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rPBI.ISHED Bit STOCKTON 4c CO.
NEW SERIES.]
tines are touchingly beauti
t From the Spectator.
THE DYING SOLD IEE BOY!
Stggultd by a Ansae ulioA oaaumd afltr tit bat
tit 0/ WiUiamtburg.
letoiUED to Tar. xotuisliii yovtbs or oc* u«T.
The fearful strife at length had cloeed,
The cannen't roar had ceased,
And 'mid th < dying and the dead,
With anxious heart <re preaaed.
In agony we often spoke
In trembling tones and low,
"Oar brothers, tana and friends were here,
Obi God, where are they now!'
• We paused beside a little groap.
Beneath an oak tree's abode,
Thereon the oold and bloody nod,
A. youthful form was laid,
i father knelt beside his boy,
, And ktaeed Us pallid cheek,
And prayed him—aye, with many tears,
One par ting wofd to speak.
He seemed a moment to reel re.
dud feeoly sought to press
Hla loving hither to his heart.
In one long, last embrace.
And then In soft an£ touching tones
Which none unmoved might hear,
He spoke these tender, gentle words,
In that loud father's ear:
“I’m dying, dearest father, now
I.may not live to bless
Thy lonely, thy declining years.
With joy and happiness.
Bat, dearest father, do not grieve.
I've given my life to save
From orpel, ascrlllglons hands,
My own loved mother’s grave.
"My mother, from my Infancy,
Watched o’er my boyhood'ayeora, e
And dying, leftslrgacy,
Rich with her prayers and tears,
My mother taught me how to live,
She taught me how to diet
dad now I follow where the leads.
Beyond yon stare nay.
"Dear father, take my band in yours,
And kiss my brow once irore.
And let me lean upon your breast
At wont In' days of yore.
How talk to me of Jems’ love,
For hehsa oonqnered death 1”
One npwart glance—one gentle sigh,
Hla spirit was at rest.
We tamed sway with throbbing hearts.
With tiers and deep regret,
Bat never, till oar dying day.
Can we that scene forget
We*ll cherish In oar memory
The words of that dear yonth,
Bo toft In their parity.
Bo eloquent In truth.
Dear soldiers, whose loved mother’s forma,
Monlder beneath the tod.
Be true to her. In life and death,
Trne to yonr mother’s God.
Seek now the Bavlonr whom she loved,
Make it yonr dally care,
To live a life of holiness
That yen her bllaa may share.
Mora.
Happiness is not the end of life—character is.
This world is not a platform where yon will hear
Thalberg piano playing. It is a piano manufac
tory, where are dost, and shavings, and boards,
and saws, and files, and rasps, and sand-papers.
The perfect instrument and music will be here
after.
FIELD AND
AUGUMA. GA., SATURDAY, MARCH 6, 1864.
[Written for tue southern Fielded Fireside.]
®etaM Stag’s Ktfife.
BY TH* AUTHOR OF “BUST MOMBNTS OF AN
IDL* WOMAN,” “ LILT," *’ SYLVIAS WORLD,"
*O, Ao.
‘You are so enthusiastic,' drawled Mrs.
Fordyce.
‘I should hope I am,' said Bertba, curtly.
‘Eaihuniaum in Atyotnan so often lends into
mischief,’ said Phyllis; pi nsiyely? ‘it isa gfeat
responsibility. I admire it very much, but I
should'lit like to have it.’
‘Anybody Would suppose, Phyl, that enlhu
eiaem was a gown or a newfangled ornament,
or an animal to ore of,’ said Oerald.
‘lndeed, 4 appeal to ibe gentleman,’ said
Pnyllis ; ‘wefali know that Mrs St. Clair «an
do anything, : snd be trusted with anything.
She has gifts that few women oould manege ;
but for us, —the majority ol us—is it not best
that we should have lees eutauaiasm—be less
impressible ?'
'Ab 1 pallet 4* rtloin J/’ said Mrs. St. Clair,
in sn undertone,-to Mw Jo3ieJyu- •To»u»alH
oious meauiDg there I Shull 1 thank 'her aud
pretend 1 dont’t see V
‘lt you ask my opinion, Mrs. Fordyce.’ said
Mr. Taunton. *1 should say you are perfectly
right. Weak women had better have weak
qualities, but Mrs. St. Clair should be enthu
siastic; and when you get to more names, I
shall continue to answer yes or no, as long as
I am permitted ’
‘1 like everything that is genuine,’ said
Oerald. Genuine enthusiasm, genuine sim
plicity, genuine ’
‘Wickednets?’ asked Mr. Aubrey.
