Chapter THE FOURTH (2)

Constance's dressy purchases were thus woefully ill-timed; her aunt was far too good a judge to believe a pound would buy such a bonnet, nor did her niece attempt to deceive her; this was but fresh confirmation of "my brother's ridiculous extravagance. Constance dressed up like a girl of fortune--it is really too bad. He has no right to squander other people's money in this way; it is almost dishonest, and I shall give her a good set-down."

The set-down came, and this time unaccompanied by the annual present on which the poor girl had depended; and as the Appletons chose to make a sort of parade of poverty just then, her smart clothes were more conspicuous. Never had she spent such a miserable six weeks; her temper gave way beneath self-reproach and her aunt's nagging, and she had the misery of feeling that she had widened the breach between her father and relations, who, after all, were kindly, nay, generously disposed toward him.

But little comfort awaited her on her return home. Business was still very flat, and her brother's expenses had unavoidably increased; her father was looking haggard and care-worn. There, too, lay Mrs. Grey's bill, the total five pounds. A mist came before her eyes; it was long before the first sickening feeling was over, and she had courage to read the items. Two guineas for the bonnet! that must be a mistake. She flew to have it rectified.

"I am sure you told me thirty-five shillings, Mrs. Grey."

"Certainly, Miss Leslie; but, of course, I was speaking of ready-money payments. You know I must make a difference where parties require credit. I am always very glad to accommodate a customer, and the bonnet is cheap at fifty shillings."

"But the cap, and the voilette--I never ordered them, and you charge them thirty shillings more."

"Why you see, ma'am, they make the whole so complete, so suitable, I thought it was a pity not to put them in--you know you could have returned them if they were not approved of."

"But you sent to say it would be but a trifle more."

"No more is it, Miss Leslie. Why the lace is dirt-cheap at that price; and it will wash up and trim a straw bonnet--wash and wear forever; as for the bill, pray don't make yourself uneasy about it; you can take your own time--pay me at your convenience."

What could Constance do? She had not five shillings to dispose of; and, fearing to annoy her father, or cause some inquiry, had foolishly allowed him to suppose she had received her usual present from aunt Appleton; she had even diverted some of the housekeeping money to make her accustomed presents to her father and brothers, their share of her birthday gift. The sigh with which Mr. Leslie accepted her little offering smote her severely; it told how much more grateful he would have felt had she thrown it into the weekly allowance.

Five pounds seems but a very small sum, but when it is to be saved up by pence its magnitude increases fearfully; it is almost a hopeless undertaking. Constance was now fairly immersed in that slough of despond, debt; for instead of paying away her money regularly, and in order, it was here a little and there a little. Her life was a perfect scramble; a perpetual staving off, while her small bills accumulated. Mrs. Grey had her now completely in her power; she was obliged to supply herself from her, at credit prices, having always forestalled her income, and though constantly endeavoring to economize, and in essentials scarcely so well dressed as in former times, her expenses were at least doubled.

Having acquired the habit of running up bills, it required more strength of mind than she possessed to dispense with a hundred little superfluities, that, had she been obliged to pay for them on the spot, would have been instantly relinquished; but as is too often the case, while the money still glittered in her purse, she forgot the numerous calls she was preparing for it. Nor did the mischief end here; she was no longer able to pay her servants' wages; they became sulky, then saucy; the work was neglected, provisions wasted; and yet she neither could nor dared discharge them, so much did she fear her father's learning her heavy arrears. These annoyances, and constant corroding anxieties, brought on a low nervous fever; change of scene and air were ordered, but these could not be obtained without expense; and this, and the dread of any discovery during her absence, quite nullified the good effects of the prescription. Her debts had gradually, though almost imperceptibly amounted to about fifty pounds, a sum she had no present means of paying; she had learned to tremble at the sound of a single knock, and, by contemptible excuses, and frivolous pretexts for delay, was slowly undermining her father's credit.

