Harper's New Monthly Magazine. No. XVI.—September, 1851—Vol. III

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]

CHAPTER XIII

Leonard and Helen settled themselves in two little chambers in a small lane. The neighborhood was dull enough – the accommodation humble; but their landlady had a smile. That was the reason, perhaps, why Helen chose the lodgings: a smile is not always found on the face of a landlady when the lodger is poor. And out of their windows they caught sight of a green tree, an elm, that grew up fair and tall in a carpenter's yard at the rear. That tree was like another smile to the place. They saw the birds come and go to its shelter; and they even heard, when a breeze arose, the pleasant murmur of its boughs.

Leonard went the same evening to Captain Digby's old lodgings, but he could learn there no intelligence of friends or protectors for Helen. The people were rude and surly, and said that the Captain still owed them £1 17s. The claim, however, seemed very disputable, and was stoutly denied by Helen. The next morning Leonard set off in search of Dr. Morgan. He thought his best plan was to inquire the address of the Doctor at the nearest chemist's, and the chemist civilly looked into the Court Guide, and referred him to a house in Bulstrode-street, Manchester-square. To this street Leonard contrived to find his way, much marveling at the meanness of London: Screwstown seemed to him the handsomer town of the two.

A shabby man-servant opened the door, and Leonard remarked that the narrow passage was choked with boxes, trunks, and various articles of furniture. He was shown into a small room, containing a very large round table, whereon were sundry works on homeopathy, Parry's Cymbrian Plutarch, Davies' Celtic Researches, and a Sunday newspaper. An engraved portrait of the illustrious Hahnemann occupied the place of honor over the chimney-piece. In a few minutes the door to an inner room opened, and Dr. Morgan appeared, and said politely, "Come in sir."

The Doctor seated himself at a desk, looked hastily at Leonard, and then at a great chronometer lying on the table. "My time's short, sir – going abroad; and now that I am going, patients flock to me. Too late. London will repent its apathy. Let it!"

The Doctor paused majestically, and, not remarking on Leonard's face the consternation he had anticipated, he repeated peevishly – "I am going abroad, sir, but I will make a synopsis of your case, and leave it to my successor. Hum! Hair chestnut; eyes – what color? Look this way – blue, dark blue. Hem! Constitution nervous. What are the symptoms?"

"Sir," began Leonard, "a little girl – "

Dr. Morgan (impatiently). – "Little girl! Never mind the history of your sufferings; stick to the symptoms – stick to the symptoms."

Leonard. – "You mistake me, Doctor; I have nothing the matter with me. A little girl – "

Dr. Morgan. – "Girl again! I understand! it is she who is ill. Shall I go to her? She must describe her own symptoms – I can't judge from your talk. You'll be telling me she has consumption, or dyspepsia, or some such disease that don't exist: mere allopathic inventions – symptoms, sir, symptoms."

Leonard (forcing his way). – "You attended her poor father, Captain Digby, when he was taken ill in the coach with you. He is dead, and his child is an orphan."

Dr. Morgan (fumbling in his medical pocket-book). – "Orphan! nothing for orphans, especially if inconsolable, like aconite and chamomilla."5

With some difficulty Leonard succeeded in bringing Helen to the recollection of the homeopathist, stating how he came in charge of her, and why he sought Dr. Morgan.

The Doctor was much moved.

"But really," said he, after a pause, "I don't see how I can help the poor child. I know nothing of her relations. This Lord Les – whatever his name is – I know of no lords in London. I knew lords, and physicked them, too, when I was a blundering allopathist. There was the Earl of Lansmere – has had many a blue pill from me, sinner that I was. His son was wiser; never would take physic. Very clever boy was Lord L'Estrange – I don't know if he was as good as he was clever – "

"Lord L'Estrange! – that name begins with Les – "

"Stuff! He's always abroad – shows his sense. I'm going abroad too. No development for science in this horrid city; full of prejudices, sir, and given up to the most barbarous allopathical and phlebotomical propensities. I am going to the land of Hahnemann, sir – sold my good-will, lease, and furniture, and have bought in on the Rhine. Natural life there, sir – homeopathy needs nature: dine at one o'clock, get up at four – tea little known, and science appreciated. But I forget. Cott! what can I do for the orphan?"

"Well, sir," said Leonard rising, "Heaven will give me strength to support her."

The Doctor looked at the young man attentively. "And yet," said he, in a gentler voice, "you, young man, are, by your account, a perfect stranger to her, or were so when you undertook to bring her to London. You have a good heart – always keep it. Very healthy thing, sir, a good heart – that is, when not carried to excess. But you have friends of your own in town?"

Leonard. – "Not yet, sir; I hope to make them."

Doctor. – "Pless me, you do? How? – I can't make any."

Leonard colored and hung his head. He longed to say, "Authors find friends in their readers – I am going to be an author." But he felt that the reply would savor of presumption, and held his tongue.

The Doctor continued to examine him, and with friendly interest. "You say you walked up to London – was that from choice or economy?"

Leonard. – "Both, sir."

Doctor. – "Sit down again, and let us talk I can give you a quarter of an hour, and I'll see if I can help either of you, provided you tell me all the symptoms – I mean all the particulars."

Then, with that peculiar adroitness which belongs to experience in the medical profession, Dr. Morgan, who was really an acute and able man, proceeded to put his questions, and soon extracted from Leonard the boy's history and hopes. But when the Doctor, in admiration at a simplicity which contrasted so evident an intelligence, finally asked him his name and connections, and Leonard told them, the homeopathist actually started. "Leonard Fairfield, grandson of my old friend, John Avenel of Lansmere! I must shake you by the hand. Brought up by Mrs. Fairfield! Ah, now I look, strong family likeness – very strong!"