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About The Southern field and fireside. (Augusta, Ga.) 1859-1864 | View Entire Issue (March 19, 1864)
* - ■| -'/ PUbT XSHEO B* STOCKTON * CO NEW SERIES.] THE REBEL'S OATH OP YKNGBANCB. " Whit, all my pretty ehiokem and their dam At one fell swoop P “Let us mate madioine of our great revenge To cure this deadly grief.”—Maoestk. »r na ho skits i. canido. A soldier hastened homeward, from the red field* of war, With lightsome step, although bis torm wee seamed with many a sear; He had been foremost in the fight when shot had . fallen like rain, But Heaven had spared him to behold hi* darling ones again. Ho reached the rnstlo cottage, but alas ! ’twaa home no more. ■koil'-r's bloody foot prints now marked lb* were the oherished Inmates, the wife, the yr pretty child, And all was drear and desolate where peace no lately smiled. * Brave was that fearless soldier, but terror fierce and wild ' Now shook his hardy bosom a* he trembled like a child f Hoarse sobs burst from hi* heaving shell, 0, talk not we of grief,. Till we see mau’s strong agony when tear* bring no relief. One hour alone he gave to woe, then knelt upon the sod, , And vowed a deep and fearful vow as vengeance unto God: “ And eveu as I have lived for ye,” he cried, ‘my child! my wife I Bo to this oath of vengeance now I consecrate my life . , “ And to my hour of vletory the mercy that I show, Shall be my eword’s point in the heart .of every prostrate foe; Even suoh, lost angel of my home ! as they have shown to thee, Bo shall to thy vile enemy t&y husband’s pity be. “ Thy spirit, 0, beloved 1 shall be a spell upon my Bword, And to thy memory the blood of thousands shall be poured ; Nerved by the wrongs my arm shall be resistless in the tight, , God bless me only a* I keep the oath I take this night.” And many a Northern widow and orphan sore have wept, In witness of how feariaily that vengeful oath was kept; And many a stream in oar own land with North ern blood rune read, Prom the invader's bosom by the sword of veil, geance shed. Mobile, Peb. 13,1*84. M J. C. A •cnatable pursed a thief, who took refuge ins stump, in a swamp, and pulled the rail after him od which be went in. The constable •made tbe following return: ‘Sight-able, conversable, non est-come-at •bie, in swampum, up etumpum, ratio. 'Master at home V ‘No, sir, he's out’ ‘Mis trsas at home ?’ ‘No, sir, she’s ont.’ ‘Then I’ll just step is sad sit by tbe tire.’ ‘That’s out, too, sir,’ Tour character can Dot be essentially injured exsept by your own acts. Love and lordship hate companion*. M ■• v ■ . c ■* *' tr* /J,; •: .-</ ■':•’*• .. > ■ <^^lHHHr : iij i" ? ' v *- «A AUGUSTA, GA., SATURDAY, MARCH 19, 1864. [Written for the Southern Yield and Fireside.] Stag’s Wt. BT THH AUTHOR OF “BUST MOMSNTS OF AN mu woman,” “m»T," “stivta’s world,” Aa* Ao. Old jests and new were bandied about, and Bertha began to moralise in her usual flighty fashion. 'Don’t you think,’ she said, 'that people really grow better if they live in the country ?’ ‘Tbev grow falter, usually,’ said Mrs. Den ham, helping herself to some raoro pat*. ‘But,’ persisted Bertha, ‘do thsy not grow better ? How little excuse'one can make to one’s sell for evil thoughts of one’s neighbors, malioe, and uncbaritableness, when, one lives away from all the potty annoyances and tnvitationa of society.’ ‘On the contrary.’ said Mr. Taunton ; ‘they grow self-eaiisfled and intolerable, from haring nobody to rub their own opinions against; they form erroneous judgments of people and thiDgs.’ ‘They become intensely selfish,’ said Geral^ ‘I thought yon had never lived in tbe coun try till now,’ cried Bertha, innocently. Mrs. St. Clair, vour remarks are personal. Do you think me selfish?’ « ‘1 am no judge,’ said Bertha; ‘I am so sel fish myself;’ smiling into his eyes with mock humility. ■Who says you are selfish?’ broke in Arthur Mclvor; ‘I don’t thiuk so at all; I think you a very nice woman, which you jvould’nt be if you were selfish.’ ‘Young gentleman, come hither,’ said Ber tha, solemnly. ' She took off the Jessamine wreath from her hat and wound it round Arthur’s curly head, as he knelt before her, taking care not to de range the perfect ‘parting’ right in tbe middle of his forehead. ‘1 crown you my knight heneeiorward and forever. Biss, Sir Arthur, and give me some chicken.’ 