It is a long time ere the "master" awakes to the feeling that his home is uncomfortable, or is aware of all that goes on within it, especially if he be in business. He hurries away in the morning, and ere he returns at evening things have assumed a kind of company aspect; besides, habit throws a vail over many discrepancies a stranger can easily perceive. Constance's wretched health also accounted for many errors of management; and Mr. Leslie, generally a keen, shrewd man, was blind to the state of his domestic affairs. His daughter worked so hard to retrieve her lost ground; his and his sons' linen was mended almost beyond comfort; he had discovered her busy fabricating pretty knick-knacks for which she hoped to obtain an unsuspected sale; he felt as if it would seem brutal to pry into her economy. Poor thing, she answered all the advertisements by which "ladies and gentlemen are offered an income of two pounds a week, while practicing an elegant accomplishment," but the _papier mache_ and earthen stamping trade were already overstocked with workers; she only increased her difficulties by the outlay.

At this crisis, when at her wits' end, an unexpected haven appeared. She was a pretty, lady-like girl; and Allan Macdonald, a young merchant, and a rising man, chose to fall in love with her. There are many different reasons for accepting a man besides simply loving him; some girls are afraid of dying old maids; others do not know how to say "no;" others are ambitious; others mercenary; others wish to please papa and mamma; and others wish to spite some particular friend. Constance married from none of these causes; she loved--no, liked, respected Allan, and felt grateful for his preference; but her prevailing feeling was that the wedding would keep her out of her difficulties. There would be the money for her _trousseau_, and of course presents from her relations; and out of these she could surely squeeze enough to clear the greater part, if not all her debts. Allan, too, would be sure to make her a liberal allowance, and she could save something from that; once free, it would be a lesson for life.

Things seldom turn out exactly as we expect. The presents made her, though handsome, could not be turned to account; work-tables and silver tea-pots are not very serviceable in a lady's wardrobe; and though her father had strained every nerve, he did not give her more than one half of what she had reckoned on. She ventured to petition for more.

"Tut tut, Constance! Macdonald knows exactly how I am situated, that I really am very much hampered, for I have no concealments from him; he is not the fellow to go rummaging over his wife's drawers, or to refuse her a new gown when she wants it. Of course I wish you to be respectable, and what you have now will set you out as well as any child of mine need be; more, in my present circumstances, would be improper."

She was silenced. Her means were all absorbed in paying off the driblets she owed in all directions, but yet there were comparatively large sums remaining. She spoke to the tradespeople, "the expenses of her wedding, &c:" the excuse seemed reasonable, though some were inclined to wonder why Mr. Leslie left this disagreeable task to his daughter, and, as they wished to secure Mrs. Macdonald's future custom, they were exceedingly forbearing. Mrs. Grey alone remained; the wedding clothes must be supplied by her now, although Constance, anticipating so much more money, had already announced that they would not, as "she did not like her style." This report had evidently reached her, and she received her customer's explanation with a mortifying air of civil disbelief; but when Constance began to explain her errand, and hesitatingly ask for credit, "It is so very awkward, Mrs. Grey; but gentlemen can not understand these things: papa can not see why I should like to have a little money in hand, but you must know what you felt yourself."

"Oh, to be sure, Miss Leslie; but men can't see these things. I should have dropped before I could have asked Grey for money, when first we were married--it's unknown what I suffered, you know I can send the bill into Mr. Leslie by-and-by."

"Why, I would rather--I think it would be better for me to pay you: papa might be vexed."

"Well, then, ma'am, shall I make out the account to you? Mr. Leslie has nothing to do with it--it is quite between ourselves."

"That would be much the best way, if you have no objection, Mrs. Grey."

"Oh, not the slightest; perhaps you will look at these silks."

