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Southern Field and Fireside.
I VOL. 1.
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
Entered accordin'/ to the Actof Congress, <bb., <£c.,
bg the Author.
MASTER WILLIAM MITTEN;
OR,
A YOUTH OF BRILLIANT -
WHO WAS RUINED HA' BAD LUCK.
BY THE AUTHOR OF THE (lEORUIA SCENES, ETC.
chapter xxw—(Conclusion.)
Mr. Mitten writes again to Miss Green, who an
swers him pungently—Amanda hears of his
inconstancy —Its effects upon he) — Mr. Mitten
resolves to teach the public respect for him—
Gains five friends by his course, and loses'ail
otlhers—Mis fast friends introduce him to the
card-table; but give him excellent advice—His
College-mates return—Amanda returns his
jewels by his cousin—llis reflections on receiv
ing them —John Broun rises—lie and Mitten
both address Miss Summers, 3ne worth having
—She rejects Mitten and takes Brown—Mitten
devotes himself to cards —Becomes distinguished
in his vocation —Takes the consumption and dies.
Miss Green's letter filled Mitten's bosom with
horror. “ What a thoughtless fool I was,” said
he, “to write that useless lie to her ! I ought
to have known that she would soon learn the
true cause of my sudden departure from Prince
ton ! Why did I not forestall public report by
a frank confession of the truth, and offer such
justiiioations of myself as I could ! True it is,
• that when a mau turns rogue, he turns fool,’
and no less true is it, that when a ma* turns
liar he turns fool. It will almost take my life to
lose Louisa ; but I deserve to lose her, that I
may learn what it is to have one’s holiest feelings
and brightest hopes trifled with. I will write to
Louisa, make a frank confession of my errors,
vow an eternal divorce from them, aud promise to
be anything and everything- cliat she would have
me to be, if she will remain steadfast to her en
gagement.- ’ He did so, and indeed, made the
most of his case that could be made of it. The
answer came :
“ Mu. William Mitten —Sir : Your dismissal
from College, and.your misrepresentation to me,
I could forgive ; but I never can forgive your
addresses to me, while you were actually en
gaged to Miss Amanda Ward.
“Your abused
Louisa.”
“ All is lost 1” exclaimed lie, flinging down the
letter. ‘ How did she find out the engagement ?
Amanda herself must have informed her of it.”
This was not true. The engagement came to
Miss Green’s ears on this wise : Mitten’s atten
tions to Miss Ward were notorious; and her dis
relish for any society but his was equally noto
rious. From these facts, tho inference was
drawn by many that they were engaged. What
was stated at first, as a matter of inference, soon
began to be stated as a matter of fact. As it
was contradicted by no one, it came to be re
garded as a thing universally admitted. So Ru
mor bore it to Miss Green’s ears. The mischiev
ous jado was no less cruel to Miss Ward than
she was to Miss Green; for she reported to her
that Mr. Mitten was in regular correspondence
with Miss Green from his return to Princeton,
to his departure for Georgia. Amanda drooped
under tho tidings —became sedate and pensive,
gave her heart to One who better deserved it
than her lover, fixed her adoration on the proper
Object, moved among the poor and afflicted like
an angel of mercy, lived to be universally be
loved, kindly rejected many a wooer, and died
smiling, where Mary sat weeping.
The report went abroad that William had bro
ken his mother’s heart. This was nearly, but
not quite true. Mrs. Mitten’s health had begun
to decline, before William’s troubles began, and
it is probable that she would not have survived
a month longer than she did, had TV illiam re
mained at Princeton. But she had become un
easy at the silenco of his College companions,
concerning him, for some months past. The
tone of his letters had changed alarmingly.—
Then his heavy draft on her for money, increas
ed her alarms. Then the Sanders draft added
poignant mortification to her distressing fears
and anxieties. All these things were wasting
her away rapidly, when his abrupt appearance
to her filled her with emotions which her feeble
frame could not endure. His conduct cortaihly
shortened her days; but it could not with pro
priety be said that he broke her heart. Still so
went tho report, aud it gained strength from his
remarks to the Doctor, which were overheard
by a visitor, and went forth with exaggerations.
