Chapter X: Death's Valley 204 (3)

The Mexicans are an indolent race. The luxurious climate of Santa Barbara is not favorable to the development of latent energy in any people, least of all to the inert Mexicans; yet the padres, by awakening their superstitious fears, made them work until the wilderness became a vineyard, and the golden orange glowed amid the leaves of the fragrant trees.

Poor Joza disliked any exertion, and, if left to his own inclination, would have lived on the spontaneous productions of that almost tropical climate, and been happy after his oyster fashion.

Often he obeyed very reluctantly, those whom he thought had power, not only over the body, but could doom his soul to unnumbered years of suffering, in the fearful fires of purgatory.

The padres lived in great ease and comfort; though so far from the elegances of the great world, their own ingenuity and the rapid growth of the country, furnished them with many luxuries.

Their quaint adobe houses were very pleasant, built after the Spanish style, in the form of a square with an open court in the center.

Beautiful gardens flourished around them, in which grew the fragrant citron, the lemon, with its shining leaves, and nearly all the rare fruits and flowers of the tropics.

For some years, Joza labored in the vineyards and gardens; but the ambitious padres were planning a greater work. A new church was to be built, and elaborately ornamented; a convent and college was planned; extensive grounds to be laid out and cultivated, and all to be surrounded by the enduring adobe wall of mud and stones.

One evening, after a weary day in the vineyard, just as Joza was about starting for home, padre Antonio called him.

"On the morrow," he said, "we will begin to lay the foundation of the new church, the Grand San Pedro; you shall be permitted to aid in the blessed work, by carrying stones and mortar, for which great mercy thank the holy Mother and all the saints, especially the blessed San Pedro, who is the patron saint of this great enterprise."

Then the padre blessed him, and wandered off into the delicious shade of the garden.

In the gathering gloom of the twilight, Joza returned to his cottage, more disheartened than ever, wondering how much more torturing the fires of purgatory could be, than carrying stones under the burning sun of Santa Barbara.

As he approached his cottage, he saw his wife sitting before the door with a stranger, both smoking, with the greatest apparent enjoyment.

His son, and a large dog, were rolling about on the soft earth, near them, raising a cloud of dust, and making a great noise, which seemed to disturb no one, and to afford them much pleasure.

When Joza came up, his wife introduced the stranger as his old playmate, and her brother Schio, who, many years before, had gone away, and, until that evening, had never been heard from.

Joza welcomed his old friend in the cordial Spanish way, placing his house at his disposal.

For a short time, in pleasant memories of their boyhood, he forgot the weary present. After they had eaten their frugal supper, and were again seated in the vine-clad doorway, Joza looked out upon the great ocean, dusky with the shadows of evening, growing sad and silent.

"What ails thee, brother," said Schio, in his clear, ringing voice, that sounded like the strong notes of a clarionet. "You are changed; you are growing old, but see me, I am as young in heart as your boy, and strong as a bullock."

He lifted a great stone that lay near him, and held it at arms' length, laughing loudly, till the caves of the ocean sent back a hundred echoes.

With many sighs, Joza told the story of his troubles; how, for years, till his back had grown old and stiff, he had worked in the vineyard of the padre, but the purple harvest had brought no blessing to him.

How a harder task was to be laid upon him. He was to hew and carry the heavy foundation-stones of the Grand San Pedro, and even at the thought of so great labor, the beaded sweat rolled down his forehead.

His sympathizing wife sobbed aloud, but the brother only laughed, till again he woke the mysterious voices of the ocean caves.

Half angry, Joza turned to Schio, saying: "'Tis all very well for you, Schio, to laugh; you who roam at will in the cool of the evening, and rest in the delightful shade, while the scorching sunshine is burning my life out."

Poor Joza buried his face in his hands and sighed wearily.

"Cheer up, brother," said Schio, pleasantly. "Listen to me. Go in the morning, to padre Antonio, and tell him you are getting old and feeble, and cannot work through the heat of the day, but if he will appoint your task, you will accomplish it after the burning sun has gone down.

"Tell him if you carry those large stones in the day, your life will be consumed like the burning candles before the altar; but that in the cool of the evening, your strength returns as in the days of youth."

"And what, then?" said Joza, wearily.

"I will see that the morning finds your task accomplished," replied Schio.

That night Joza dreamed that his tasks were ended, and that all day long he luxuriated in most delicious ease, under the shade of olive trees, and, when he woke, his heart grew sad, that it was only a dream.

He rose in haste to go to his task, for he had overslept himself; then he thought of Schio's advice. "I will do as he told me, though I fear 'twill do no good," thought he. "I can but fail, and who knows what may come.

"Schio is such a strange fellow; when he's talking, it seems as though a hundred voices rung changes on his words. God grant he's not in league with the devil."

Joza crossed himself, and muttered prayers most devoutly until he reached the house of the padre Antonio.

After he had told the padre all Schio had directed, his task was appointed, and he returned home, all day long resting in the shade of his favorite lime-tree, smoking his cigarettés, and was happy as only a careless, indolent Mexican could be, enjoying the luxury of complete repose.

