Chapter 10

The shopkeeper burnished up the setting of the diamonds and placed the ring among many others in the show-case upon his counter. But so expensive an ornament as this does not always find a ready purchaser, and for some months it remained unsold. One afternoon a gentleman entered the shop to make some trifling purchase, and, as the shopkeeper happened to be engaged with a customer, he remained standing at the counter, till he should be at leisure, and his eye wandered carelessly over the articles in the show-case. Suddenly he started, changed countenance, and when the shopkeeper came forward to attend to him he said in a voice of suppressed eagerness, "will you allow me to examine that ring," pointing as he spoke to the diamond ring sold by Ellen Harris. "Certainly Sir, certainly," said the obliging shop-keeper, who, hoping that the ring had at last found a purchaser, immediately placed it in his hand for inspection. The gentleman turned the ring in his hand, and carefully examined the sparking diamonds as well as the antique setting: and when he observed the initials, engraved upon the inside, he grew pale as marble, and hurriedly addressed the astonished shopkeeper saying, "In the name of pity, tell me where you obtained this ring?" "I am very willing to inform you," said the man "how this ring came into my possession. Several months ago a young girl, of very delicate and lady-like appearance, brought this ring here and desired me to purchase it. She seemed very anxious to dispose of the ornament, and, thinking I could easily sell it again, I paid her a fair price and took the ring, and that is all I can tell you about the matter." "You do not know the lady's name?" said the gentleman anxiously. "I do not," replied the man, "but I have frequently seen her pass in the street. The circumstance of her selling me this valuable ring caused me to notice her particularly, and I recognised her countenance ever after." "Name your price for the ring," said the gentleman,--"I must purchase it at any price; and the next thing, I must, if possible, find the lady who brought it here, I have seen this ring before, and that is all I wish to say of the matter at present; but is there no way in which you can assist me in obtaining an interview with this young lady?" "I have no knowledge of her name or residence; but if you were in my shop when she chanced to pass here I could easily point her out to you in the street." "You may think my conduct somewhat strange," said the gentleman, "but believe me my reasons for seeking an interview with this young lady are most important, and if you can point her out to me in the street I will endeavour to learn her residence, as that will be something gained." Before the gentleman left the shop he paid for the ring, and placed it in his pocket. For several days, he frequented the shop of the jeweller with the hope of gaining a view of the lady. At length one morning the shop-keeper suddenly directed his attention to a lady passing in the street, saying, "there, Sir, is the young lady from whom I purchased the ring." He waited to hear no more, but, stepping hastily into the street, followed the lady at a respectful distance; but never losing sight of her for a moment till she entered her home two streets distant from the shop of the jeweller. He approached the door and rang the bell; The door was opened by the same young lady, whose manner exhibited not a little embarrassment, when she beheld a total stranger; and he began to feel himself in an awkward position. He was at a loss how to address her till, recollecting that he must explain his visit in some way, he said: "Pardon the intrusion of a stranger; but, by your permission, I would like to enter the house, and have a word of conversation with you." The young girl regarded the man earnestly for a moment; but his manner was so gentlemanly and deferential that she could do no less than invite him to enter the little sitting-room where her mother was at work, and ask him to be seated. He bowed to Mrs. Harris on entering the room, then seating himself he addressed the young lady saying. "The peculiar circumstances in which I am placed must serve as my apology for asking you a question which you may consider impertinent. Are you the young lady who, some months since, sold a diamond ring to a jeweller on Grafton street?" Mrs. Harris raised her eyes to the stranger's face; and the proud English blood which flowed in her veins mantled her cheek as she replied, "Before I permit my daughter to answer the questions of a stranger, you will be so kind as explain your right to question." The stranger sprang from his seat at the sound of her voice, and exclaimed in a voice tremulous from emotion, "don't you know me Elisa, I am your long lost brother George." The reader will, doubtless, be better able to imagine the scene which followed than I am to describe it. Everything was soon explained, many letters had been sent which never reached their destination; he knew not that his sister had left England, and after writing again and again and receiving no reply, he ceased altogether from writing. During the first years of his sojourn in California, he was unfortunate, and was several times brought to the brink of the grave by sickness. After a time fortune smiled upon his efforts, till he at length grew immensely rich, and finally left the burning skies of California to return to England. He landed at New York and intended, after visiting the Canadas, to sail for England. The brother and sister had parted in their early youth, and it is no wonder that they failed to recognise each other when each had passed middle age. The brother was most changed of the two. His complexion had grown very dark, and he had such a foreign look that, when convinced of the fact, Mrs. Harris could hardly believe him to be one and the same with the stripling brother from whom she parted in England so many years ago. He was, of course, not aware of his sister's marriage, and he listened with sorrow to the story of her bereavement and other misfortune. "You must now place a double value upon our family ring," said he, as he replaced the lost treasure upon his sister's hand; "for it is this diamond ring which has restored to each other the brother and sister which otherwise might never have met again on earth. And now both you and your daughter most prepare for a voyage to dear old England. You need have no anxiety for the future; I have enough for us all and you shall want no more." Before leaving the City, accompanied by her brother, Mrs. Harris visited the grave of her husband; and the generous brother attended to the erection of a suitable tomb-stone, as the widow had before been unable to meet the expenses of it. Passing through the Upper Province they reached Montreal, whence they sailed for England. After a prosperous voyage they found themselves amid the familiar scenes of their childhood, where they still live in the enjoyment of as much happiness as usually falls to the lot of mortals.

