for about a year and a half: during which time two of the men died, and
our party was reduced to four. About this period, when all of us began
to feel sick from hope deferred, and almost to wish that we might die,
a heavy storm came up, with wind from the north-west, and blew heavily
for three or four days. On the morning of the fourth day, when the wind
had subsided, a vessel, driven out of her course, was seen within a few
leagues of the land. Signals were instantly made, and our eyes gladdened
by the sight of a boat which was put off from the ship. In this we soon
embarked, and, with a sensation of wild delight, found ourselves once more
treading the deck of a good vessel. She was an English merchantman, bound
for Canton. We made a quick passage to that port, where we found a vessel
just ready to sail for Liverpool. In this I embarked, with my father, who
still remained in the same sad state of mental derangement. No incident,
worthy of referring to now, occurred on our passage to Liverpool, whence
we embarked direct for New Orleans, at which place we arrived, after
having been absent from our native land for the long space of nearly three
years! How different were my feelings, my hopes, my heart, on the day I
returned to that city eight years from the time I left it as a gay child,
with the world all new and bright and beautiful before me! I need not draw
the contrast. Your own thoughts can do that vividly enough.
"You can scarcely imagine the eagerness with which I looked forward to an
arrival in my native city. We had friends there, and a fortune, and I
fed my heart with the pleasing hope that skilful physicians would awaken
my father's slumbering reason into renewed and healthy activity. Arrived
there at last, we took lodgings at a hotel, where I wrote a brief note
to my father's partner, in whose hands all the business had been, of
course, during our absence, stating a few facts as to our long absence and
asking him to attend upon us immediately. After dispatching this note,
I waited in almost breathless expectation, looking every moment to see
Mr. Paralette enter. But hour after hour passed, and no one came. Then I
sent notes to two or three of my father's friends, whom I recollected,
but met with no response during the day. All this strange indifference
was incomprehensible to me. It was, in part, explained to my mind on the
next morning, when one of the persons to whom I had written called, and
was shown up into our parlor by request. There was a coldness and reserve
about him, combined with a too evident suspicion that it was not all as I
had said. That my father was not Mr. Ballantine, nor I his daughter--but
both, in fact, impostors! And certain it is that the white-headed imbecile
old man bore but little resemblance to the fine, manly, robust form,
which my father presented three years before. The visitor questioned
and cross-questioned me; and failed not to hint at what seemed to him
discrepancies, and even impossibilities in my story. I felt indignant
at this, at the same time that my heart sank at the suddenly flashing
conviction that, after all our sufferings and long weary exile from our
home, we should find ourselves but strangers in the land of our birth--be
even repulsed from our own homestead.
"Our visitor retired after an interview of about half an hour, giving me
to understand pretty plainly that he thought both my father and myself
impostors. His departure left me faint and sick at heart. But from this
state I aroused myself, after a while, and determined to go and see Mr.
Paralette at once. A servant called a carriage, and I ordered the driver
to take me to the store of Ballantine & Paralette.
"'There is no such a firm now, madam,' he said; 'Mr. Ballantine was lost
at sea some years ago. It is Paralette & Co. now.'
"'Drive me there, then,' I said, in a choking voice.
"In a few minutes the carriage stopped at the place I had designated, and
I entered the store formerly kept by my father. Though I had been absent
for eight years, yet everything looked familiar, and nothing more familiar
than the face of Mr. Paralette, my father's partner. I advanced to meet
him with a quick step, but his look of unrecognition, and the instant
remembrance that he had not attended to my note, and moreover that it had
been plainly hinted to me that I was an impostor, made me hesitate, and my
whole manner to become confused.
"'Eugenia Ballantine is my name,' said I, in a quivering voice. 'I dropped
you a note yesterday, informing you that my father and I had returned to
the city.'
"He looked at me a moment with a calm, severe, scrutinizing gaze, and then
said--
"'Yes, I received your note, and have this moment seen Mr. ----, who
called upon you. And he corroborates the instant suspicion I had that
your story could not be correct. He tells me that the man whom you call
your father resembles Moses a great deal more than he does the late Mr.