The consequence was, that when he began to
mingle with the villagers, there was something
so cold and distant in their greetings, so formal
and cautious in their conversation, that he re
coiled from their society, shut himself up in his
room, brooded over his misfortunes for a time,
became enraged at the treatment of his old
friends, and with a heroism worthy of a better
cause, lie resolved to retaliate upon them. He
went forth boldly among them, treated all coldly,
and some rudely ; made advances to no one ;
I JANIES GARDNER, I
I Proprietor. f
AUGUSTA, GA., SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1859.
stepped loftily and independently, and resolved
to hold every man personally responsible to him,
who had taken the liberty of using his name,
otherwise than with the profoundest respect.
The young gentleman had undertaken an Hercu
lean task, but he deemed himself adequate to it,
and acted accordingly. Ho called the Doctor to
account for circulating remarks made by him
-under great excitement and distress, which
any man of common humanity would never have
thought of repeating.’’ The Doctor declared
that he never had repeated them. Mr. Mitten
told him that “it was not worth while to add
the sin of falsehood, to the sin of brutality, for
no one else could have mentioned them.’’
Anderson’s remarks also became town talk, as
soon as it was kn<*wn that Mitten had “ backed
down ”in tho “ third heat.” He went to Ander
son in a great rage.
“ I understand, sir,” said he, “ that you have
been making very free with my name in my ab
sence.”
“ No, Billy, I only said ”
“ Don’t call me Billy, sir.”
“ Well, General Washington ”
“ Stop sir ! But for your age, I’d give you a
caning. And, now listen to me, sir :If ever I
hear of your mentioning my name in any way,
I shall forget the respect due to age, and give
you a chastising, let it cost what it may. If you
must expend your race-course wit, expend it
upon some one else, not on me.”
“ When you undertake to chastise me,” said
Stewy, “you’d better appoint your execu
tors : for they’ll have to wind up the business."
Thus Mr. Mitten went on rectifyidfe public
opinion, and purifying private conversation, un
i til there were but five persons in tho village or
ICS vioinitj nhu CUIIW TCntOTC tO tw Upon tmns
of intimacy with him. These five, two old men
and three young ones, conceived a marvelous
attachment to him. They forced themselves in
to his affections by a thousand kind sayings of
him, and as many harsh ones of all who kept
aloof from him.
“Never mind, Mitten,” said one of the an
cients ; “ as soon as you get possession of your
property, these very men who are- shying off
from you now, and whispering all sorts of things
about you, will be truckling to you like hound
puppies. They hate me worse than they do
you, just because I always take up for you. I
see how they look at me, every time they see
me with you. I despise those old men who for
get that they were once young, and make no al
lowance for a little wildness in young men.”
“ Well,” said a young one, “ I’m glad to see
Mitten’s independence. He is not beholden to
them for anything, and I like to see him going
his own way, and taking care of himself.”
“ Mitten,” said a third, “ we are going into
Thew’s back room to amuse ourselves with a
game of cards for an hour or so; where shall we
find you when we come out ?”
“ Why,”said William, “1 11 go in with you.”
“ You’d better not,” said two or three voices
at once. “ You might be tempted to play,” said
Old Fogy, “and when once a young man begins
to play cards, he never knows where to stop. —
Could you do as we do. just set down and amuse
yourself for an hour or two. and then get up and
quit, why that would be all well enough; but
young people are not like old folks.”
“ Well,” continued William, “ I’ll go in and
see you play, but I will not play myself, for I
have suffered enough from card-playing for one
lifetime, I know.”
“ Oh well, if you’ll do that, no harm done.”
William went in, and kept his word.
The same scene was repeated for a number of
days. At length, William began to spend his
opinion upon the play of one and another, de
monstrating by the doctrine, of chances that they
were injudicious.
“ It’s lucky for us, Mitten, that you don’t play,
or you’d soon leave us without a stake. We
know nothing about book-learning, and just
thump away after our old plantation way. Old
as I am, I’d give the world if I only had your
education.”
Day after day rolled away in like manner.
At length, said William, “let me take a hand,
and see if my theory holds good in practice.”
“ Oh, no 1” exclaimed half of them. “ He’ll
beat us all to death. What do we know about
the doctrine of chances!"
“Mitten,” said Old Fogy, “don’t play. I’m
an old man, and though I (iou't know. anything
about chances, I know that the cards run so
sometimes that there is no counting on them.
Now, you are a high-minded, honorable young
man, and if you should happen to lose largely,
you would be strongly tempted to refuse to pay,
plead infancy, the gaming act, and all that sort
of thing, even when you got able to pay, and I
wouldn’t lose my good opinion of you for all the
money in the county.”
“ I hope, Mr. Fogy, you don’t think I’d do
that.”