THE UNFORTUNATE MAN.

On a sultry afternoon in midsummer I was walking on a lonely, unfrequented road in the Township of S. My mind was busily occupied, and I paid little attention to surrounding objects till a hollow, unnatural voice addressed me saying: "Look up my friend, and behold the unfortunate man." I raised my eyes suddenly, and, verily, the appearance of the being before me justified his self-bestowed appellation--the unfortunate man. I will do my best to describe him, although I am satisfied that my description will fall far short of the reality. He was uncommonly tall, and one thing which added much to the oddity of his appearance was the inequality of length in his legs, one being shorter by several inches than the other, and, to make up for the deficiency, he wore on the short leg a boot with a very high heel. He seemed to be past middle age, his complexion was sallow and unhealthy, he was squint-eyed, and his hair, which had once been of a reddish hue, was then a grizzly gray. Taken all together he was a strange looking object, and I soon perceived that his mind wandered. At first I felt inclined to hurry onward as quickly as possible, but, as he seemed harmless and inclined to talk to me, I lingered for a few moments to listen to him. "I do not wonder," said he, "that you look upon me with pity, for it is a sad thing for one to be crazy." Surprised to find him so sensible of his own situation, I said: As you seem so well aware that you are crazy, perhaps you can inform me what caused you to become so. "Oh yes," replied he, "I can soon tell you that: first my father died, then my mother, and soon after my only sister hung herself to the limb of a tree with a skein of worsted yarn; and last, and worst of all, my wife, Dorcas Jane, drowned herself in Otter Creek." Wondering if there was any truth in this horrible story, or if it was only the creation of his own diseased mind, I said, merely to see what he would say next, "What caused your wife to drown herself; was she crazy too?" "Oh, no," replied he, "she was not crazy, but she was worse than that; for she was jealous of me, although I am sure she had no cause." The idea of any one being jealous of the being before me was so ridiculous that it was with the utmost difficulty that I refrained from laughter; but, fearing to offend the crazy man, I maintained my gravity by a strong effort. When he had finished the story of his misfortunes, he came close to me and said, in slow measured tones: "And now do you think it any wonder that I went raving distracted crazy?" "Indeed I do not," said I; "many a one has gone crazy for less cause." Thinking he might be hungry, I told him I would direct him to a farm-house, where he would be sure to obtain his supper. "No," replied he, "this is not one of my hungry days; I find so many who will give me nothing to eat that when I get the offer of a meal I always eat whether I am hungry or not, and I have been in luck to-day, for I have eaten five meals since morning; and now I must lose no more time, for I have important business with the Governor of Canada and must reach Quebec to-morrow." I regarded the poor crazy being with a feeling of pity, as he walked wearily onward, and even the high-heeled boot did not conceal a painful limp in his gait. But I had not seen the last of him yet. Some six months after, as I was visiting a friend who lived several miles distant, who should walk in, about eight o'clock in the evening, but the "unfortunate man." There had been a slight shower of rain, but not enough to account for the drenched state of his clothing. "How did you get so wet?" enquired Mr. ---- "O," replied he, "I was crossing a brook upon a log, and I slipped off into the water; and it rained on me at the same time, and between the two, I got a pretty smart ducking." They brought him some dry clothing, and dried his wet garments by the kitchen fire, and kindly allowed him to remain for the night. For several years, this man passed through S. as often as two or three times during each year. He became so well known in the vicinity, that any one freely gave him a meal, or a night's lodging as often as he sought it. Every time he came along his mind was occupied by some new fancy, which seemed to him to be of the utmost importance, and to require prompt attention. He arrived in S. one bitter cold night in the depth of winter, and remained for the night with a family who had ever treated him kindly, and with whom he had often lodged before. He set out early the next morning to proceed (as he said) on his way to Nova Scotia. Years have passed away, but the "unfortunate man" has never since been seen in the vicinity. It was feared by some that he had perished in the snow; as there were some very severe storms soon after he left S; but nothing was ever learned to confirm the suspicion. According to his own statement he belonged to the state of Vermont, but, from his speech, he was evidently not an American. Several years have passed away since his last visit to S. and it is more than probable that he is no longer among the living.