Toward evening he began to be a little uneasy, but with the dewy twilight, came Schio, waking the mysterious echoes, with his ringing laughter, and, as the darkness deepened, he placed a lantern in Joza's hand, saying: "Now, brother, we will go to the task you complain of so bitterly."

Silently they pursued their way, until they arrived at the huge pile, upon which the padre had appointed Joza to begin his work.

Many days would have passed before he could have hewn the rock as the padre desired, but, with one blow of an immense drill, in Schio's powerful hand, the rock was cleft in twain. As he reduced it to its proper size and shape, Joza stood by, trembling with fear; then pointed out the chosen spot, and, in silence and darkness, the first stone of the Grand San Pedro was laid.

When the full moon arose, clear and bright, shedding its floods of golden light over the mission of Santa Barbara, and the blue waves that washed its sanded shore, the laborers had gone—Joza, to sleep peacefully in his little cottage, and Schio, down to the echoing caverns by the sounding sea.

Morning came, gorgeous with sunshine and beauty, and the padre walked out to inspect the site of his ambitious dreams.

He was an avaricious and unscrupulous man.

In building this new church, he hoped to erect a tower of strength and greatness for himself, more than an edifice in which to worship the blessed Christ, the immaculate Virgin, and the holy saints.

When he saw the huge foundation-stone that Schio had laid, he was greatly amazed.

Even the hewing of it, he knew to be the work of days, and there it was, cleanly cleft, and in its proper place.

"There is a mystery here," he said; "the people will believe it a miracle; be it as it will, I must make the most of it."

He called Joza, who came to him smiling and happy.

"You have done well for the beginning," said the padre, "but to-night, you must lay two stones like this."

"Holy San Pedro, help me!" exclaimed Joza. "It is impossible!" and he turned away, very sorrowful.

At night he told Schio what the padre had said. Schio frowned, and answered, "The padre should not ask too much; but this shall be as he desires."

Again they went out in the twilight, and before the rising of the golden moon, two more foundation-stones were laid.

At daybreak the padre arose, and hastened to see if the task had been accomplished, and before his wondering eyes, lay the three immense foundation-stones, smooth, and in their proper places.

"Holy Virgin! I will give him enough to-night," exclaimed the amazed padre, and again the task was doubled.

Thus it went on, night after night, and week after week, till the Grand San Pedro began to rise up like Aladdin's wonderful palace, but, Schio, the man of iron, grew very angry, as the full moon arose upon him, bending over his unfinished task.

"Joza," said he, "the padre may go too far for even Schio to bear; bid him beware!

"If the morning sun finds me here, I will not answer for the result; too much pressure will burst open the hidden recesses of earth, and cause the caverns of ocean to resound with fearful echoes of mystery.

"Can he think San Pedro will bless avarice and oppression, even in the padre Antonio?"

In the morning Joza went to the padre, and entreated him to lessen the task, but he only laughed, and said: "You are getting fat and lazy. I will not double your work to-night, but you shall do four times as much as ever, and I will be there to see it accomplished."

Joza departed with a heavy heart, dreading to meet Schio; and when he told him in the evening, he made no reply, but a black frown covered his whole face, and his eyes shot fire.

That night the padre Antonio went out to watch Joza, and when he saw Schio cleaving the huge stones with one blow of his wonderful drill, he thought he had not imposed task enough, and resolved he would command him to finish the Grand San Pedro in one night.

Just after midnight the moon arose, and the startled Joza heard, at every blow of the drill, a hundred echoes ring out from the ocean caverns. But Schio worked steadily on.

"Schio," said Joza, suddenly, "what is it makes these mournings from the sea caves?" But Schio only answered by a heavier blow from his hammer, and under their feet the ground shook violently, then opened, and, where the Grand San Pedro should have stood, yawned a great gulf, that closed upon the labor of many nights; and with the great foundation-stones went down the ambitious padre.

The morning sun rose on a scene of great desolation, but only Joza was there, with trembling voice, to tell the tale of the padre Antonio and the Grand San Pedro.

When others spoke of the great earth quake, he said: "'Twas all Schio's doings.

"The padre would never be satisfied, and the man of iron grew so angry, that he struck the great stone from the heart of the mountain, and then the earth shook, opened, and swallowed up the padre Antonio and the Grand San Pedro."

Schio was never afterward seen at the mission of Santa Barbara, but often, at evening, his ringing voice was wafted along the shore, from the cave of echoes, down by the sea.

JUNG-FRAU MALEEN.

In a small village upon the shore of the German Ocean lived a man whose wife had golden tresses so long and heavy that when they were unbound they covered her like a cloak of sunbeams, and reached to her feet. Her complexion was so fair, and her eyes so beautiful, that her equal was not to be found in all the Fatherland.

At last she fell sick and died, leaving her husband all alone in the world, except one wee baby, who lay sleeping in the cradle. At first the father was heart-broken, and noticed nothing, but after a time all his love turned to the helpless infant, who every day grew more lovely, and at last became as fair as her mother, with the same wealth of golden hair and soft violet eyes, and all the Fatherland, from far and near, was filled with the story of her great beauty.