“ No, I know you’d die now before you’d do
it, but temptations are hard things to get over.
I talked just sikto young Tickler, a3 honorable a
young fellow as ever was born, and what did he
do ? Why he won of me day after day, and week
after week; but when the cards took a turn in my
favor, lie refused to pay tho little, nasty sum of
one thousand dollars, when lie was worth forty
thousand. I never asked him for it till he got
his property in hand, and then he said I tempted
him to play and cheated him. and I don't what
all. I wouldn't have lost my good opinion of
that young man for double the money."
“Well,” said Mitten, “I arn not anxious to
play.” And he did not.
Mitten’s company and back-room sittings
coming to tho ears of Mr. Markham, he warned
William against his associates. He told him
that they were a set of sharpers, who would
certainly ruin him if he did not abandon them.
“ Mr. Markham,” said William, “ these are
the only men of tho village, (yourself excepted,)
who have treated me with any respect and
kindness since my return home. You mistake
their character. They play cards, it is true, but
so far from tempting me to do the same, they
advise me not to do it; and consequently, I have
not thrown a card since my association with
them. I should be an ingrate and a fool to
abandon the only frieuds who stood by me when
all the rest of the world abandoned me.”
Mr. Markham told him their friendships were
pretended, their professions unreal, and their
counsels hypocritical. In short, he used every
argument and entreaty that he could to with
draw him from these men, but all was unavail
ing.
About this time his college companions re
turned, having completed their course. Brown
had taken the first honor in his class, and Mark
ham tho third. Thompson graduated creditably,
but took no honor.
The day after their arrival, Thompson pre
sented Mitten a beautiful box.
“ And who sends this?” said Mitten.
“ Open and too,” said his cousin.
no opened it, and saw all tho jewelry that he
had given to Amanda. On the top of it lay a
small note of velvet paper, prettily folded. He
opened and read:
“ Let them follow the heart of the giver.
Amanda."
“ How did she seem, David, when she handed
it to you ?”
“Heart-broken.”
“Yes, poor girl!” Had I remained true to
her, she would not have forsaken me, as all my
colder friends have done. In a little time, now,
I could have made her comfortable and happy,
and for all time she would have made me
happy.”
Tears rolled rapidly down his cheeks as he
spoke.
Mr. Markham turned over his school and the
profits of it to his son and Brown—he only re
taining such a supervision over it as to pass it
as his school. The first studied medicine, and
the second law, while teaching. In a little
time Brown fixed up a comfortable little resi
dence for his mother, and furnished it neatly.
He gave his sisters the benefit of a good Female
Academy, and extended their education by his
own private instruction. David Thompson be
came the head of his father’s family, and trod
in the footsteps of his father through life. Wil
liam continued his unlucky associations.
One day, while he was looking on at the
game of his friends:
“Here, Mitten,” said one of the seniors, “play
my hand for me,” rising and going out. On his
return another addressed him, saying:
“ Look here, old man, take your seat there
and play your own hand; we can’t play with
Mitten."
Mitten had won ten dollars while represent
ing his old friend.
“Lord,” said another, “what a benefit an ed
ucation is in everything!”
William now proposed to take a hand for him
self.
“ Well,” one sa : d, “we needn’t object on his
account, if we don't object on our own, for
there is no danger of his losing.”
William played, and won a little. So did ho
for five or six sittings. Then his winnings and
losings began to balance each other pretty
equally. Then he began to lose regularly, but
in small amounts —then in larger amounts.
About this time Mr. Mitten made divers re
markable discoveries, to wit: That whenever he
lost, one of the old ones and one of the young
ones lost, but that they won in regular succes
sion, so that, at the end of a week’s play, ho
owed (for they “ played on tick,”) each, of them
almost exactly the same amount. That though
they often played against all the doctrines of
chances, they were very sure to win. That the
young one would frequently relieve himself from
the fatigues of the game by playing the fiddle
and walking round the table, and that s olong as
he played the fiddle, ho (Mitten) was certain to
lose. That the other two young ones lost and
won occasionally, but, in the long run were,
like himself, losers; and that their losses, like
his-own, were the equal gain of the other three.
Now prudence dictated that he should quit
this clique, but he was largely over a thousand
dollars in debt to the trio, and he could not gain
his consent to do so, until ho recovered his
losses. At a convenient season he took his fel
low-sufferers aside, informed them of his discov
eries. and proposed to them that they should
play in copartnership against the other three
“ only till they got back their money.” They
readily assented to his proposition, and William
indoctrinated them in a set of signs, offensive
and defensive, that in a better cause would have
immortalized him. He cautioned them to wait
the signal from him before they put any of their
plans of attack in operation, and, in the mean
time, to act wholly on the defensive.