Ballantine. So, you see, madam, that your story won't go for anything
here.'
"There was something cold and sneering in the tone, manner, and expression
of Mr. Paralette that completely broke me down. I saw, in an instant, that
my case was hopeless, at least for the time. I was a lone, weak woman, and
during an absence of eight years from my native city, I had grown up from
a slender girl into a tall woman, and had, from suffering and privation,
been greatly changed, and my countenance marred even since I had attained
the age of womanhood. Under these circumstances, with my father changed
so that no one could recognize him, I felt that to make my strange story
believed would be impossible. From the presence of Mr. Paralette I
retired, and went back to the hotel, feeling as if my heart would break.
Oh, it was dreadful to be thus repulsed, and at home, too! I tried only
twice more to make my story believed; failing in these efforts, I turned
all my thoughts toward the restoration of my father to mental health,
believing that, when this was done, he, as a man, could reassume his own
place and his true position. I had over six thousand dollars of the money
I had taken from my father's pocket-book, and which I had always kept so
completely concealed about my person, that no one had the least suspicion
of it. Five thousand of this I deposited on interest, and with the residue
took a small house in the suburbs of the city, which I furnished plainly,
and removed into it with my father. I then employed two of the most
skilful physicians in the city, and placed him in their hands, studiously
concealing from them our real names and history. For eighteen months he
was under medical treatment, and for at least six months of that time
in a private insane hospital. But all to no effect. Severe or lenient
treatment all ended in the same result. He continued a simple, harmless
old man, fond of me as a child is of his mother, and looking up to and
confiding in me for everything.
"At the end of the period I have indicated, I found my means had become
reduced to about three thousand dollars. This awoke in my bosom a new
cause of anxiety. If my father should not recover his reason in two or
three years, I would have nothing upon which to support him, and be
compelled to see him taken to some public institution for the insane,
there to be treated without that tenderness and regard which a daughter
can exercise toward her parent. This fear haunted me terribly.
"It was near the end of the period I have named, that I met with an
account of the Massachusetts Insane Hospital, situated in Charlestown
in this State. I was pleased with the manner in which patients were
represented to be treated, and found that, by investing in Boston the
balance of my little property, the income would be sufficient to pay for
my father's maintenance there. As for myself, I had no fear but that with
my needle, or in some other way, I could easily earn enough to supply my
own limited wants. A long conference with one of the physicians who had
attended my father raised my hopes greatly as to the benefits which might
result from his being placed in an institution so well conducted.
"As soon as this idea had become fully formed in my mind, I sold off all
our little stock of furniture, and with the meagre supply of clothing to
which I had limited myself, ventured once more to try the perils of the
sea. After a quick passage, we arrived in Boston. My father I at once had
placed in the asylum, after having invested nearly every dollar I had in
bank stock, the dividends from which were guaranteed to the institution
for his support, so long as he remained one of its inmates. This was early
in the last fall. I had then but a few dollars left, and no income. I was
in a strange city, dependent entirely upon my own resources. And what were
they? 'What am I to do? Where am I to go for employment?' were questions
I found hard indeed to answer. Twenty dollars were all I possessed in
the world, and this sum, at a hotel, would not last me, I knew, over two
or three weeks. I therefore sought out a private boarding-house, where,
under an assumed name, I got a room and my board for two dollars a week.
The woman who kept the boarding-house, and to whom I communicated my
wish to get sewing, gave me half a dozen plain shirts to make for her
husband, for which I received fifty cents each. This was all the work I
obtained during the first two weeks I was in the house, and it yielded
me only three dollars, when my boarding cost me four. I felt a good deal
discouraged after that. I knew no one to whom I could go for work--and the
woman with whom I boarded could not recommend me to any place, except to
the clothing-stores: but they, she said, paid so badly that she would not
advise me to go there, for I could not earn much over half what it would
cost me for my board. Still, she added, 'half a loaf is better than no
bread.' I felt that there was truth in this last remark, and, therefore,
after getting the direction of a clothing-store, I went there and got
a few pairs of coarse trowsers. This kind of work was new to me. In my
ignorance, I made some portion of them wrong, for which I received abuse
from the owner of the shop, and no money. He was not going, he said, to
pay for having his work spoiled.