A very handsome outfit, far better than Constance had even contemplated, was now ordered, and all her prospects seemed brightening around her. She was indeed a happy woman as she entered her new home, and Allan fondly welcomed her to it on their return from their bridal trip. She had married him without strong affection, but their intimate communion brought out the more amiable points of his character; she had learned his worth, she confided in his manly affection, and each day increased her love for him--not even her father was more dear to her. There was but one speck on the horizon: book-keeping was her husband's hobby; though far from mean, he was naturally frugal; he was as proud of her housewifery accomplishments as of her more brilliant acquirements; her father had often vaunted them, and he liked to prove for how little she could provide their liberal table. Therefore he insisted on every item being set down and carried to the weekly expenditure: he had drawn up a set of books for her use, and was delighted to see how well she kept them.

"There's nothing like black and white, Constance, depend on it; when a woman knows exactly what her expenses are she need never go beyond her income, unless she's a born natural."

There was an end to all the schemes of "cabbage" by which she had hoped to make Allan pay his father-in-law's debts; it was evident that he would see how every penny was laid out, and that nothing short of deliberate falsehood--of which she was then incapable--would mislead him. At length, driven to desperation by the importunities of one or two pressing creditors, she ventured to ask for a few pounds for herself.

"For yourself, my darling!--what can you mean?"

"Why, dear, isn't my meaning plain enough? I mean my pin-money, Mr. Macdonald," and she tried to laugh off her confusion and his surprise.

"Your pin-money, Constance! Why what is all I give you but that? Is it not enough?--take more; but separate purses separate interests, that's my opinion."

"My dear Allan!"

"Yes, why should you or any woman have your private purse? I have none from you, Constance."

"But then a fixed sum is so much more comfortable."

"How so? we have already settled what our expenses should be--your pretty little books here show that you do not exceed the average we struck, my wee wifey; what more would you have? Are we not one, Constance? When you want money ask for it, do what you will with it; if you are over the mark one month, we can pull up the next. I throw all our expenditure in common, you see, tailor and all; I won't buy a waistcoat even without giving you the chance of lecturing if you've a mind; if we find we have all along been within our limit, why we'll make each other a present, or have a jaunt; but in heaven's name, Constance, don't talk to me of your own purse. I've seen enough of that--no, no, let's be open, let's have no concealments or privacies of any sort."

She was so disappointed at this unexpected refusal that she could not restrain her tears, and Allan looked very rueful and uncomfortable at the sight. He had a mixture of feelings; he did not like to see his pretty Constance weep, but it was rather gratifying than otherwise to his marital pride, that his displeasure, or the fear of it, should create such emotion; so in a half-penitent, half-pacha like temper he set himself about consoling his mourning bride. He felt that according to his convictions he was right, but feared he had not gone rightly to work.

"I must not give up, that's positive," he thought; "but, poor dear girl, how sorry she is to have vexed me. I must be a brute; I dare say she wants a new dress or two now we're going out so much; old Leslie told me he could not do as much as he wished for her."

Acting on this idea, he proceeded to kiss away her tears.

"Come, Constance, darling, you must not be angry with me--I'll be bound you want some finery for Dawson's ball; why did you not say so at once, you silly girl? There, tell me how much will be necessary--but I dare say you don't exactly know yourself; take this, dear one, and mind I expect to see my wifey the best dressed, as well as the prettiest woman in the room. There, kiss and be friends, Con.; I have one favor to ask, my love; I wish you'd take any thing you want from Green's, they can put a thing or two in my way sometimes."