The parties met, and Old Fogy entertained
the company with an account of his early ad
ventures at the card-table, in which was this
passage: “ I lost, and lost, and lost. Dollar
after dollar went, and negro after negro, after
negro. I bore it all like a man until I had to
sell my favorite servant, Simon. This was tough,
but I had to sacrifice him or my honor, so I let
him go.”
The club took their seats. Two hours rolled
away, and the seniors gained nothing from the
juniors. The fiddler got fatigued and took up
his fiddle. The Juniors, as if by accident, hid
their hands every time he walked behind them.
He soon got rested, and resumed his seat. At
twelve o’clock at night, the Juniors being a lit
tle winners, Mitten got too sleepy to set any
longer, and the game closed. Five sittings
ended nearly in the same way, to the utter
amazement of the seniors.
“ The young rascals have found out our signs,”
said Old Fogy, *• we must make new ones.”
They did so. Mitten discovered it in three
deals.
“ This is a piddling sort o’ business,” said
Fogy; “ let's play higher.”
William had not only concerted his signs in a
masterly manner, but he had away of commu
nicating to his partners the most important signs
of their adversaries as soon as he discovered
them. While he was makiug Lis discoveries,
his party lost a little.
“ I don't like to raise the stakes when I’m los
ing,” said William, “but luck must turn soon, and
that will be the quickest way of getting back
my losings, and 1 believe I’m willing to play a
little higher.”
Old Fogy put up the stakes very high, and
William gave the signal for attack with all his
armory. In less than an hour, the com (repre
senting money) was streaming from the Fogy
party in a perfect sluice. Mitten lost to his
partners two hundred dollars, and the Fogies
lost to them from five hundred to a thousand
each. At one o’clock, A. M., Mitten rose from
the table, saying: “ That his brain was so ad
dled he couldn’t play; and that if he could, such <
a run of luck would ruin the best player in the
world."
It would bo both interesting and instructive
to the young, to trace Mitten's progress step by
step in gaming, until he became a most accom
plished blackleg; but our limits will notallow
us to do so. He was in rapid progress to this
distinction, when Miss Flora Summers, daughter
of Col. Mark Summers, who resided five miles
from the village, returned home from Salem, N.
C. She was an only child, handsome, agreeable
in manners, of good senso and well improved
mind. William visited her and so did John
Brown, now admitted to the bar, and practising
with brilliant promise. The Colonel received
Brown with great cordiality, and William with
distant civility. Flora reversed things, exactly.
The Colonel was not surprised at her preference,
but before it had time to ripen into love, ho thus
addressed her: “ My daughter, it may be that
Mitten and Brown will become suitors of yours.
I do not say to you, in that event marry Brown,
but I do say to you, do not marry Mitten, if you
would save yourself and me from misery intoler
able. You know his history in part. If he did
not break his mother’s heart, he hastened her
death. He has rendered himself odious to all
good men, and become the associate of gamblers.
And yet lie is a young man of handsome per
son, fine address and fine talents. These en
dowments are apt to win upon a girl’s heart:
but surely my daughter can fortify her heart
against dangorous impressions from such a man
as Mitten.”
“ Yes, Pa,” said Flora, “ I can and will. I as
sure you, that I will never give my hand to
William.”
“ Then, without feigning an attachment that
you do not feel, give him the earliest opportunity
of declaring himself, and let your refusal be re
spectful but decisive.”
“ I will. It will cost me no difficulty to re
fuse Mitten but I don’t think I ever can love
John Brown. Dear me, Pa, he is so ugly 1”
“ Well, my child, be that as you would have it.
I certainly shall not urge you to have Brown or
any body else. Your choice will be mine, pro
vided your choice does not light upon one of
despicable character.”