When she was only a little maid, she would go down to the sea-shore and dance upon the sand, until her light straw hat would drop from her head, and her waving tresses fall about her like a shower of pure gold, and her violet eyes beam with the brightness of stars, while the flush upon her cheeks rivaled the soft, fresh bloom of the peach.

The maiden was called the fair Jung-frau Maleen, as she grew older and every day added to her charms, till half the young men in the country were ready to lay down their life for her; but though her ways were winning, and she had a pleasant smile for all, no one could be familiar with her. In her guileless innocence and beauty she seemed a great way out of their reach, yet she danced with them, talked and laughed with them, till her clear, sweet voice rang out upon the air like the soft notes of a silver bell, but when she turned away, they felt that she had gone from them forever.

Among her lovers was a bashful student named Handsel, who worshiped the Jung-frau Maleen with all the devotion of his great noble heart, but ever at a distance.

He seldom spoke to her.

Even the rustle of her dress as she passed along would set his heart to beating wildly, and the sound of her voice, or one glance of her violet eye would send the hot blood rushing through his veins, dyeing his face and neck a deep crimson. Poor Handsel!

He would say to his heart, "Down, fool, the star of heaven is not for you, look for some lovely flower of earth," but in all the Fatherland he knew there was not another maiden who could satisfy the hunger of his heart.

At all the village festivals he looked on in the distance, and saw others worship at the shrine he dared not approach. "I have nothing worth offering her," he would say, and so he was silent.

He was handsome and manly, and Maleen always looked for him in the crowd, and when she saw him standing far apart with his large dark eyes fixed upon her, she was more content than in his absence. If she had questioned her heart for the reason of this she would have blushed with confusion, for Jung-frau Maleen was not one who would willingly yield her heart unsought.

Maleen always loved the bright, sparkling sea, and often she would go out alone in her little boat, and sail for hours over the blue waters, gathering the pretty sea-weed, and indulging in the day-dreams that German maidens love.

One morning as Handsel was going to the college, he saw the Jung-frau step into her boat and push away from the shore.

He took off his hat and bowed.

She looked at him with that rare, sweet smile that always made him happy for days.

He stopped and looked back after her as the boat glided from the shore, and it seemed as though the sunshine of heaven and its bright reflection upon the waters were united, and was poured out in one rich flood of glory over her golden hair.

Handsel passed on out of the light into the quiet seclusion of the college, and bending over his book did not notice the rising of a thick, black cloud that from a tiny speck soon swept over the whole sky, then burst into wind and rain.

He was living over the heroic ages of the olden time, when the darkness fell across his book, and looking out the window he saw the fierce storm gathering, and heard the wailing winds crying out, Maleen! Maleen! 'Twas but the work of a moment to rush out into the storm and down to the lashed sea-shore and there, he saw a crowd of anxious faces all turned hopelessly out upon the pitiless breakers.

He looked, and there tossed wildly upon the white-capped waves, rose and fell the frail boat, and pale and hopeless sat the pride of the Fatherland, the beautiful Jung-frau Maleen, her matchless golden hair hanging like a damp shroud about her.

There were the hosts of her admirers standing upon the shore wringing their hands and weeping, they saw only death in an attempt to save her, and no one was so mad as to venture out upon the storm-lashed sea.

Even her father stood paralyzed in the hopelessness of his agony.

A strong, manly voice burst in upon the echoes of the storm. "A boat! a boat!" cried Handsel, with a stout-hearted determination in his voice to brave the danger of the breakers, and save the maiden he loved from the angry waters.

A long rope was tied about his body, and in a moment more the life-boat was tossing upon the crested waves, with the brave student at the prow, and the poor helpless Maleen rose up and held out her white arms toward him.

On over the cruel waves, the boats were nearing each other. The agony of suspense that filled the breathless crowd! Great God! if they should meet and crash together!

Down they went into the great sea gulf; Maleen with outstretched arms, and Handsel with his great heart beating like a signal-drum in his bosom, pale but unfaltering.

Down! down they went!

Now up came the billow, but only one boat, and Handsel at the prow was struggling for the shore.

"Oh, Maleen! Maleen!" burst from the father's white lips, then a tress of rich golden hair hanging over the side of the boat met his sight, and he knew that Maleen was in the boat with Handsel.

On it came to the shore, like a charmed boat it escaped the perilous breakers, till at last, no one could tell how, only through God's great mercy, they were saved, and Handsel stood upon the shore with Maleen in his arms.

He gave the maiden to her weeping father, then sank away, and no one thought of him, all were gathered around Maleen, who had fainted.

Soon she opened her violet eyes, and looked around searchingly through the crowd with a strange fear. "Where, where, is Handsel?" she cried, in wild excitement.

Then they all wondered how they could have forgotten him, and looking round they saw him sitting alone, with his head bowed down upon his hands. He did not want their thanks.

'Twas joy enough to him, that he had saved Maleen, and, brave man as he was, he sat there weeping like a child.

Maleen rose up, and walked feebly to him, and kneeling down upon the sand, she put her hand upon his shoulder, and whispered "Handsel!"

