FAIRY TALES FROM GOLD LANDS.

BY MAY WENTWORTH.

NEW YORK: A. ROMAN & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS. SAN FRANCISCO: 417 & 419 MONTGOMERY STREET. 1868.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, BY A. ROMAN & COMPANY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.

DEDICATION.

TO CHILDREN EVERYWHERE, A Merry Christmas TO YOU ALL, WITH MUCH LOVE, I DEDICATE THESE STORIES, ESPECIALLY TO MY LITTLE NIECE AND NEPHEW, Mamie and Wentworth. MAY WENTWORTH.

v

PREFACE

As a child, I was fond of stories, and well remember the dearth of the intermediate season, when "Jack the Giant Killer," had ceased to please, and I was yet unprepared to enjoy works written for older and more cultivated minds. Children require stories ingeniously written, with a pleasant tinge of romance about them to fix their attention, and a touch of pathos that goes to the heart, to make them good and happy.

In writing these Christmas Tales, I have earnestly hoped they may serve to while away many a weary hour, which finds its place even in the sunny days of childhood.

The scenes of most of these Tales, will be laid in California, a land full of romance and beauty.

It is not strange to hear from the miners of "the early days," tales as marvelous as those of the "Arabian Nights."

Of these "early days" I shall write, and of thevi Spaniards, and Mexicans who inhabited the country before the coming of the gold-seekers.

Now as I send away the first volume of the series, I think of the children who will read it, of their sweet, innocent faces, and guileless hearts.

May the blessed Christ, who smiles upon them in this holy Christmas season, never leave them, but dwell in their hearts making them pure and happy forever.

May Wentworth.

San Francisco, 1867.

vii

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

9

FAIRY TALES.

SANTA CLAUS AND THE CHRIST-CHILD.

It had been raining all day, and the mist hung so heavily over the bay that the vailed waters tossed their troubled billows in unseen restlessness, like the swelling of an aching heart that the mantle of a fair face covers.

Down Pine Street a hundred rills were rushing, as though each had its special and important mission to perform in advancing the prosperity of the queen city of the Pacific. Men passed along fearlessly, cased in the invulnerable armor of India-rubber10 coats and glazed caps, and now and then a woman dared to trust her dainty little feet to the mercy of mud and water.

Minnie Bell had been very uneasy all day, for she had been promised the pleasure of a walk on Montgomery Street, and she intended to choose a few rare gifts from all the Christmas treasures that brightened the gay shop-windows.

Minnie had not yet learned the woman's lesson, to smile when the heart aches, and be gentle in disappointment, so tears filled her large blue eyes, and the rosy lips pouted with vexation, as she looked out on the pouring rain. Her mamma was a fair, dashing woman, who loved Montgomery Street as well as Minnie herself; doated upon the theatre, opera, and every thing gay, but, of all things in the world, disliked to be annoyed by the petulance and nonsense of children. She lay all day upon a luxurious11 couch, reading "Les Miserables," leaving Minnie, poor little miserable of the household, to take care of herself, and thus I found her alone in the hall, picking in pieces the flowers of a pretty worsted lamp-mat, the very spirit of discontent and mischief. It takes so little to make a child happy, that I am always sorry to see a shadow upon their young faces at the time when this life should be all sunshine, so I called the little one to me, and taking her upon my lap, told her the story of Santa Claus and the Christ-child.

More than eighteen hundred years ago, one fair bright night, when the moon was casting her floods of silver light upon the mountains and valleys of Judea, it seemed to pause in worshipful wonder over the little village of Bethlehem.

Diamonds sparkled in the dew-drops, and emeralds in the green grass of the12 meadows, where the shepherds fed their flocks by night. The shepherds were amazed, as the holy light shed its soft brilliancy around them, and even the grazing flocks forgot the dewy grass, as a sweet, unknown voice, from the viewless air, told them how that night the fair Christ-child was born at Bethlehem, and lay cradled in a manger, with horned oxen feeding near him. A thousand angel voices joined in the rich deep melody of praise and gladness, and the first Christmas carol echoed and re-echoed through the mountains and valleys of Judea.