THE OLD SCHOOLHOUSE.

I lately visited the timeworn building where for a lengthened period, during my early years, I studied the rudiments of education; and what a host of almost forgotten memories of the past came thronging back upon my mind, as I stood alone--in that well remembered room. I seemed again to hear the hum of youthful voices as they learned or recited their daily tasks, and, as memory recalled the years that had passed since we used there to assemble, I could not avoid saying mentally: "My schoolmates, where are they?" Even that thought called to mind an amusing story related by a much loved companion who for a time formed one of our number.

He was older than most of the other boys, and was a general favourite with all. He was famous for relating funny stories, of which he had a never-failing supply; and when the day was too stormy to allow of out-of-door sports, during the noon hour, we used to gather around the large stove which stood in the centre of the room and coax H.M. to tell us stories. The story which recurred to my mind was of a poor Irishman, who, in describing a visit which he paid to the home of his childhood after a long absence, said: "At the sober hour of twilight, I entered the lonely and desarted home uv me forefathers, an' as I gazed about the silent walls, I said, 'me fathers, where are they?' an' did not echo answer, 'Is that you Pathrick O'Flannigan, sure?'"

I was in no mood for laughter, and yet I could not repress a smile, as memory recalled the comical voice and inimitable gestures with which young H.M. related the story. He was beloved by us all, and when he left school we parted from him with real sorrow. As I walked around, and looked upon the worn and defaced desks, I observed the initials of many once familiar names, which many years before had been formed with a knife, which were not so much obliterated but I could easily decipher the well known letters. That desk in the corner was occupied by two brothers who when they grew up removed to one of the Eastern States, where they enlisted as soldiers in the war between the North and South. One of the brothers received his death-wound on the battlefield. In a foreign hospital he lingered in much suffering for a brief period, when he died and was buried, far from his home and kindred. The younger brother was naturally of a tender constitution and was unable to endure the hardships and privations of a soldier's life. His health failed him, and he returned to his friends, who had left their Canadian home, and removed to the State of Massachusetts; but all that the most skilful physicians could do, aided by the most watchful care of his tender mother, failed to check the ravages of disease. Consumption had marked him for its prey, and he died a few months after leaving the army; and, as his friends wept on his grave, they could see with their mind's eye another nameless grave in a far-away Southern State, where slept the other son and brother. The desk on my left hand was occupied by a youth, who has been for many years toiling for gold in California; and I have learned that he has grown very rich. I often wonder if, in his eager pursuit after riches, in that far-off clime, he ever thinks of the little brown school-house by the butternut trees, and of the smiling eager group who used daily to meet there. One large family of brothers and sisters, who attended this school for several years, afterward removed, with their parents, to one of the Western States, and years have passed away since I heard of them; but along with many others they were recalled to mind by my visit to the old School-House.

