and I will repeat it, if neces
sary ! I desire to have a private interview with
you—now, without delay I ”
Beausire gazed at the young man for a mo
ment with the doepest wonder, and vainly en
deavored to understand the meaning of his pale,
. {fee, his threatening looks, and the hollow
tonesVf his voice. j
But these evidences of passion were unmis
takable, and the hunter was accustomed to act
promptly upon sudden emergencies, leaving ex
planations for another occasion.
Beausire, therefore, banished his astonish
ment, returned the fiery look of tho young man
with a perfectly calm regard, and said, court
eously :
“I am at your service, sir. lam wholly ig
norant of your design in requesting this private
interview, but as you seem to labour under some
excitement, nnd appear earnest upon the point,
I have no choice but to comply with your pro
posal.”
“It is well, sir,” said the young man, in the
same hollow voice. “ Then, if it is agreeable to
you, we will leave the house.”
“ Willingly, sir. I will accompany you now.”
And side by side they slowly descended the
hill in the direction of the Opequon. Tom Har
court did not open his lips until they had reach
ed the grove upon tho banks of the stream, and
Biausire, who calmly awaited the proposed com
munication, remained perfectly silent also.
When they reached the forest, Tom Harcourt
paused and, for a moment, gazed at his eompan- |
ion with a look so gloomy and threatening that
the young hunter found his own anger rising in
response.
“I await your pleasure, sir,” he said with cold
courtesy. “ I believe this place is quite private,
and I am anxious to understand the meaning of
this singular affair.”
“You shall soon understand—if your ignor
ance is not all a pretence," replied the youth
through his set teeth.
“ A pretence, sir! my ignorance a pretence i "
returned Beausire. “Think what you say, Mr.
Harcourt! lam not quick to anger, hut Ido not
relish insults I ”
“I'm glad you don’t: then the end will come
sooner.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean that you owe me satisfaction for
your double dealing and your intrusion, and you
shall give it to me I ”
“ Mr. Harcourt.” said Beausire, gazing at the
youth with unaffected curiosity and astonish
ment, “are you crazy—seized witli sudden mad
ness, and talking at random ? If you are, sir, I
have only to say that I do not pretend to under
stand the ravings of delirium—you must speak
out plainly, and I will take the liberty of giving
you a small piece of advice. Gentlemen do not
insult others unnecessarily, and you have twice
insulted me, sir.”
“ I design insulting you I ” -
“Well, sir," said Beausire, curbing his hot an
ger and speaking in a tone as cold as ice, "what
next?”
“ I design to demand satisfaction.”
“ Very well, sir; I see no objection to that.”
“Then you acquiesce, sir! you use the short
sword ? that is fortunate.”
The youth tried to sneer, but it terminated in
a burst of anger.
“I use the short sword indifferently well,”re
turned Beausire, in the same cool tone, “and
now that may, I hope, be regarded as settled.
If you cut my throat, it will be with this par
ticular weapon; and having so determined, we
may pass on to what generally precedes an in
vitation of this description—the cause of the
encounter.”
“You pretend not to understand!” cried the
youth, furious at his companion’s coolness.
| “Mr. Harcourt,” was the reply, “I have al
! ready had the honour to request that, in discus
sing this affair, you would not lard your dis
course with insults. This is now the second or
thi d time you have outraged me by direct per
sonalities. If my own views upon the subject
(Two Dollar* ter Anunm, •
( Always In Advance. •
have no weight with you, sir, I beg leave to as
sure you that I have mingled much with gentle
men, and that m all parts of the world it is a set
tled canon that conversations such as this should
not be mingled with expressions personally of
fensive.”
“ I suppose you think I am a child I ” blurted
out the youth, enraged anew at his companion’s
tone.
» “ I do not, sir.”
And yet you have the presumption to ad
dress me as such 1”
“ Such was not my intention, sir."