Wise men from the East, brought golden treasure, jewels, and rare perfumes, as offerings to the pure Christ-child. There he lay in the arms of his fair virgin mother, Mary, with all the native beauty of infancy brightening every feature of his lovely face, and that rare halo of divinity13 about him that even the inspiration of Raphael and Murillo has but half portrayed. These immortal artists had only the colors of earth to paint the brightness of heaven. The wise men bowed in adoration before the Christ-child and worshiped him as their temporal king, and for their rich gifts received blessings, and went away well pleased to their luxurious homes. Then came an old man, trembling with timid humility. He was but a poor keeper of the flocks upon the mountains, and brought only the few pale flowers of winter, as tokens of his devoted homage.

"Sweet mother," said he, kneeling, "I have nothing but these poor flowers and the unchanging love of a devoted heart to lay at the feet of the dear Christ-child; but, thrice-blessed mother, do not turn away from this humble offering. I bring thee all I have." Smiles, like the golden14 light of morning, shone upon the face of the fair Christ-child, and he took the flowers more pleased than with all the rich treasures of the East, that lay unnoticed around him.

The holy mother blessed the poor man, and with a voice teeming with maternal love and divine richness, she said: "Thy pure, loving heart is an offering dearer to the Christ-child than all the riches of the world, and these flowers are a fitting token of thy love. Thou shalt not die as other men do, but thou shalt sleep, to awaken each Christmas eve, and gladden young hearts through all time, and in all lands, with thy welcome Christmas gifts, and the blessing of the Christ-child shall rest upon the spirits of childhood through the holy Christmas season."

And thus it is that in all countries we hear of the good Santa Claus, who brings15 such beautiful presents on Christmas eve. In the cold north countries he wraps himself in furs, and rides swiftly over the crusted snow in a sleigh drawn by reindeers, his long beard shining with the frost of winter. In the sunny South he rides in a light car decked with flowers.

"But, May," said the now happy Minnie, smiling; "when Santa Claus comes to San Francisco he'd better bring his India-rubber coat and overshoes."

"I've no doubt he will, darling," said I, kissing the little face beaming with earnestness and beauty; "and perhaps he'll bring his umbrella, too, but 'twill make him no Paul Pry—I'm sure he won't intrude."

"No, indeed," said Minnie, "I want to see him too much for that. Do you think, May, if I sit up till ten o'clock, I shall see dear old Santa Claus?"

16

"I think, little one, if you go to bed at eight and sleep sweetly, he may come to you in your dreams. He generally manages to come when children are sleeping."

Thus it was that little Minnie forgot all her sorrows and disappointments in the anticipated vision of the good Santa Claus. The rain fell heavily, but in the sunny heart of childhood all was happiness.

Now, a "Merry Christmas" to you all—young and old! May the blessing of the pure Christ-child attend you, and Santa Claus be munificent in his beautiful Christmas gifts!

17

THE MOORISH PEARLS.

Many years ago, near the Mission of Santa Barbara, there lived a wealthy Spaniard and his wife, who had been married a great many years, and were still childless.

It was the cause of great regret to both, especially to the mother, who loved little ones dearly.

Every day she made an offering to the blessed Virgin, and prayed her to have compassion on her loneliness, and give her a dear little child to take care of, and love.

At last her prayers were answered.

One Christmas eve, when gifts in memory of the blessed Christ-child, were making so many young hearts happy, a beautiful18 little daughter was given to her, making her the happiest, most thankful woman, in all Santa Barbara.

As the parents were very rich, all the great Spanish families in the county were present at the christening; and all the priests from the Mission of Santa Barbara were invited.

There was a great feast, and every one was delighted; but, above all, the father and mother blessed God for his precious gift, which they prized more than all their great riches.

The little girl grew finely, and was very beautiful, not like the lovely children of the North, fair and golden haired, but her complexion was a rich olive, with the pure crimson blood of health tinging her cheeks, and her lips were red as ripe cherries. Her hair, in the sunshine, had a soft purple hue; in the shadow, it was19 black as a raven's wing, and her dark eyes were as soft as a young gazelle's.

She possessed in a wonderful degree, the symmetry and grace of the Spanish women, and her hands and feet were so small and exquisitely formed, that they were the marvel of the whole country.

In the family there was an old duenna, who had taken charge of the mother when she was young, and, to her superintending care, the little one was intrusted.

Years before, the old duenna came from Spain with the mother's family, and her love for the beautiful lady whom she had nursed in infancy, almost amounted to a passion; but for the proud Don Carlos, the husband, she had a jealous hatred, though he was always kind to her, and made her life in the "wilds of the strange country," (thus she always spoke of California,) as pleasant as possible.