The clog accompanying Allan's generous gift made it scarcely a relief to her; but those bills must be paid, and though she knew he would expect to see the sum accounted for, she could not comply with his wishes. He felt annoyed at this; why should she not say how she had laid out his present? At the same time other discrepancies forced themselves on his notice, and made him most uncomfortable. He was more grieved than angry, however. His wife had certainly not made any purchases at Green's, although he had not only requested it, but explained his reasons--nay more she was not as handsomely attired at the ball as he could have wished; he had felt that from the first, and was more inclined to admire her moderation than grumble at her appearance; but his sister had further and accidentally enlightened him. Constance's was only an old dress re-trimmed; if so, where was that money? Her books besides, though apparently very accurately kept, presented increased expenses, while his table was not so good as it had been--he could speak with certainty on that head; she looked shabby, too, sometimes; gloves, shoes, bonnet, ribbons were not so often renewed as he considered necessary. He could not understand it; something under-hand was decidedly going on, but Constance always evaded any explanation. Then she was growing thin and low-spirited, nearly fretful, so he did not like to press her--what could it all mean? Comfort seemed banished from his hearth; some evil influence was hovering around them. There was some lurking mystery; and yet he was sure that she loved him. How anxious she was to please him in all save this? How proudly she looked up to him, how tenderly she had nursed him in a late severe attack. But why should she not tell him the cause of her unhappiness; why was there not perfect confidence between man and wife?

Chance solved some of his doubts. He accidentally opened a letter addressed to Mrs. Macdonald. It contained a bill and receipt, and came from her brother's tailor. The writer, while thanking her for the last payment on account, hoped she would soon make it convenient to settle the balance, as it was some time since the young gentleman had had these articles. Macdonald naturally felt annoyed, nay, indignant, that his comforts should be curtailed to pay his brother-in-law's bills, for he never once imagined that Constance had long since received the money for them, and appropriated it to another purpose; all he could see was her weakness, and the meanness of the young man in submitting to such an obligation; and he would have spoken his mind pretty freely but for the fear of agitating his wife, whose approaching confinement had thrown her into a very precarious state of health. Rather than she should know that he was aware of her folly, he at once paid the somewhat heavy remainder. He was still smarting from the irritation when he met Edward Leslie, the elder brother, exceedingly well-dressed, and in high spirits. He had just returned from an interview with a merchant who was inclined to send him abroad on very advantageous terms; the only difficulty was a small sum to start with; and Edward naturally thought he might apply to his wealthy brother-in-law for an advance on his expected salary. At any other time Allan would willingly have made the loan, but at that moment it seemed too much like victimization, as if he were a destined prey to the Leslies; he therefore not only refused point blank, but accompanied his refusal by certain inuendoes at Edward's expenses and appearance, which were as incomprehensible as offensive to the latter, and the result was a violent quarrel between them.

Meanwhile Mr. Leslie's difficulties were increasing, and he saw himself compelled to call a meeting of his creditors; this had hitherto been concealed from Constance, but it soon became necessary to apply to her, as, to her father's utter astonishment, bills of which he had not the slightest knowledge now poured in on him. She was alone in her luxurious drawing-room, looking the picture of misery, having that day heard Edward's version of her husband's extraordinary conduct, and his own disappointment, now likely to be attended with serious consequences, as, if he could not raise this money, he must relinquish this lucrative appointment--a provision for life. And now her father's position was explained to her; what was to become of them? what could she do?

"I should not have worried you with all this, my poor girl; the general opinion is in my favor; people see how this has been brought upon me, and two or three of my creditors have come forward very handsomely; Lynch offers to back me if I will start again. I called at Allan's office as I came along; I wanted to have his advice, and to know whether he would join Lynch as security if I continued the agency; but he was out, so I left a note for him, explaining what I wanted, and came on here. I missed my dinner with it all, and really should be glad of a glass of wine, Mrs. Mac--; come, dear, don't cry, there's no disgrace in my misfortunes--we have never been extravagant or thoughtless; but, Constance, I was rather surprised to see these bills among my other accounts; surely they were paid long ago?"

"I--I--I forget, father."

"Nonsense; I'm sure you had the money for them; those very sums are entered in my day-book. Now, do calm yourself, and look them over. See, why, they're dated two and three years back. I never had an account with any tradesmen longer than the quarter. I looked at your book, and couldn't make head or tail of it, or I would not have bothered you now. You really must examine into this, Constance; my character is touched by it--to leave such bills so long unpaid."

"Perhaps there is some mistake."