Handsel raised his head, and saw what he had never dared hope for, in the soft violet eyes upturned to his.

He answered only, "Maleen!" and, throwing his arms around her, pressed her fair golden-crowned head to his bosom.

Thus it was, that in the presence of God, the storm, and all the people—there by the the wild sea-shore, Handsel was betrothed to the most beautiful maiden in all the dear Fatherland,—The Jung-frau Maleen.

JUANETTA;

OR,

THE TREASURE OF THE LAKE OF THE TULIES

A great many years ago, before the discovery of the wonderful gold mines of California, there lived in Los Angelos an old Spanish family of pure Castilian blood.

Don Carlos De Strada was very rich. Far as the eye could reach his broad acres were spread out to his admiring view, and his flocks and herds almost literally fed upon a thousand hills.

His house was large and commodious, built after the Spanish fashion—an adobe house—surrounded on all sides by a wide piazza, and in the center an open courtyard. The windows were guarded by latticed bars of iron, and all the gates and doors were opened by massive keys. Bolts and bars belong as much to a Spanish house, as light elegancies to the hotel of a Parisian.

When Don Carlos left the banks of the Guadalquivir for the wild Lake of the Tulies, he brought with him a beautiful young wife, who loved him with all the passionate ardor of a Spanish woman.

It was a great change for the dainty lady, from the stately halls of castellated Spain to the wilderness of Los Angelos, although it was a wilderness of sweets, and the most enchanting climate in the world. Though the Don was a thorough-bred aristocrat, he was a shrewd business man, and so intent was he on becoming a great lord of the soil in the new country, that he did not notice the roses fading from the olive cheeks of his wife, and the soft mellow light of the woman's eye giving place to the more ethereal brightness of spiritual fire.

Spanish women seldom work, but in their hours of apparent listlessness they indulge in wild and ardent imaginings; and thus she would sit on the vine-clad piazza of the inner court, looking up to the clear sky, unrivaled even in Italy, until she would almost fancy, from the heavens above, she heard the rippling of the blue waters of the Guadalquivir.

There was one great hunger of her heart the Don seldom satisfied. She was his wife, and beautiful; as such, he loved her; but he never lavished the thousand little endearments upon her that is the natural food of woman's heart.

As the evening drew near, she would go to the barred window and look out upon the luxurious landscape, thinking only of the coming of her lord; and when she saw him, she would go timidly out to meet him, and hold her beautiful oval face up for a kiss, longing for him to throw his arms around her, and, if only for a moment, hold her to his heart.

He would kiss her lightly, saying, coldly: "There, that will do; be a woman now, not a baby." Then she would call up a quiet dignity, until she could steal for a few moments away, unobserved, and press her hands tightly upon her heart, saying: "If he would only love me! If he would only love me, I could live away from home, away from Spain, from every thing, for him! I must learn to be a woman, and then, at least he'll respect me.

"Oh, dear! I wish he didn't think it so foolish in me to want to be loved! But I must go to him. I'll try and talk like a woman, but I don't know any thing about the business that occupies his thoughts and time. He never tells me any thing because he thinks I'm such a baby. If he'd only love me, and let me be a baby sometimes, I think I'd be more of a woman."

Then the young wife would try to call up from her weakness new strength, and wiping away the traces of her emotion, would go out to be what pleased her lord, only a little paler, but with heart-strings quivering like an Æolian harp in a cold north wind.

One year passed in the strange, new country, and a beautiful babe was born to the ancient house of De Strada, but the mother died, and was buried by the clear Lake of the Tulies.

Don Carlos wept for his beautiful young wife, whose heart had been a sealed book, "Love, the Secret of Happiness," written for him in an unknown tongue.

His days of mourning were few. The rain fell upon the new-made grave as he gave the infant in charge of an Indian nurse who had just lost her own little baby. The savage mother took the child to her bosom, while the polished father turned away and looked out upon the green hills rich in verdure, counting the probable increase of his flocks and herds in the coming year, and, in the pleasant prospect, forgot his sorrow.

The little Juanetta grew to be a beautiful, healthy child, under the care of her indulgent nurse.

She knew where all the wild flowers grew, could shoot an arrow very well, or climb a tree, and, in many of the curious arts of the tribe, was quite skillful.

She was well versed in all the Indian traditions, and believed them with childish credulity. She seemed to have drawn the wildness, of the Indian nature from the dusky bosom of her nurse, and with her little bow and arrow would roam the woods for whole days.

At times her father would ask the nurse, "How is Juanetta?" and, at the reply, "The child is well," he would forget that every day she was growing less and less an infant, and needed more and more a mother's care.

Thus things went on until she was eleven years old. She was very tall of her age, with her long black hair hanging over her graceful shoulders, her rich olive complexion deepened by the glowing sun, and her dark eyes, fawn-like in their softness and timidity, she looked like a beautiful child of the wild wood.

Her father would look at her, and say: "The girl is a perfect savage; she must be placed at a convent; the Sisters would soon make a lady of her, for the De Strada blood is rich in her veins;" and then he would smile proudly at her rare beauty.

