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1 <-_ _ , 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 — ■ ■■ ■ (VOL 11.-NUMBER 10