1 "You shall find that I am a man in will and
wrist, if not in years, and that, sir, I beg you
distinctly to understand ! ”
1 “ May Ibe permitted to understand anotner
, thing, Mr. Ilarcourt,'’ said Beausire, calmly—‘‘a
thing from which we constantly wander, name
-1 ly, the ground of your hatred for me and your
plain desire to shed my blood.”
“ Yes, you are right, sir I ” cried the youth,
“I do hate you, and I have cause! ”
“Whatcause, Mr. Harcourt?”
“You again pretend to ask?”
Beausire drew a long breath and then re
pressed all anger.
“I will not reply to your insults, Mr. Uar
court,” he said, “ and I again say with entire
sincerity that I am completely at a loss to com
prehend your hatred."
“Well, sir, I will explain it,” said the youth,
hotly. “You have acted with duplicity.”
“lask for the last time—is it necessary to in
, suit me, sir?”
“Yesl if that be an insult. Tfa explain my
self, as you will concede nothing, I use plain
words.”
“ Well, sir,” said Beausire, coldly, “ proceed,
lam listening. You say that I have acted with
duplicity—”
“ You have! ”
“ In what manner, sir? ”
“ Toward the household of Falling Water.”
“ How ? ”
Forced thus to advance to his accusation, step
by step, by the direct cross examination—so to
speak, of his adversary, tho young man chafed
more and more, moving restlessly like a spirited
horse, held in by his rider’s bridle.
“ Are you not paying your addresses to Miss
Isabel?” he exclaimed. “Answerthat,sir.”
“I choose to refuse any answer,” said Beau
sire, colouring slightly, “ and I beg to indicate
to you, what you have uo doubt overlooked in
your excitement, that the question is intrusive
and illbred.”
“I know it; and 1 intend good breeding to
have nothing to do with this interview.”
“ That is candid, sir.”
“ I will speak plainly! ”
“ Well, I listen.”
“ I repeat that, while paying your addresses
to Miss Isabel, you have made love to Miss Amy
Walton.”
Beausire opened his eyes to an inordinary
width.
“You dare not deny it!” cried the youth,
with angry triumph.
“ To Miss Amy 1 ”
“ Yes, sir—to Miss Amy Waltou! ”
“ 1 have made love to her, do you say I ”
“ I do, sir! ”
“Mr. Ilarcourt,” said Beausire, coldly, “I
scarcely know how to reply to your extraordi
nary remarks. You have coolly adopted a style
of conversation which places you in the chair of
the judge, and myself in the place of the crimin
al at the bar. You formally bring your accusa
tion—l am to clear myself. Well, sir, I have
submitted to this from excess of good nature
alone—and you see how lam placed. If I-de
ny your accusation, it is the simple denial of the
accused, and goes for nothing. Upon my word,
sir, it was unnecessary for you to inform me that
you are not a mere boy, for you play your game
with the address of an old practitioner.”
“ I play no game 1” cried the youth, writhing
under the sarcastic tones of his companion;
“ and you shall not divert the conversation from
the main point.
“ The accusation—the terms of the indictment,
I suppose,” said Beausire, restive, in turn, at the
young man’s lordly topes, and with a curl of his
proud lip. “ Well, sir, read it over once more.
I think the clause under discussion is that which
charges mo with paying my addresses to one
lady and making love to another.”
“.Yes!”
“ Well, sir,” said Beausire, coolly, “ the crimi
nal replies by denying the authority—the juris
diction it is called, I believe—of the judge.”
“Sir, you are trifling with me! Beware I”
“ Mr. Harcourt,” was Beausire’s austere reply,
“there are some very ugly words in the
English language, and ‘ beware ’ is one of them.
It is disagreeable when employed in a friendly
sense, for it indicates tho vicinity of danger;
when uttered in the tone you adopt, it is still
more unpleasant, for it implies superiority and
contains a threat. I must say, at the risk of
offending you, that you are not my superior—
unless it be in birth, as lam so unfortunate as
not to know the name of my father or mother—
and • beware ’ is an indecorous word to be ad
dressed by you to myself. You say lam trifling
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