The summer following brought a change to Don Carlos. Till then he had been prosperous; but there had been no rain, and the grass withered and dried up until the famished cattle died by thousands, and the hills, once covered with animal life, were left bare and desolate. Don Carlos, who lost heavily, became more than ever absorbed in business cares, and again the child was forgotten.

Juanetta saw that her father was greatly troubled, and she thought if she could only find some of the treasures hidden so many years ago by the great Chief of the Tulies, she could make him rich again, and he would smile upon her as he sometimes used to before the cattle died—since then, his dark frowning face had frightened her.

She had often listened to her old nurse, sitting by the clear lake, as she told her how, years ago, a great ship came to Los Angelos filled with fair men, with long flowing beards, golden in the sunshine, and eyes like the blue summer sky, and how there was one among them, taller and nobler than all the rest, who was their Chief.

For days they rode about the country, making their camp by the Lake of the Tulies, and tradition said they brought beautiful shining stones, that glistened like the stars of night, and great sacks of yellow gold to the lake, and buried them there at midnight; then went away in the great ship over the water.

They were seen by an old Indian woman, who was gathering magic herbs, but from that moment it seemed as though a fearful spell had fallen upon her, for when she tried to tell the story, just as she was about to speak of the place where the treasure was hidden, her tongue would cleave to the roof of her mouth, and she could not utter a word; and when she attempted to go to the spot where it was buried, her feet would fasten themselves to the ground, and she could not move. From that night she seemed bewitched, and she soon died, taking the secret of the buried treasure with her to the unknown spirit land.

Juanetta had nothing to do but listen to the wild Indian lore, and roam through the woods and down by the Lake of the Tulies; and it was not strange that with her poetic temperament, she reveled in the marvelous, till it seemed to her the natural and the real.

She longed for the magic talisman to point her to the hidden treasure, and show her the wonders of the deep, until she felt sure that one day she should discover it. She told all these fancies to her nurse, who was almost her only companion, and who encouraged her, believing her, in her fond love, to be one of the Great Spirit's chosen children.

The winter came on with rare beauty. The rain, so long withheld, fell copiously, until the hills were covered with luxurious verdure and gorgeous flowers. Don Carlos's heart grew lighter; he might hope to recover his losses in time. The orange orchard was laden with fruit, and the lemons fell to the ground from the bending trees. Juanetta loved the green grass, the fragrant flowers, and the golden fruit, and her wild nature expanded into the poetry of the year.

One morning she rose with the crimson dawning, and, stealing away while her old nurse slept, she ran softly to the Lake of the Tulies, and bathed her face in the clear water till the brightness of youth and morning seemed united in her radiant beauty.

Suddenly Juanetta stopped, her tiny hand dripping with water, half raised to her glowing face, and her soft, dark eyes sparkling with strange excitement. Upon the brow of the distant hill, still covered with the mist of the morning, she saw the Chief of the Lake of the Tulies. She knew it was him by the soft, purple light that gathered around him; by the glow of perpetual youth that enveloped him, and by the crimson clouds that dropped their fleece so near, and yet could not conceal his noble bearing.

To her eye, there seemed a shining glory about his bronze beard, and his brow and cheeks glowing in the early sunlight, were fairer than any she had ever seen among the dusky Indian tribes or olive Spaniards.

Down the hill he came, a light straw hat in his hand, and the air playing with the light waves of his abundant hair. On he came to the lake, and to the spot where the little maiden sat, full of wonder and admiration.

He, too, seemed a little surprised when he saw her, but in the soft Spanish tongue, bade her "Good morning," and asked whose little girl she was, and what had brought her so early to the charmed lake.

"I am Don Carlos's daughter, Juanetta," said the child, "and you, the Chief of the Lake of the Tulies?"

A smile gathered around the lips of the Chief, and filled his blue eyes, with a light so pleasant that the child drew near him, and placed her little brown hand confidingly in his. He drew her to him, saying, kindly:—

"You know me, then? I am the Chief of the Lake of the Tulies, and what can I do for the little Juanetta?"

"Tell me," said the child, "of all the wonderful treasures hidden by the lake, and of the palaces of the sea, and the coral groves under the great waters!"

The Chief led her to a rock that overhung the lake, and told her to look over into the waters, and she saw them clear and sparkling in the morning sun, and it seemed as though the light of a thousand brilliants was stealing through the shining waves.

He told her of glittering diamonds beneath the sea, richer far than all the hills and valleys of Los Angelos, covered with flocks and herds; and how the coral trees outshone the trees of earth, in beauty, and of the crystal palaces of the deep, and of the maidens of the sea, whose, purple hair like sea-weed, sometimes floated above the waves.

Juanetta told him she had often found locks of their silken hair upon the beach, and how beautiful it was. He told her of the sounding shells, and ocean harps breathing their rich, deep-toned melody, and the thousand mysteries of the wild sea lore, till the delighted Juanetta begged him to take her with him down, down to the crystal caves, and let her become a sea-maiden, and gather pearls under the blue waters of the deep.