"Dreadfully disheartened, I returned to my lodgings, and set myself to
ponder over some other means of support. I had been, while at school,
one of the best French and Spanish scholars in the seminary. I had also
given great attention to music, and could have taught it as skilfully
as our musical professor. But five years had passed since I touched the
keys of a piano or harp, and I had not, during that time, spoken a dozen
words in any language except my native tongue. And, even if I had retained
all my former skill and proficiency, my appearance was not such as to
guarantee me, as a perfect stranger, any favorable reception either from
private families or schools. So anxious had I been to make the remnant of
my father's property, which a kind Providence had spared to us, meet our
extreme need, that I denied myself everything that I could possibly do
without. Having no occasion to go into society, for no one would recognize
me as Eugenia Ballantine, I had paid little regard to my external
appearance, so far as elegant and fashionable apparel was concerned. I
bought sparingly, and chose only plain and cheap articles. My clothes
were, therefore, not of a kind, as you may yourself see, to give me, so
far as they were concerned, a passport to consideration.
"As two dollars a week would, I knew, in a very short time, exhaust my
little stock of money, I determined to try and rent a room somewhere, at
the lowest possible rate, and buy my own food. I eat but a little, and
felt sure that, by making this arrangement, I could subsist on one dollar
a week instead of two, and this much it seemed as if I must be able to
earn at something or other. On the day after I formed this resolution I
met, in my walks about the city for the purpose, with the room where you
found me, for which I paid seventy-five cents a week. There I removed, and
managed to live on about one dollar and a quarter a week, which sum, or,
at the worst, seventy-five cents or a dollar a week, I have since earned
at making fine shirts for Mr. Berlaps at twenty-five cents each. I could
have done better than that, but every day I visit my father, and this
occupies from two to three hours."
"And how is your father?" asked Mrs. Gaston, wiping her tearful eyes, as
Eugenia paused on ending her narrative.
"He seems calmer, and much more serious and apparently thoughtful since
he has been in this institution," Eugenia replied, with something of
cheerfulness in her tone. "He does not greet my coming, as he did
at first, with childish pleasure, but looks at me gravely, yet with
tenderness, when I enter; and, when I go away, he always asks if I will
'come again to-morrow.' He did not do this at first."
"But have you not written to Mr. Perkins since your return?" asked Mrs.
Gaston.
Eugenia became instantly pale and agitated. But, recovering herself with
an effort, she simply replied--
"How could I? To him I had, years before, been lost in the sea. I could
not exist in his mind, except as one in the world of spirits. And how did
I, when I came back, or how do I know now, that he has not found another
to fill that place in his heart which I once occupied? On this subject I
dared make no inquiry. And, even if this were not the case, I am not as I
was. I had fortune and social standing when he wooed and won me. Now I am
in comparative indigence, and branded as an impostor in my native city. If
none recognized and received us in our own home, how could I expect him
to do so? And to have been spurned as a mere pretender by him would have
broken my heart at once."
Eugenia was greatly moved by this allusion to her former lover and
affianced husband. The subject was one upon which she had never allowed
herself to think, except compulsorily, and but for a few moments at a
time. She could not bear it. After a silence of some moments, Mrs. Gaston
said--
"I have not met with or heard of Mr. Perkins for some years. He remained
in Troy about six months after you went away, and, during that period, I
saw him very frequently. Your loss seemed, for a time, as if it would
destroy his reason. I never saw any one suffer such keen mental distress
as he did. The fearful uncertainty that hung around your fate racked his
mind with the intensest anguish. At the end of the time I have mentioned,
he went to New York, and, I was told, left that city a year afterwards;
but, whether it is so or not, I never learned. Indeed, I am entirely
ignorant as to whether he is now alive or dead. For years I have neither
heard of him nor seen him."
Eugenia wept bitterly when Mrs. Gaston ceased speaking. She did not reply,
but sat for a long time with her hand partly concealing her face, her
whole body trembling nervously, and the tears falling fast from her eyes.