‘Not exactly. But even genuine wicked
ness is belter than digiugenuuus goodness. I
bate pretences of all sorts. I would not care
to be, for oue moment, other thau 1 seem to
be. I would not ’
Mrs. St. Clair was looking steadily at him.
‘Did you speak, Mrs St. Clair f
She shook her bead.
’OhI you were a theoretical mau always,'
said Aubrey. ’How muca religion have you,
pray? and yet, would not any one think, to
bear you talk, that you were of the most
strictest sect.’
•Os the Pharisees,’ said Francis, laughing.
’For eha-jiet’ exclaimed Rutn. ‘How can
you say so, Francis ? Oerald don’t laugh when
he telke so.’
‘You and I bave not beeu asked our opinions,
Miss Clare,’ apid Arthur Mclvor, ‘Saan’t we
put in one word ?’
Oh, dear, nol’ said Cissy, with her eternal
simper; ‘I never dispute with geutlomeu, and,
in fact, I know my opinion is quite worthless.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, I have never thought about enthusi
asm, either as a pretence or otherwise. I
take it for granted that people are just
wbat they seem to be. And some things
suit some women and wouldn’t suit others.
You know that, —in short, Phyllis and I think
exactly alike.’
‘Most eat sfactorily reasoned,’ said Gerald.
‘You have only contradicted yourself and in
volved your state ueuts, Cis, in the most be
witchiogly, unreasoning manner. Never
mind, you are not a strong-minded women,
and don’t care a button for all this. Let us
leave it to PUyllis and Mrs. St. Clair, and fol
low Mrs. Denham's example; she has beea
eating her dinner and ‘talking horse’ with
Browne, like a sensible creature. Won’t you
ride Moußtain Mary to morrow ? And shall I
make them give von some of this duck with
olives?’
' CHAPTER XVI.
‘Mr. Joeaelyn, pray come here,’ said Bertha,
aa the gentlemen joined the ladies ia the draw
ing room. 1 want to say something disagree-
able. Not about you; don't Mart back and
scream!'
■Oh I lam infinitely relieved, and you may
make it ai disagreeable ob you chooso.'
‘Thank you. X think Phyllis Fordyce the
moat intensely atrocious woman—so manitre,
so false, so thoroughly pretentious, and so ab
surdly humble-minded I’
■Well, that is a mild, friendly sort of criti
cisnt. How gentle you ore in your stric
tures!'
‘Am I not? I knew you Would think so.
and now, haring said it. I feel much better.
‘What do you thiuk of her siater?'
‘Cissy? Oh, she is a little gabby, that's
all.’
•Uabby ? Shall I marry a gabby ? for lam
thinking seriously of trytug to win Cissy.’
'Are you ? said Bertha ‘I thiuk it a capitai
plan. lam aure you will like it very muon'’
‘I am very glad you approve. When do you
think I had beet aak her ?'
Oh, I would'*t aak her at all, if I were you.
Get Ur. Gray to ask her for you.’
‘Well, that is not a bad id*a either. He has
known her ao much longer tnau X have—seen
so much mors of her. fie thiuks so highly of
me, too, that he could put my qualities in a
more favorable light than, I could, my self.’
‘SlaCtly. I am sure be Would plead your
cause with ardor, and thin I thiuk the lee,
you eee of her the greater your ardor would
be.’
‘She is so pretty—Cissy I' ssid Francis, pull
ing at his mou-tache; ’such a simple minded,
beautiful girt ; not clever you kuow.'
‘Ob, dear I no I no such evil quality as that
about Cissy 1'
And then these two began to laugh, and
both sipped their ooffee, till jfranceis re
sumed :
‘Mrs. St. Clair, I am going to be .serious
now.’
‘B<'riously serious, or playfully serious?'
‘Seriously serious. W itnout circumlocution,
I think Gerald is making su ass of himte.f,
and X wonder who else sees it besides our
selves?’
Mrs St. Clair drained h«r cup, set it down,
leaned her head upon her hand, and bit her
lips.
•Not Ruth, certainly,’ she said, at last.
'Shall we try to stop it, before she does see
it r
‘Can we?
*At least, we can try.’
‘You oan command my services. What do
you think of doing?’
‘I am going to flirt with Cissy.’ <
‘Sml And I?'
‘You must flirt with Gerald.’
I
‘Pleasant, but very dangerous. My dear
Mr. Josselyn, don’t you know that I am terri
bly afraid of this delightful Gerald ? Ah I
you ought to have heard me hold forth on tha
subject at his weddiDg breakfast. Really u>y
owu eloquence quite filled ma with surprise.
Je ns’ admirai tant that I was quite shocked
at the feeling.’