But he replied: "You are a child of the woods, not of the wave; you may become an immortal spirit in the sky, but never in the deep, deep sea."

Tears gathered in her eyes, and she said: "You are cruel to Juanetta, Chief of the Lake of the Tulies. You of all your wealth of beauty, will grant Juanetta nothing. Juanetta must live alone, in the woods and fields, with only the old nurse and the father who always forgets her."

He soothed the little maiden gently, and told her he would grant her greater treasures than those of the deep, if she would obey him; and she kissed his hand and promised.

Then he took from his bosom, a talisman, and gave it to her, saying: "Juanetta, this cross will guard you from evil spirits. When you are troubled or angry, take it from your bosom, and ask the great Father above to bless you and help you. Do this earnestly five minutes, and the evil spirits will leave you." And Juanetta kissed the cross and promised.

"I have yet another talisman" he continued, "and very powerful. It opens a new world of delight and beauty, to those who are willing to give their time, care, and diligent attention to the study of it. Would you like it, Juanetta? You could no longer wander all day through the woods, hunting wild-flowers, or dream away your life by the Lake of the Tulies. Could you give up the wild pleasures of your present life, for the gifts of the talisman I have promised?"

Juanetta's face was glowing with wonder and delight; she longed to enter the unknown promised land:

"I will do any thing, I will give up any thing you tell me, she cried, with enthusiasm."

She was enchanted with the unseen gifts that left so much to her fervid imagination to picture, and she was delighted with the giver, the handsome young Chief of the Lake of the Tulies, whose pleasant smile, and pleasing words, made morning's golden sunshine in her heart.

"But won't you show me where the treasure of the Lake of the Tulies lies hidden?" she said, blushingly. "All those rare gems, crimson, purple, golden, and diamonds sparkling like the morning dew. What can be more beautiful than these?"

All her life, Juanetta had heard of the matchless luster of these hidden jewels, and now to be so near them, with the Chief of the Lake of the Tulies by her side, she felt that her day dreams of beauty might, with one word of his, or a touch of his magic wand, be realized.

"Do not ask for too much in one morning, Juanetta," he replied, laughing. "Now for talisman number two," and he took a book from his pocket, and until the sun had risen high in the heavens, they sat bending over it together with mutual pleasure.

Then the Chief of the Lake of the Tulies arose, taking her little bronzed hand in his, saying: "I must go, my little Juanetta. Keep the talisman, and study it well. The new morning is dawning for you now; what a queen of light 'twill make you?" And he passed his hand over the thick waves of tangled hair that fell in long masses over the shoulders of the beautiful child.

Tears gathered in the dark eyes of the maiden. "Are you going now, Chief of the Lake of the Tulies?" said she, sadly: "Going to the crystal palaces of the sea? And shall you take the treasure of the lake with you? Take the talisman, I can do nothing without you! Here alone! Only the old nurse, and the father who never thinks, never thinks of Juanetta! And you, too, will forget Juanetta!"

"No! no, Juanetta, I will not forget you, but will come again to-morrow. I will not go to the sea, since you cannot go, but will stay and teach you the use of the talisman, and the treasure of the lake shall rest till we can find it together! So now good-by to-day."

And then they parted, and Juanetta was very happy in the light of the new dawning.

All day long she studied, and many successive days, and the Chief of the Lake of the Tulies always came, either at morning or at evening, to hear her lesson.

Sometimes she would ask him about the hidden treasure, as they walked by the lake; he would smile and say, "I have found a treasure by the Lake of the Tulies richer than all the gems of the ocean," and when Juanetta begged him to show it to her, he would tell, her to look into the water; but she could see only the reflection of her own sweet face, full of wondering happiness.

Then he would laugh again, and say, he could not tell her now of his treasure by the Lake of the Tulies, but he would describe the rich gold mine he had discovered in the cañon, and tell her there was gold enough in it almost to fill up the lake.

Thus weeks and months passed by. Juanetta was twelve years old. She had improved rapidly in her studies, and had learned to call her young teacher by another name, not so long or high sounding, but very pleasant to them both, and often they would laugh at their first strange meeting by the charmed Lake of the Tulies.

At last her father was aroused to the sense of her increasing beauty. He saw, that the years of childhood were fast passing away, and that she stood upon the threshold of dawning womanhood.

He was greatly surprised, and delighted to find her proficient in studies of which he supposed she knew nothing, and he made all possible haste to have her placed at a convent, where she could enjoy every advantage of culture and refinement.

The young stranger who had been her teacher, became a great favorite with Don Carlos. He was engaged in developing a mine, in the San Francisco cañon, in which he succeeded in amassing great wealth, though in after years the mine failed to yield its store of golden treasure.

Four years passed away, and Juanetta returned to her father's house, an accomplished, and beautiful lady. Again by the Lake of the Tulies, she met the Chief of her childhood's dreams, and there together, they found the treasure greater than all the wealth of land or sea, the pure and earnest love of their youthful hearts.

They were married, and Don Carlos's heart swelled proudly, as he thought of the great wealth their union had brought into his family, while they blessed God for the lifelong treasure He had given them, by the charmed Lake of the Tulies.