20

Though she called herself a Christian, the wild blood of the Moors flowing through her veins, tinged her life with the mysticism and fire of that fated race.

Sometimes she would give herself over to strange devices and superstitions, which were very displeasing to her devout mistress, but the old woman covered these distasteful habits with so much art and affection, that she enjoyed the confidence and love of the good lady, and generally every thing moved on very smoothly and pleasantly, at the Buenna Vineyard.

The house was large and commodious, built, like most Spanish houses in California, in the form of a square, with an open court in the center, and broad piazzas on all sides. It was very cool and pleasant, with its latticed windows, and vine-covered porches.

In the rear was a beautiful garden, surrounded21 with a high, strong wall, and massive gates with bolts and bars.

There, in a grape-vine covered arbor, the purple fruit hanging within reach, the old duenna loved to sit, spinning lazily with her distaff, now and then stopping to see that no harm came to the little Lenore in her play, and often calling her to her side, to listen to some quaint old Moorish legend.

The father and mother were very fond of their little daughter, and gave her every thing that heart could wish. One day, when the little girl was about ten years old, the father called her to him, and said: "Papa is going away, far across the waters to the fair castellated land, which has been your childhood's dream, to dear, beautiful Spain, and what shall I bring back for my little daughter?"

Lenore's eyes grew large and liquid.22 "Beautiful Spain! beautiful Spain!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands in ecstasy.

"Every thing there is so lovely, how can I tell what to ask, dear papa; but wait one moment," and she ran to the garden arbor, and told the duenna all, and said, "What shall I ask?" The old woman frowned till her brows met, then she laughed strangely, and said, "You shall ask for a string of pearls, as pure and white as snow, and as large and clear as the dew-drops."

Lenore ran into the house, and throwing her arms around the father's neck, ran her pretty fingers through his hair, and said, "I would like, papa, a string of pearls for my hair, as pure and white as snow, and as large and clear as dew-drops in the first flush of the dawning."

The father looked at the little lady with a heart full of love and pride, and he kissed23 fondly the little, pure, oval face that was lifted to his, and said, "My little daughter shall have her wish, let it cost what it may."

The little girl clapped her hands, dancing about the room, full of happiness, saying, "The dear papa! the dear papa will bring me the most beautiful pearls in the world."

Her childish joy was subdued when she looked at the mother, who had a smile of love on her lips, but a tear of sorrow in her eyes.

Then the father said, "What shall I bring mamma?"

The mother answered, laying her head upon his shoulder, "Only yourself, dear husband, and your precious love." A tear came to his eye, but he brushed it hastily away, and whispered, "I shall soon return, dear wife, to my dearest treasures;"24 then he kissed them both, tenderly, and went away, leaving Lenore and the mother weeping bitterly.

Lenore soon sobbed herself to sleep, with the tears resting upon her eyelashes and cheeks. The sunlight stealing in, and shining full upon her innocent face, made a tiny rainbow over her head.

The sad mother saw it, and thanked God that the bow of promise overbends its beautiful arch over all childish griefs, and she wiped away her own tears, saying, "He will return again, my dear husband, why should I distrust kind Heaven."

When Lenore awoke, her pretty face was wreathed with smiles, and, kissing her mamma, she ran out into the garden to seek the old duenna.

She found her in her favorite arbor, spinning, but when she saw Lenore she laid aside her distaff, and drew the child to her,25 with a mischievous smile upon her dark face.

Her treatment of Lenore had always been marked by a strange commingling of the love she bore the mother, and aversion she felt for the father, but through it all, she wove a web of fascination, that gave her great power over the susceptible heart of the young girl. Lenore sat down by her side, and for a while she talked of Spain, smoothing the child's hair caressingly with her wrinkled hand, then she told her a curious legend; of how Boabdil, the Moorish king, had once a string of pearls like those she had asked the father for, and how, after the Spaniards had overcome the Moors in a great battle, he intrusted these lustrous gems, with much other treasure, to one of his servants to be hidden upon a distant island, but, by some strange misfortune,26 as they neared the landing, the Moor dropped the pearls into the sea.