‘You must not find fault with doing your
self what all the rest of the world does.'
'A truoe to fadaiees. Conspirators don't
waste their time paying each other compli
ments. When are we to begin our arduous
undertakings?. I am unfeignedly sorry for
you'
‘l’hls very minute.’
‘Very well; like a true Knight, posting to
the battle-field or the Tournament, X shall
put on my armor at once. Is my hair smooth
—quite smooth ?' Francis nodded. ‘And how
are my eyes? Clara Wheeler has away of
blacking the lids with a hairpin held over the
smoke of a candle. Shall I try It ? It gives
an oriental languor and brightueo. Or shall
I borrow a little of Phyllis's rouge that abe
never uses?’
‘What makes you so malicious this even
ing?’
'X don't know. Evil associations perhaps.
Well, we have no eapssial programme, bat we
/
at eight POLIAKS FOlt SIX MONTHS.
are to compare DoteS, I suppose, and carry on
tbe war vigorously.’
•Yes.’
•Then, let us bogie. Goodbye. Spread your
nets, and I mine.'
Bertha sauntered off. looking bent on mis
chief. but, as she lrlt. Both took het seat.
'What are you and Bertha talking about?
both looking as wicked at possible.’
‘Floating in a sea of small-talk.’
‘You like Bertha, don't you ?’
‘Very much. She is what Gerald talkp abrut
—genuine. Her defec's are genuine, but so
are her' virtaes. Her likes aud dislikes her
figure and fancies.- her feel ngs and complex
ion. She is genuinely pleased aud geuinn-iy
displeased She is genumely uaughiy. when
the humor is upon her, and good,
when she it good.’
■3he is per ectiy sincere,’ said Euth.
•Too sincere, for she can't conceal anything.
I never saw >uch aa ostrich, nor over heard a
greater imsnntneu thau to call her la tlurrou ;h
woman of the world,’ as some p-op'e do. Sis
would be a vastly more popular p r»>u if rhe
were a woman of the world. But if she is
hurt, she Kiiltrt, like a'baby, aud It she is
glad, abe enjoys it, like aoaiid.’
'Yes; she iets people see that they worry
her’ '
‘Which, of course, in a Christian land, is an
inviiaiiou in everybody to worry her.'
‘And they drive her wild a imeumes, with
tlieir stories and comments and injustice.’
‘And they will continue to do eo, ti.l she is
indifferent to it.’
■That will bo only when she is in her grave,’
said Rmh. Poorßetbaf
‘Not a bit of it. Sue will have the sense
some day to turn where such things oun’l pur
sue her.'
‘Right,’said Buth, gravely.
‘Bulb, why don't you ask Miss Clare to
sing ?’ began Francis, after a pause.
Oh, Francis! do you like tone.r her?’
‘Excessively. She is so pleased with her
self when she is at the piano It does one
good to see tue air ol triumph win which sno
seats horse" —gives a sort of hump to her
back, turns up her eyes, opens her mouth, and
‘wobbles,' as Mr. Ycllowplush says.’
'For a a nel I don't think it it is proper to
ask the poor uirl to make herself ridiculous.’
'She won’t thank you for not giving ner'tbe
opportunity.’
‘Very well ; I’ll ask her '
Mr. Josselyu followed Mrs. Gray, and added
his entreaties, which were not ueeded, to
Cissy. She was knitting a purse, seated near
the lamp. At the table next her, Puyllie was
reading, and on the other side, Gerald was in
his usual lazy, louoging attuuie on the sofa,
talkiog to both his cousins, for Pnyllis’ book
did not seem to be very engrossing. #
As Cissy w. nt off, Bertha sauntered up to
look fur so-u-tiling ou the same table, and a
merry interchange of nothings to k place be
tween herself and her h ist, which endedtu her
ordering him to the other end of the sofa, with
all the cushions if ho choose, but to give her
the side nearest tbe light and between him aud
Phyllis.
Before Mr. Fordycs had been dislodged,
with his candlestick aud newspaper, from the
pinn*, and required to go and take refugo be
side his wife, which at once entailed upon her
the privilege of listeniug to scraps of news she
had already lead,' and not heaiiog what Ger
ald and Bertba were saying, these two bad em
barked in a jesting conversation, which sank
into lower aud tower tones, as Cissy began to
sing.
On she went, from one bravwra to another,
jlied with flattery by Francis, and amazing
11m with the variety of grima.'es aud blunders
that she executed.
But presently there was a laugh from Gerald,
in the very midst of some path otto note.
Cissy colored and looked around. Bertha was
holding up her finger, as if shocked at Ger- (j
i— /*\ 9
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(VOL 11.-NUMBER 10