EMPEROR NORTON.

Once upon a time there lived near a small village on the shore of the Atlantic, an honest farmer named Norton, who had three sons.

The two elder were smart, active lads, but the youngest was quiet, and so much given to dreaming that his brothers ridiculed and often slighted him.

"He is so stupid," they would say, "he will be a disgrace to the family;" but what annoyed him most, they gave him the unpleasant _sobriquet_ of Dumpy, on account of his fat, rosy cheeks.

As the boys grew up, the eldest took the farm, and was to take care of the father and mother, the second became clerk to a merchant in a neighboring city, but poor Dumpy, in the indolence of his disposition, did nothing. He was always hoping some impossible thing would "turn up," but he had no rich relations, indeed no one seemed to take much interest in him but the mother, who would always say, "Poor Dumpy, he is a good-hearted boy," then she would sigh heavily, as though there was nothing more to be said.

At last the father became quite out of patience, and calling the boy to him one day, he said: "You are now twenty years old, and never have earned so much as your salt, and it is quite time for you to do something for yourself. Your brother, who has taken the farm, complains that he is obliged to support you in idleness, which certainly is not right."

"For the farm he will take care of your mother and me, but you and your other brother must look out for yourselves."

"Give me," answered Dumpy, "what money you can spare, I ask nothing more, I will go and seek my fortune, and you shall hear of me when I become a rich man."

The father gave him what money he could, and he went away, no one at home knew whither, leaving only the mother to weep for him.

When Dumpy left the farm-house he walked on to the village, feeling that he was going into the great world full of promise, but he never dreamed of disappointment.

When he arrived at the village inn the stage was standing at the door. "I will go," he said, "where fortune leads me." So he took his seat in the stage, and paid his fare to the end of the route, which happened to be the great city of New York.

All day long he was very happy looking out of the windows upon the changing landscape, and indulging in day-dreams. Sometimes he would come to a pretty village nestling among the hills. "I would like," he would think, "of all things to stop here, 'tis so very pleasant, but I have paid my money, and I must go on."

It was night when the stage entered the city, its heavy wheels rumbling over the paved streets, and crowding along past carts, omnibuses, and carriages, till poor Dumpy, who had never been in the city before, began to feel very much bewildered and confused.

"Where shall I go," said Dumpy to the driver, when the stage stopped. "'Tis so noisy I can't hear myself think. Oh, dear! I don't know what to do," and he looked so pitiably helpless that the driver was sorry for him, though he could not help laughing. "Come with me, my boy," he said, so he went with the driver to the cheap lodging-house, where he stopped when in town.

To enumerate all poor Dumpy's adventures while in New York would be impossible. Enough to say it was not long before his money was gone, and he shipped before the mast in a merchant vessel for California.

Poor Dumpy! Now came woful experiences, for a time he was wretchedly seasick, and he soon found that to go before the mast was no joke, but in his way he was quite a philosopher, and after a few weeks became a very good sailor.

As he was pleasant and obliging he became a favorite with all on board, but he loved most of all when off duty, to sit by himself in the soft starlit evenings as the good ship sailed over the tropic seas, and dream of the land of gold to which he was going.

He possessed a vivid imagination, and his visions of the wealth of the new Eldorado were most glowing.

He would picture to himself how like a prince he would luxuriate in riches, how great and generous he would be, even to the brothers who had despised him. It is a happiness to be able to revel in dreams as he did, for the pleasures of anticipation are but too often greater than the reality.

He loved his mother, she at least had always been kind and gentle to him.

"My dear mother," he would say to himself, with a bright tear in his eye, "she shall yet live in a palace. God bless her, dear mother."

Then he would sigh till a bright thought drove away the sad one. "Oh, 'tis so delightful to be rich," he would say.

Then he would rub his hands as complacently as though the wealth of the Indies lay at his feet.

"I shall give the father every thing he wishes of course," he would continue, "and I will make the brothers rich men, for to be generous and forgive is the attribute of true greatness, and for myself I will marry the prettiest woman in the world, and I will give her every thing she can possibly desire."

Often the sharp quick bell, for change of watch, would call him to duty, and scatter his gorgeous dreams, leaving only the dull, hard present in his mind and heart.

At length the good ship arrived in San Francisco, and there again Dumpy found all the wild bustle and confusion of the early days.

Gold was plenty in dust and bars.

When a man bought any thing he would take out of his bag of gold dust as much dust as he was to pay for the article, and he would be off.

The highest price was paid for labor, and Dumpy soon engaged to drive a cart for two hundred and fifty dollars per month, but he determined to make this arrangement only for a short time, till he could get money enough to go out prospecting in the mining districts.

This he soon accomplished, but he found a life in the mines even harder than before the mast, but the golden future was before him, and he persevered.

He and another young adventurer built a cabin together by a little spring of clear, bubbling water.

They worked early and late, with the wearisome pick and shovel for the precious gold that was to pave the pathway of their lives with happiness, but often night found them disappointed and weary, and they would return to their lonely cabins, cook and eat their coarse supper, and lie down upon the hard floor, wrap their blankets around them, with heavy and hopeless hearts. But thank God, sunshine and the fresh morning brings renewed life and hope to young hearts.