Mitten repeated his visits, and was received
more warmly by the Colonel than at first. In
process of time he declared himself and was pos
itively rejected. Brown continued liis visits
too, but at much longer intervals. His fame in
the mean time was constantly growing. His
manners were not wanting in polish, and in in
tellectual endowments he now far outstripped
Mitten. His visits for five or*six months seem
ed only of a friendly character. Ho read well
and talked well, and was both, a wit and hu
morous ; but he never wounded by his sallies.
j Two Dollars Per Annum, I
I Always In Advance. f
Flora soon became satisfied that John had no
idea of courting her, and she threw off all shy
ness and came upon terms of easy and agree
able familiarity with him. John spoke freely
and playfully of his own homeliness; told amus
ing anecdotes about it, and spoke of it in such
ways as made Flora laugh heartily. A simple
example: After they had become as intimate as
brother and sister, there was a pausjp in the con
versation one day, and John after a deep sigh
said, “ Well, I’d give a thousand dollars just to
know for one hour how an ugly man foels."—
Flora laughed immoderately. “Well, John,”
said she, “I think you might for a dollar know
how such an one feels for a life-time.” Then
John roared. Thus matters went on until Flora
began to feel that John’s society was a very im
portant item in her life of single blessedness.
She met him with smiles and parted with him—
not exactly in sadness, but with an expression
of countenance and “ good-bye,” which seemed
to say, “John, it’s hard to part with you, you
pleasant, ugly dog.”
Still John never whispered love, while every
body spoke his praises. About this time Col.
Summers got into a lawsuit, that alarmed him
greatly. He employed Brown, who disposed of
it, on demurrer, at the first term of the court
At his next visit to Flora, she expressed her
gratitude to him very tenderly, and added,
“ John, I hope some day or other we will be able
to repay the obligation tliat we are under to
you."
“ Why, Miss Flora,” said John, “ it’s the easi
est thing in the world for you to cancel the obli :
gation and make me the willing servant of you
both ”
“How, John?”
“Why, just let your father give his daughter
to me, and you ratify the gift.”
Flora looked at him and blushed, and smiled,
looked serious and said:
“ Are you in earnest, John ?”
“ In just as sober earnest as if I were preach
ing.”
“ John, I don’t believe you love me.”
“Yes, I do, Miss Flora, as ardently as ever
man loved woman, but until recently I believed
my love was hopeless, and therefore I concealed
it, or tried to conceal it, for I know you often
saw it.” (
“ Why, John, you astonish me!—Go, ask Fa
and if he gives me to you, I’ll ratify the gift. I
might get a handsomer man. but I never could
get a more worthy one.”
“As to my beauty," said John, “ why that’s
neither here nor there. One thing is certain
about it, and that is, that it will never fade.”
“ Well, John, if we live ten years longer, I
am sure / shall think you handsome; for your
features have been growing more and more
agreeable to me, ever since you began to visit
me."
“Well, Miss Flora, iftliey are agreeab’e to you—
tolerable to you, it is a matter of perfect indifference
to me what any one else thinks of them. An
other great advantage you will have in marry
ing a homely man, and that is, you will not be ex
posed to the common torments of the wives of
handsome men.”
“ I’m not so sure of that, John. Splendid
talenta renown and fascinating manners are
much more apt to win the admiration of our sex,
than a pretty face.”
“ If you see all these things in me, Flora, you
see more than I have ever seen. As you are
getting in a complimentary strain, I’ll thank you
to ask your father in; for though I bear compli
ments with great fortitude, they always embar
rass me, and when coming from you, they give
mo a peculiar drawing to the lips that utter
them."
“Well, how do you know but they would
bear the drawing with great fortitude, too?"
So saying, she bounced to her room and left him
alone, saying, as she flitted away, “ I’ll send my
father to you and listen how you draw to each
other."
The Colonel soon made his appearance.
John looked at the Colonel, put his right leg
over his left, took it down again, and patted his
foot. The Colonel took a chew of tobacco,
cleared his throat and looked at John. John
cleared his throat too, coughed twice, blew his
nose and looked at the carpet. “John,” said
the Colonel, “Flora said you wished to see me."
“Yes, sir,” said John, “I have long had a
warm attachment to your daughter—and I
thought if I could gain your assent to address
her ’’
“To address her! Why, she says you are en
gaged, and only want my consent to get married.
If that is the case, you have my consent freely.
There is not a man in the world that I would
prefer to you for my daughter." So saying, he
retired.
Flory immediately re-entered, laughing im
moderately. “Well John,” said she, “I don’t
think you had much of a * drawing' to Pa.”
“ Confound this asking for daughters 1" said
John, “ I’d rather ask forty girls to marry me,
than one father for his daughter. I never acted
like such a fool in all my life !” Three weeks
from this date, John Brown and Flora Summers
became one, and remained one in the best sense
of the term, through life.
Mitten surrendered himself to cards ; distiu-
NO. 26.