"None at all: either you did or did not pay those bills. If you did pay them, hunt up the receipts. I don't know the names even of some of these fellows--did you ever deal with them? Answer me at once--yes or no--did you ever owe them any thing?"

"Yes--I mean--that is--"

At this moment Allan entered the room, evidently in a towering passion, while a servant brought in the refreshment Constance had ordered for her father, by an opposite door.

"Take away those things!" he thundered "they are not wanted here."

The foot-boy hesitated a moment.

"My mistress, sir," he said.

"Take them away, I say!"

The servant obeyed. Constance had sunk back on the sofa in violent hysterics, while Mr. Leslie seemed petrified. Allan for the first time in his life was neglectful of his wife, and had refused her father's proffered hand.

"You wrote to me, Mr. Leslie, this morning," he continued, "to make a most modest request. I need offer no comment on you and your family's conduct toward me; but do me the favor to read this letter: it is a sufficient answer; and then, sir, leave my house, before I am tempted to kick you out of it."

"Allan!" shrieked Constance.

"Was it not enough, sir, that my comforts should be curtailed, my home rendered uncomfortable, my wife's health and spirits broken, her integrity destroyed--yes, that she should be taught to deceive me systematically, in order that my money should pay your and your sons' debts? Was not that enough without such disgrace as this? A lawyer's letter demanding payment of my wife's debts when single, her wedding clothes even not paid for!"

"Good God! what is this? Speak, Constance, this instant."

"You have killed her!" cried her husband, bending over her insensible form. "I find you here with more bills in your hand--I find her in tears, while you are feasting at my expense. Leave the house, I say."

"Allan Macdonald, I will not. You have attacked my character and my sons'. Unless you use force, I will not leave the room till Constance clears this up; let the consequences be what they will, she shall speak. I will not remain under these imputations."

"Pshaw! how can she clear you? Let me ring for her maid--she is dying."

"She is not: leave her to herself for a moment; she is recovering--see. My God! man, I am her father! There, give her some water. Be advised for once: let no one in, as you would avoid a disgraceful exposure. On my word--on my oath, if necessary--I knew nothing of this--I knew of no bills till this morning."

Mr. Leslie's firm tone and previous high character held Allan in check, and he submitted to his advice. It was long ere Constance revived from her deathlike swoon, and then she would have evaded explanation, had not her father stuck pertinaciously to his point. All at once she seemed to gain courage from his severity and her husband's anguished features. She knew not where their suspicions might tend, and throwing herself at Allan's feet, she revealed all her errors.

Her strength again failed her; with the last words she fell prostrate, and was carried senseless to her bed. A raging fever ensued; a dead child was born. In the wildness of delirium her now intense love for her husband was betrayed, the unsparing contempt she felt for her own conduct, and her dread lest he should share in it. His voice alone could soothe her, and yet she seemed to shrink from him as if she felt she had incurred his displeasure; that was her prevailing fear. His name, her father's, Edward's, was ever on her lips; but always in conjunction with images of misery.

Consciousness was at last restored to her; all agitating conversation was forbidden; but Allan's tender kiss and gentle, tones told that she was forgiven. Nor was her father inexorable; few parents but would have considered her punishment sufficient; and in the mean time her husband generously rectified the errors she had occasioned. The debts were all liquidated; their amount was comparatively so small, that it seemed astonishing how so trifling a cause could have produced so much unhappiness, and Allan thought the sum well expended that could restore his wife's peace of mind. Edward, too, obtained the requisite loan, which was repaid within the specified time, while Macdonald willingly joined Mr. Lynch as security for his father-in-law. Mr. Leslie, thus backed, at length retrieved his past losses. He never again alluded to that unfortunate scene, except when he and Allan once nearly quarreled for the second time, because he insisted on repaying the money advanced for Constance's debts. As for Charles, the younger son, he was soon well provided for; for uncle Appleton, seeing how the others were thriving, took him in hand, and using his borough interest, easily procured him a comfortable appointment.