'Btgtha, what is tbe use of abusing your aelfr aßked Bettina; ‘there are so many to do it .lor you. 1 ‘1 like to follow la mod*' said Bertha. ‘ls it the fashion?' asked Francis; ‘alas! can I never hope to be fashionable here 1 What is your crime, dear Mrs. St. Clair?' ‘Upon my word, I have never exactly found out,’ said Bertha, carelessly. ‘Sometimes I bear it is because I am so satirical—because I say sharp things. But I have set traps occasion ally for my best friends, like the lawyer and his client, aod have found out that once more it makeaall the difference in the world 'whose ox it is that was gored.' ’ ‘I don't quite understand.’ •‘Shall I explain? .Well, for instance, I am embarked in an encounter with somebody, and a skirmish of words ends in a mutual drawing off, wh'ch ia oalled ‘one of Mrs. Bt. Clair's quarrels'—all tbe odium rests on me. In rain I protest that the provocation came from the other side. ‘Oh, impossible!’ My fault has only be9n to resent. ‘Oh, that cannot be 1’ At last I tell the story, reversing tbe actors, at tributing to the other party my speeches and my actions, and endosste-ing theirs. A chorus of exclamations : ‘Of course, don’t you see ? You were palpably wroog; nothing was done to you; you were needlessly fierce! poor so and so, no woDder that they are wounded.’ ‘You think ao. really ?’ I say. ‘Mostassuredly, noth ing can be plainer.’ ‘I am heartily glad,’ I answer; 'because I have exactly reversed what happened; ’twag tiny that did such apd such things, and I who had the other side.’ ‘Ah ! well, let's hear it all over again,’ if I am weak enough to accede.’ ‘What?’ 'I find out that It makes all the difference in the world whose ox is gored.’ ’ ‘From which state of things you oonclude-- ‘Two. Fust: That jEsop ia ever fresh, and that naughty wolf, my world, is always having the stream at which it drinks seriously muddied by this innocent little lamb far below the current; and, second : that it is the fashion to think me always in the wrongand then she made a courtesy a la Fontangu, and proposod that they should all go home. CHAPTER XII. ‘Mrs. St Clair, may I come in for an instant?’ said Ruth, tapping at Bertha’s door. ‘Certainly,’ cried Bertha; ‘is anything the matter ? Sit down.’ ‘Nothing very alarming, only I will venture to oonsnlt you. I have just got a note from my father, as we entered the house—but don’t stop arranging /your hair, vou can listen just as well, and rurte near the dinner hour, and I know you don’t like being hurried.’ 'Thank you. Tour father is not ill, I hope?' ‘No. not exactly, but he writes that his head gives him some uneasiness, and adds,’ reading from the note in her hand, ‘unless I grow worse, I will start for Beauchamp on Wednes day murniDg.’ Yon see, he has not come; this note ought to lave been here yesterday. Ol course, had anything very serious been ailing him, my cousin, Mrs. Price, with whom lie stays now, when I am not in town, would have sent for me; but still lam a little wor ried’ ‘Of course. Are we in youj way this even ing ? Would you go at once if we were not here V 'Oh, not to-night; It is already after four o’cluok. But you and Mrs- Denham meant to go to town by the twelve o’clock train; would you mind going instead with mo in the carriage vtry early ? It is now later in the day, but by starting at aix o’olook —can you calmly con template six o’clock ?—we shall have a plea sant drive, and I can return when I please.’ ‘lt will suit me perfectly. But the luggage?’ •That and your maids can still take tbe train.’ ‘lf we are not in your way, I think tbe plan a very agreeable one, and I am glad you nave spoken so promptly and without hesitation.’ ‘Thank you, my dear Mrs. Bt. Clair; it Vas exactly what I knew you would say.’ ‘ ‘Well, it is exactly what I wish you would’nt say, when you address me a9 Mrs. St. Clair. Pray call me Bertha, as you sometimes do, and as every body else always does.’ 'Bertha, tbsn,’ said Ruth, smiling, and strok ing tbe bright dark bair which her guest was rapidly braiding ; ‘I am by nature’very formal and stiff, you know.’ ‘By education you are growing very much the contrary,’ said Bertha, as she looked up at bar. ‘Yes, Gerald U my teacher, and it i* easy to learn from one who practices what he teaches. You will parden my foolish admiration, when I say, that his gracefnl ease of manner is to me perfectly charming ; but I always think that my efforts to imitate him are very like tbe donkey’s labors in tbe lap dog line.’ ‘I think you are getting a style of your own which is even more attractive than bis.’ ‘Ohl’ said Ruth, blushing faintly;* I shall make you one of your own eourteseya for tbat. But the fact is,—she paused ; ‘the fact is, my present anxiety about papa is a little based on an evil conscience. I fear lam too much taken up with the study of Gerald and bis perfections, to be able to pay tbe attention I ought to papa. I have an nneasy, vague presentiment of some coming evil connected with my dearest feel ings. Haveyouever bad such silly fancies?’ •Dosens of times; very seldom with any re sult. It. is quite. reasonable that you should wish to go tp MrTDesboreugb, and I think it is rigtjt, hilt I A'ke no doubt you will And nothing tfcsJarmjfeu. Either be is only still ailing, or etye he has changed his mind abont coming. Pgrbaps he has heard that you have a house foil of noisy, chattering people, and keeps out of their way.’ ‘Perhaps so,’ smiling. ‘At all events, I twH I had best go; and you are sure^M^fl *i ■ f ,^r IMS^*. Vr * * • i *T EIGHT DOLIiARS FOK BiX MOMTHB. Denham will not object T’ 'Quite sure. What becomes of the gentle men ?’ Phyllis takes Mr. Browne with them to the Fordjcc's, by the up train in the afternoon. Mr. Auorey and young Molvor go over to the Trenton’s to hunt, and pass a few days. Mr. Taunton goes in his own waggon, after break fast, to big sisters, whose place is sixteen miles acro.-s the river. Francis remains here with Gerald.’ ■Mr Gray does not go to town with us, then ?’ On, no I he stays to see the Fordycea off, and, of course, I leave him to look after the children.’ •Ot course.’ ‘ 'Twits his proposition that I should suggest your going with me, end thus reach town ao much sooner. Now, good-bye; 1 must hurry up Valerid. Tour hair looks like plaited satin, aud to think that 1 can do nothing with mine, except put it lu Valerie’s hands! Gerald al ways says when I attempt to arrange my hair mysell that it looks as if 1 had invited the tunis to past a leisure moment lu brushing it.’ ‘So 'twas Gerald's proposition, was it?’ murmured Mrs. St. Clair, as Ruth closed the door. ‘Humph I' In halt an hour there was a rustling of silks down tue stsirs, as the ladies assembled in the drawingroom, and immediately alter dinner was aunounued. The variable climate I This evening it was like the last of May ; windows were thrown open, aud in the coming twilight without, everything looked so cool and (till, while around me plate-laden table, where flowers in prolusion bloomed, the tall silver eaudiehra were not yet put to use. W ben the desert and the children appeared, the oandlea were lighted; and if among the many aiereotcopio views whicn flood the civilised world, tuis room could have been translerred to card board, the result would have bad a great sale. The women were all in their different styles, worthy of admiration, irom stately Ruth to smiliug Cissy. The gentlemen were, some of them, singularly handsome. Mr. Fordyce would only have lent a little shade to the ooiors. Toon the two lovely babies in their white embroidered dresses, and shoulder knots, and sashes of bright, broad ribbon. They had mitfnonnet heads with long ourls, and such pretty, foreign-accentuated voices and ways; their skins like ivory sud roses, and their plump little bodies so well shaped. Gerald at flrst clung to bis mamma, burying his lair nead on her shoulder, and refusing to look up, while Miss Geraldine, standing on her papa's knee, had seised bis faoe between her two little chubby hands and was kissing him without ceasing, ooquettishly pretending utter uncognixanco of Mr. Taunton’s efforts to draw her attention towards him. , ► * Presently, however, she let her large, blue eyes wander in that direction, and before very long, was sharing an orange with him, and chattering away in her little half French, half English jargon. ‘Did you see the papers, Mr. Fordyce?’ asked Gerald. ‘They were late in ooming to day, and I had no time to skim them over be fore the dressing belL’ •Yes, I read one or two. . •Anything new?’ ‘A tulier report of the X— case.’ ‘Ah. indeed! Is it decided ?’ ‘Yes; verdict against him—marriage pro nounced valid.’ ‘From wuet paper do ours copy ?' asked Mr. Aubrey. • ‘From the London Tirrut.’ •Didn’t you read it ?’ enquired Mr. Mclver; ‘I did.’ •What ease is this?’ Mrs. Denham asked. ‘A Casego prove a marriage.’ ansumred Mr— IYOL IL—NUMBER 12.
