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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 ===Xl NO. 16 l l