A fine band of rosy children have long since consoled Allan for the loss of his first-born; but Constance has never forgotten that terrible lesson; and though placed beyond the necessity of rigid economy, never feels tempted to indulge in a slight extravagance, or to incur even a trifling debt, without being warned by the memory of the White Silk Bonnet.

BORED WELLS IN EASTERN MISSISSIPPI.

Who would not prefer something like this, to the "sweep and pole," however delightful the "old oaken bucket may seem as a reminiscence?" That the running fountain, "hard by the homestead gate" is attainable, has been demonstrated, of late years, in numerous instances; necessity called, science demonstrated, and experiment has proved. The Artesian well, in many localities, is but the work of a few days or a week. The implements required are simple and cheap, the supply of water afforded copious and continuous, conducing to health and comfort.

They are described as "those which are made by boring into the earth till the instrument reaches water, which spontaneously, from internal pressure, flows like a fountain." Not to quarrel with this definition, let us look at the instrument and its appurtenances, and also the processes or application, which cause the water to flow.

THE INSTRUMENT.--Split the barrel of a common goose-quill, lengthwise, into equal parts, and we have in either half something that closely resembles in shape the auger; the lower end looking like the old "pod," in use formerly by house builders. One side, the cutting side or edge, of the said lower end being an adjustable steel "bit," readily removed for sharpening, hardening, and the like; its entire length is about eight feet; its diameter (or half diameter) is three and a half or four inches; its upper end terminating in a shank, with a screw-thread, cut perhaps two inches.

The APPURTENANCES are _Wooden Rods_ or poles, _Iron Rods_, _Pump_, _Picks_, _Windlass_, _Shears_, _Pulley-blocks_, _Yokes_, or couters, &c. The first of these, the wooden rods or poles, are made of cypress or yellow-pine, twenty-five feet long, two and a half to three inches in diameter, planed round and smooth, armed at each end with iron, the upper a screw-shank, the lower a screw-socket. For convenience, there should be, belonging to the set, poles of half and quarter length, also an iron rod or two, of full or half length; these last being required after some depth is attained, to prevent the wooden ones from floating or being pushed up, as the water fills the bore. The _Pump_ is constructed of sheet-iron or copper, being a cylinder of nearly the size of the auger, and of the same length, having in its lower end a valve playing freely, and closing tight enough to retain borings, sand, and the like; the upper end terminating as the poles; The valve is usually made of steel, being a band riveted into its place having its lower edge sharp, and its upper edge square, seating the clapper, which is a disk of wrought iron. This is a strong, effective tool in the prosecution of the work. The _Picks_ or _Drills_ are pointed with steel, and take such shapes as shall best forward the boring through a strata which the auger will not cut. The _Windlass_, _Shears_, _Pulley-blocks_, etc., constitute the apparatus for lowering and raising the auger, pump, or picks, as needed. The poles forming the shank of the auger, are elongated by screwing one upon another, as it descends into the earth.

THE PROCESS, OR APPLICATION.--The Shears and Windlass being erected, a short pole is suspended in the couter (A); a movable handle affixed to the pole at a convenient height from the ground, a short auger screwed into the lower end of the pole, which is then lowered till the point of the auger rests upon the ground, at the precise point where the prospective fountain is to flow. One man attends to the windlass, and one labors at the handle of the auger, walking round, with the sun, and after marking the spot by an insertion of six inches, pours in, if the nature of the soil requires, a bucket of water to render the borings adhesive, so that they will turn with the auger and come up in it when it is withdrawn. The first few feet is usually done with an extra-sized auger, or the smaller hole reamed out to a size sufficiently large to insert a bored log (like a pump-log), the calibre of which will admit the passage of the common auger, and other instruments used in boring the well; this log is forced down by driving till its lower end is secure in the rock, or such strata as will not crumble or cave. As the auger becomes full, it is withdrawn, cleaned, and again inserted. After such depth is reached, that the water lying upon the first impermeable strata flows into the bore, the auger will not always bring up its "chips," the pump is then put down alternately with the auger, and by being forced to the bottom of the bore brings out the residuum. As the hole deepens, other poles are added; the joints being thus rendered necessary, another of the uses of the hollow log becomes apparent. Two iron spikes projecting from its squared end, serve to keep the "_yoke_," or couter, from turning round; and the shank, below the screw and nut, of the sunken pole, being square and fitting the slot in the yoke, the whole is retained stationary, while the succeeding pole is screwed on, in descending, or unscrewed in ascending, so that in "putting down" or in "taking out" there is a pause at every joint, a pole added, or set aside, and a new hold taken by the yoke (of which there are necessarily two).