One morning when Dumpy awoke he found his companion had risen and gone out before him, so he went out alone, thinking, "who knows what will turn up before night, I may become a millionaire. I'll try my luck alone to-day;" so he did not go to the ledge they had been prospecting the day before, but started off in a new direction.

All day long he worked diligently, but the sunset found him as poor as the dawning, and quite worn out, he threw himself down upon the ledge to rest a little before going home. "Ah, me!" thought he, sadly, "how long the poor mother will have to wait for her palace."

As the sunset deepened into twilight, he rose, and shouldering his pick and shovel, started for the cabin. "I can not call it home," he said to himself, "there is no mother there."

He had not gone far, before a little shrill voice arrested him, and looking down, he saw a little old man, sitting among the loose stones, rubbing his foot and ankle, and groaning piteously.

He was very quaintly dressed, in a little red jacket, and wore a Spanish hat with little gold bells around it, and his long gray beard swept the ground, as he sat dismally among the rocks.

"Oh, dear! I cannot move," said the little man; "I have sprained my foot, will not you help me home? Oh dear! oh dear!" and he moaned so piteously that Dumpy, who was kind-hearted, was very sorry for him; so he took the old man up in his arms as tenderly as if he had been an infant.

The old man pointed out the way, and Dumpy trudged wearily on, for though he was no bigger than a child of eight years old, he seemed quite heavy to Dumpy. After working all day with the pick and shovel, and finding nothing, his heart was heavy with hope deferred. "If I had found gold to-day," thought he, "a light heart would have made a light burden; but thank God I am well, and this poor man suffers fearfully."

Poor Dumpy! He went on, down the cañon, then up the mountain, it seemed to him for miles; at last the little man pointed to a crevice in the rock, through which Dumpy managed with some difficulty to creep; but as he went on it widened, and suddenly opened into a large cavern.

"Go on," said the old man, sharply, as Dumpy stopped and gazed around with astonishment. So he went on till they came to a large hall sparkling with crystal, and glowing with precious stones.

A large chandelier hung from the roof, and cast a flood of softened light through the whole cavern, and Dumpy could see in the stone floor large masses of pure yellow gold.

He saw in the huge irregular pillars that rose to the dome of the cavern, great veins of the precious ore, and everywhere it was scattered about with the most lavish profusion.

Curious golden figures, carved with strange devices, stood in the niches, and there were couches with golden frames, and tables of gold, so that the light, reflected from the clear crystal dome, glittering with shining pendants, by the softening yellow tinge, was mellow and pleasant.

Poor Dumpy had been so long in the twilight and darkness, that he was dazzled by the brilliant scene, and for a few moments was obliged to close his eyes, and when he opened them, he saw that he was surrounded by a large crowd of the little people, who were full of anxious fears about the old man he held in his arms, but he assured them he was suffering only from a sprain, which, though very painful, was not dangerous. They gathered anxiously around the little man as he laid him upon a couch.

He soon discovered that the man he had assisted was king over the little people who guard the mountain treasures, covering the rich places with unpromising stones and earth, and often misleading the honest miner by scattering grains of the precious metal in waste places; thus it is we hear so often of disappointed hopes, and abandoned mines.

After they had in some measure relieved the suffering of their chief, they turned to Dumpy, who stood in the most profound astonishment, drinking in all he saw or heard.

"You have done me a great kindness," said the chief; "and, though it is our business to mislead miners, we can be grateful, and you may now claim any reward you desire."

"I have saved your ruler," said Dumpy, looking at the crowd of little people, and trying to think of something great to ask as a reward.

"Our chief! our king!" cried all the little people, together. "Ask what you will and it shall be granted."

"I would be great as well as rich," thought Dumpy, so he said aloud: "Make me emperor of all the mines, and let all the miners pay tribute to me."

"It shall be so," said the king. Then he called one of his servants to bring the golden crown and scepter, and bidding Dumpy kneel before him, he placed the scepter in his hand and the crown upon his head, and striking him a sharp blow upon his shoulder, he said, "Arise, Emperor Norton.

"As long as you preserve this crown and scepter from moth or rust, dew or fog, you shall be the true emperor of all the mines in California and Nevada, and all the miners shall pay you yearly tribute, but if you lose either crown or scepter, or moth, rust, midnight dews and damps fall upon them, they will fade away, and you will be emperor in name only, and the miners shall pay you no yearly tribute."

"So let it be," said the newly-made emperor; and they all sat down to a table spread with every delicacy, and feasted till the noon of the following day.

When the emperor bade the knights of the mountain adieu, the little gray king said: "Beware of the dews and damps of the night," and he started for his cabin.

"I will first visit my old comrade," he said, "though he is now one of my subjects, I will not be proud and haughty."

One of the little men ran before him, and led the way out of the cave into the sunlight, which was so bright that the emperor shaded his eyes with his hand, and when he had removed it the little man had disappeared.

The emperor looked around, but could see no trace of him; even the crevice through which he had passed, was nowhere to be seen.