From this excitement and agitation, consequent upon a reference to the
past, she gradually recovered, and then Mrs. Gaston related, in turn, her
trials and afflictions since their separation so many years before. These
we will not now record for the reader, but hurry on to the conclusion of
our narrative.
By a union of their efforts, Mrs. Gaston and Eugenia were enabled, though
to do so required them to toil with unremitting diligence, to secure
more comforts--to say nothing of the mutual strength and consolation
they received from each other--than either could have possibly obtained
alone. The rent of a room, and the expense of an extra light, were saved,
and this was important where every cent had to be laid out with the most
thoughtful economy. Eugenia no longer went out, except to visit her
father. Mrs. Gaston brought home as much work from the shop as both of
them could do, and received the money for it when it was done, which all
went into a common fund. Thus the time wore on, Eugenia feeling happier
than she had felt for many weary years. Mrs. Gaston had been a mother
to her while she lived in Troy, and Eugenia entertained for her a deep
affection. Their changed lot, hard and painful though it was, drew them
closer together, and united them in a bond of mutual tenderness.
New Year's day at last came, and the mother, who had looked forward so
anxiously for its arrival, that she might see her boy once more, felt
happier in the prospect of meeting him than she had been for a long time.
Since his departure, she had not heard a single word from him, which
caused her to feel painfully anxious. But this day was to put an end to
her mind's prolonged and painful suspense in regard to him. From about
nine o'clock in the morning, she began to look momently for his arrival.
But the time slowly wore on, and yet he did not come. Ten, eleven,
twelve, one o'clock came and went, and the boy was still absent from his
mother, whose heart yearned to see his fair face, and to hear his voice,
so pleasant to her ear, with unutterable longings. But still the hours
went by--two, three, four, and then the dusky twilight began to fall,
bringing with it the heart-aching assurance that her boy would not come
home. The tears, which she had restrained all day, now flowed freely,
and her over-excited feelings gave way to a gush of bitter grief. The
next day came and went, and the next, and the next--but there was no word
from Henry. And thus the days followed each other, until the severe month
of January passed away. So anxious and excited did the poor mother now
become, that she could remain passive no longer. She must see or hear
from her child. Doctor R---- had obtained him his place, and to him she
repaired.
"But haven't you seen your little boy since he went to Lexington?" the
doctor asked, in some surprise.
"Indeed, I have not; and Mr. Sharp promised to bring him home on New
Year's day," replied the mother.
"Mr. Sharp! Mr. Sharp!" ejaculated the doctor, thoughtfully. "Is that the
name of the man who has your son?"
"Yes, sir. That is his name."
Doctor R---- arose and took two or three turns across the floor at this,
and, then resuming his seat, said--
"You shall see your son to-morrow, Mrs. Gaston. I will myself go to
Lexington and bring him home. I had no idea that the man had not kept
his promise with you. And, as I got Henry the place, I must see that his
master is as good as his word in regard to him."
With this assurance, Mrs. Gaston returned home, and with a lighter heart.
(To be concluded next month.)
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 9: Entered according to Act of Congress, by T. B. PETERSON,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of
Pennsylvania.]
HISTORY OF PEARLS, NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL.
PEARLS are a shelly secretion of a spherical shape formed in a species
of oyster, or pearl mussel, and said to be produced by a malady in the
animal, which requires nearly seven years for its full development, after
which the oyster dies. Small pearls which have been immersed in acetous
acids, and thus reduced to their membranous constituents, have the
appearance of being formed of concentric coats of membrane and carbonate
of lime, thus resembling in composition the mother-of-pearl with which
oyster-shells are lined. The precise origin of pearls is unknown, but it
appears probable that some minute substance, such as a grain of sand,
may have found its way into the shell and produced irritation, and that
the animal, unable to expel it, renders it less injurious by covering
it with calcareous matter. It is sometimes affirmed that, to produce
pearls, the oyster must have received some external injury; and this is
corroborated by the fact that nearly all the shells in which pearls are
found are outwardly contorted, and that a smooth regular shell is a pretty
sure sign of the absence of the pearl. It was therefore suggested to the
Swedish government, by the celebrated Linnæus, to pierce small holes in
the shell of the freshly-caught pearl oyster, and then restore it to its
original bed. The experiment was tried, but without success. A somewhat
similar plan is said to be adopted by the Chinese, and with favorable
results. These ingenious people thread upon fine silk small beads of
mother-of-pearl, and fasten them within the shells of pearl oysters, when
they rise to the surface of the water at the beginning of summer. The
animals are then restored to their bed, where they soon cover the beads
with calcareous matter, and thus convert them into pearls.