In this manner pole after pole is added, until the auger or drill is forced through some strata which confines, or _holds down_ the fluid, and a fountain of "Adam's ale" is opened, which flows on and on, neither diminished by the droughts of summer nor swollen by the rains of winter. These delightful wells are becoming common in the eastern parts of this State, as also in our sister State, Alabama. Without doubt, the same thing may be done advantageously in many parts of the United States, hitherto badly supplied with water, either for useful or ornamental purposes.

The borings in this region vary from 180 to 580 feet, but generally the greater depth is attainable with proportionally less labor and expense, being unattended with some of the difficulties which are incident to those of less depth, such as quicksands, gravel, rotten limestone, and the like. The methods of overcoming some of these difficulties are next, and last, in order.

In some places, the soil or earth covering the first layer of rock is of such a character that it is next to impossible to sink the log through to the rock; still, patient contriving will do much in obviating this; for instance, after going as deep as the gravel or quicksand in which the first vein of water is found, will permit, and reaming out the hole, the log is inserted, having its lower end sharpened, and defended by a tapering iron band well secured. This may be driven down without much trouble through the bed of quicksand, and a passage is thus secured to the rock. It is sometimes necessary to insert the pump into, and through the log, and by agitating and withdrawing a portion of the obstructing mass, to cause the log to settle to its place. In some instances the distance to the rock, or consistent strata is so great, that the log requires "piecing." This is done neatly and effectively by banding the top of the sunken log, enlarging with a tapering instrument the mouth of the bore, and fitting another piece with a taper and shoulder.

Again, at the depth of some two or three hundred feet, a vein of rotten soap-stone, or limestone will crumble and cave into the opening, and though by continual pumping and boring it is sometimes mastered, yet the only certain remedy seems to be the reaming from the top of the well (including the logs) with a larger instrument, down to the cave, and perhaps a little past it--so that a shoulder will be left at the place where the reamer ceases cutting. A sheet iron tube is then forced down, of such a length, that its lower end rests upon this shoulder, and the upper extends up past the defect, to the solid walls above; the calibre of this tube being such as to admit freely the tools when the boring is resumed. Should a second defect of this kind occur, another tube can be inserted of the same size (outwardly) as the well, but after it is placed, the auger and other implements must, of course, be diminished till they will pass through the smaller cylinder.

At times a layer of flint rock obstructs the downward progress. This, fortunately, is thin, and although but a few inches in a day can be drilled, yet the operator works with cheerfulness, for he expects that this is but the lid of the great strong box which holds the sought-for treasure.

Well-boring has become a regular business here with many ingenious and persevering men, and they each resort to many contrivances to obviate the various difficulties which occur; differing from each other, as individual experience, or the special occasion may seem to demand.

Those who bore deep wells usually train a horse to work the windlass, or, in that case, capstan; and it is truly interesting to observe with what precision this effective assistant per forms his work at the words of execution, "Walk! Trot! Slow! Whoa! Turn! Back!" &c., &c.

Knowing that in some parts of our country, thousands have been thrown away in fruitless attempts to find water convenient for man and beast, and thinking possibly some description of the way we manage this matter here, would be acceptable, "I have written what I have written."

N.E.G.

COLUMBUS, Miss., July 4th, 1851.

MY NOVEL, OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE.

[Continued from the August Number]