On the opposite side of the room is the range of desks which were occupied by the girls, and I could almost fancy that I again saw the same lively, restless group who filled those desks in the days of long-ago. Again I saw the bright smile which was often hidden from the searching eye of our teacher, behind the covers of the well-worn spelling-book, again I saw the mischievous glances, and heard the smothered laughter when the attention of the teacher was required in some other part of the room. But these happy, careless days of childhood are gone never to return. Were I inclined, I could trace the after-history of most of the companions whom I used daily to meet in this school-room. With many of them "life's history" is done, and they sleep peacefully in the grave. Others have gone forth to the duties of life; some far distant, others near their paternal homes. Many of the number have been successful in life, and prospered in their undertakings, while others have met with disappointment and misfortune. It seemed somewhat singular to me that, as I stood alone in that room (after the lapse of so many years), I could recollect, by name, each companion I used to meet there; yet so it was, and it seemed but as yesterday since we used daily to assemble there; and when I reflected for a moment on the many changes to which I have been subjected since that period I could hardly realize that I was one and the same. I lingered long at the old School-House, for I expected never to behold it again, having been informed that it was shortly to give place to a building of a larger size, and of more modern structure.

ARTHUR SINCLAIR.

For several hours we had endured the jolting of the lumbering stage-coach over a rough hilly road which led through a portion of the State of New Hampshire; and, as the darkness of night gathered around us, I, as well as my fellow-travellers, began to manifest impatience to arrive at our stopping-place for the night; and we felt strongly inclined to find fault with the slow motion of the tired horses, which drew the heavily-loaded vehicle. Thinking it as well to know the worst at once, I asked the driver "what time we might expect to reach our destination for the night?" "It will be midnight at the least, perhaps later," replied he. This news was not very cheering to the weary travellers who filled the coach; and I almost regretted having asked the question. The roughness of the roads, together with the crowded state of the vehicle, made it impossible for any one to sleep, and it became an important question how we should pass away the tedious hours. A proposition was at length made, that some one of the passengers should relate a story for the entertainment of the others. This proposal met with the hearty approval of all, as a means of making our toilsome journey seem shorter; and the question of who should relate the story was very soon agitated. There was among the passengers one old gentleman of a very pleasant and venerable appearance, and judging from his countenance that he possessed intelligence, as well as experience, we respectfully invited him to relate a story for our entertainment. "I am not at all skilled in story-telling," replied the old gentleman, "but, as a means of passing away the tedious hours of the uncomfortable ride, I will relate some circumstances which took place many years since, and which also have a connection with my present journey, although the narrative may not possess much interest for uninterested strangers." We all placed ourselves in a listening attitude, and the old man began as follows: "I was born in the town of Littleton in this state, and when a boy, I had one schoolmate, whom I could have loved no better had he been a brother. His name was Arthur Sinclair. And the affectionate intimacy which existed between us for many years, is yet, to me, a green spot in the waste of memory. I was about twelve years of age, when Arthur's parents came to reside in Littleton. That now large and thriving village then contained but a few houses, and when the Sinclairs became our neighbours, we soon formed a very pleasing acquaintance. I was an only child, and had never been much given to making companions of the neighbouring boys of my own age; but from the first, I felt strongly attracted toward Arthur Sinclair. He was two years younger than myself. At the time when I first met him, he was the most perfect specimen of childish beauty I ever saw, and added to this he possessed a most winning and affectionate disposition, and in a short time we became almost inseparable companions. My nature was distant and reserved, but if once I made a friend, my affection for him was deep and abiding. We occupied the same desk in the village school, and often conned our daily lessons from the same book, and out of school hours, shared the same sports; and I remember once hearing our teacher laughingly remark to my parents, that he believed, should he find it necessary to correct one of us, the other would beg to share the punishment. Notwithstanding the strong friendship between us, our dispositions were very unlike. From a child I was prone to fits of depression, while Arthur on the other hand possessed such a never failing flow of animal spirits, as rendered him at all times a very agreeable companion; and it may be that the dissimilarity of our natures attracted us all the more strongly to each other; be that as it may the same close intimacy subsisted between us till we reached the years of early manhood. The only fault I could ever see in Arthur was that of being too easily persuaded by others, without pausing to think for himself; and being the elder of the two, and of a reflective cast of mind, as we grew up, I often had misgivings for him when he should go forth from his home, and mingle with the world at large. The intimacy between us allowed me to speak freely to him, and I after reminded him of the necessity of watchfulness and consideration, when he should go forth alone to make his way in a selfish and unfeeling world.