Now this Moor was an enchanter, and, because he could not recover the lost treasure, he cast a spell upon it, that would bring death to the first, who should touch the pearls, perpetual servitude to the second, and riches, honor, beauty, and love to the third, who should retain them in the family forever.

"No matter how many years should elapse, this would surely come to pass," and again the old duenna laughed that strange, unpleasant laugh. Lenore, trembling with fright, sobbed convulsively, "Oh! the dear papa! the dear papa! he will die! I will call mamma, she will send a messenger for him, he shall not touch the horrid pearls," and she started up to go, but the duenna caught her. "Silly child," she said, "I will tell you no more pretty stories, that27 was only a legend, and the pearls were not real and true, but only dream pearls, just to please my pretty child." She soothed Lenore and laughed again, till her tears were dried, and she joined to the shrill voice of the weird duenna, the merry, childish laugh of trusting innocence. The days of absence passed by in dreamy quietude at the Buenna Vineyard.

The wife was very lonely, for no one could supply the place of the loved husband in her heart. The pretty, dark-eyed Lenore missed the dear papa sadly, but her time was much occupied by the master who taught her music, French, and English. Spanish she learned from the duenna, who in this language was quite a scholar.

Everywhere she followed the young Lenore, and, in her varied moods, treated her with a curious combination of love and selfishness, tenderness and severity, but,28 through all, maintaining her unbounded influence over her charge.

Full of wonderful legends of the Moors of old, she fostered a love of the marvelous in the mind of the maiden, till often she would waken in the darkness of the midnight, from fearful dreams trembling of superstitious dread. One morning early, she ran into her mother's chamber and woke her kissing her eyes and cheek.

"Oh mamma" she said, "do wake up, I have had such a beautiful dream about Boabdil's pearls, pure and white as snow, and large and glistening as the dew-drops. Some one from Spain brought them to me, so noble and handsome, mamma, that I could not help loving him dearly, and I was so happy." "But, Lenore," said the mother, "where was the dear papa." "Oh, mamma," said Lenore, "I did not see him, he was not there."

29

A strange terror filled her heart, and looked out from her startled eyes, and she buried her head in the pillow and wept piteously.

"'Twas only a dream, my daughter," said the mother, tenderly, but still Lenore sobbed. "How could I forget the dear papa, for a stranger and a string of pearls." Then the mother kissed her, and soothed her till she was comforted. Soon after a ship arrived, bringing letters from the father. "I am now in Spain," he wrote, my dear, native land. Bright Castile! the world has nothing like thee! No mountains like the snow-capped Sierras, no valleys like Granadas, and no river like the blue Guadalquivir, but, "where the treasure is, there will the heart be also," and my greatest earthly treasures, wife and child, are in California, and, though far away in castellated Spain, my heart wings30 its way homeward, and every delight is treasured, to be renewed again, with you. "I shall soon return to you, dear wife, the husband you love, but little daughter, the pearls, 'pure and white as snow, and large and clear as the dew-drops,' I have not found in Spain, but have heard of them, and if possible you shall have them at any price."

He wrote a long letter, glowing with hope and affection, promising a speedy return, and the mother took heart again, and was happy, while Lenore thought with delight, how beautifully the rare, Moorish pearls would glisten in her purple hair.

She seemed to have forgotten the dream, and the legend that frightened her so much. Even the name of pearls chained her listening ear, and the duenna often talked of them, their great beauty, and how pure and lustrous they shone among31 the crown jewels of the Moorish king, till the imagination of Lenore was spell-bound, by the magic beauty of the wondrous pearls. Often she would say, "Mamma, show me your pearls."

Then she would take them in her hands and count them, or twine them round the bands of her purple hair.

"Beautiful," she would say, as the sunlight kissed them, "but not clear and large enough. 'Pure and white as snow;' and large and clear as the dew-drops, these are not so, but the dear papa will bring them." Lenore's great gift was music.

She would often sit in the twilight, and improvise rare snatches of melody, and when the mother would say, "What is that Lenore?" she would answer, "My string of pearls, mamma," and go on playing as though the genius of music thrilled her dainty fingers. One day the duenna called32 her to an old lumber-room, to see a picture. The picture was really a good one, but had been cast aside because the frame was broken. 'Twas of a fair young girl, standing upon a rocky shore, looking eagerly out upon the waters, at the white sails of a ship the wind was wafting toward her.