In whatever way produced, pearls of considerable size, on account of their
beauty and rarity, have been valued at enormous prices in past ages, and
are still among the choicest objects of the jeweller's art. Their delicate
and silvery lustre has been as widely celebrated as the brilliancy of the
diamond. The Hindoos poetically describe them as drops of dew falling
into the shells when the fish rise to the surface of the sea in the month
of May, and becoming, by some unexplained action of the sun's rays,
transformed into pearls.
Pearl fisheries exist in Ceylon, on the Coromandel coast, and in the
Persian Gulf, the last-named being the most productive. Fisheries of less
importance also exist in Algiers, and in the Zooloo Islands. Two thousand
years ago, the Romans found pearls in Britain, and within modern times
the rivers of Scotland have afforded considerable quantities, though not
of the best quality. Several rivers of Saxony, Silesia, Bavaria, and
Bohemia afford pearls, and they are also found in two or three Russian
provinces. There are also pearl fisheries in the western hemisphere.
The coast of Columbia and the Bay of Panama have furnished considerable
quantities, but they are not considered equal to the pearls of the East
in shape or color. Detailed accounts of the pearl fishery of Ceylon have
been given by the Count de Noé and others, who have had ample means of
watching the operations of the pearl-divers during a residence in that
island. It appears that the pearl oysters occur in banks at greater or
less depth in the sea on the western side of the island of Ceylon, the
average depth, however, being about twelve fathoms, and the distance from
the shore about fifteen miles. The right to fish on these banks is sold by
the government every season, and a single auction sale is generally made
to one individual, who afterwards disposes of shares in the fishery to
other parties. The biddings at the auction are regulated by the produce of
some thousands of oysters taken from the beds at hazard. If the average
quality of pearls contained in them be good, the competition is strong in
proportion.
The pearl fishery commences in April, and lasts till towards the end of
May. It attracts a concourse of visitors not only from the interior of the
island, but from various parts of India, whose diversities of language,
dress, and manners produce a striking effect. The sea-shore, at other
times solitary, is, on the eve of the fishery, suddenly covered with
innumerable huts, composed of a few poles stuck in the ground, interwoven
with bamboo and covered with the leaves of the cocoa-nut palm. These
temporary dwellings often shelter as many as 150,000 persons. The signal
for commencing the fishery is given at daybreak by the firing of cannon,
and at that moment the several boats cast anchor in the fishing-ground,
for at midnight they had left the shore in an extensive fleet, so as to be
on the spot at the desired moment. Each boat has its own proper bounds,
beyond which it is not lawful to work, and government vessels are on the
spot to see that no infringement of contract takes place. The boats each
carry a captain, a pilot, and twenty men, of whom ten are experienced
divers. Five divers descend at once, the other five taking the plunge when
the first ascend. Thus a little time is allowed for regaining strength.
In order to descend as rapidly as possible through the water, the diver
places his feet on a large stone made fast to one end of a rope, the other
end being secured to the boat. He also takes another rope, to the end
of which is attached a net, or basket, to contain the oysters. The upper
extremity of this second rope is held by two men in the boat. The diver
is also provided with a strong knife for detaching the oysters, and as a
means of defence against sharks, which are very numerous in those seas,
but which do not often attack the divers, being perhaps scared by the
noise of the assemblage, and the continual plunging of so great a number
of persons. The diver no sooner reaches the ground than he gathers oysters
with all possible speed into his basket, and then letting go the rope to
which the stone is attached, he pulls that which is held by the sailors,
and rapidly ascends to the surface. Some divers make very dexterous use
of their feet, holding the net with one foot, clasping the stone with the
other, and thus leaving one hand free to close the nostrils, while the
other hand holds the rope in descending.