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.

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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."

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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.

"what does the picture represent, lenore?" said the duenna. "'tis a maiden watching on the shore, for the ship that brings her dear papa and the moorish pearls, clear and white as snow, and large and glistening as the dew-drops." the old duenna smiled, as lenore took the picture to her room, and hung it over her bed where she could see it on waking.

every day they went to the sea-shore and looked out upon the waters, for the white sails of the ship that was to bring the father, till at last one evening, when all the west was gorgeous with the radiance33 of golden sunset clouds, the ship seemed to rise out of the waters, and there, on the sanded sea-shore of santa barbara, was the living picture of the lumber-room.

the duenna had called lenore from the garden early, saying, "at sunset the ship will be here; come pretty child, let us hasten to the shore," so lenore ran and kissed the mother saying, "mamma! mamma! the ship, with its white sails spread like the wings of a bird, is flying to us, and i must go. oh! my snow-white pearls! my beautiful pearls!"

"lenore! lenore!" called the duenna, and the maiden ran away dancing, and clapping her hands, as she always did, when very happy. on came the ship till it was moored in the harbor, and with one great rush the passengers came ashore.

lenore's eyes dilated with delight, but by-and-by an anxious suspense filled them.

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"no more! no more!" she cried, "all landed; where is the dear papa?"

the snow-white pearls were forgotten only the father filled her heart.

the duenna cast her eyes around. don carlos was not there, and who better than she knew that he could never return.

there was a handsome young stranger in the crowd, and, from his lordly bearing, she knew he must be a hidalgo of the old dominion, so she approached him and asked him for her master, don carlos.

"he is not here," said the stranger, "but i bring a rare and beautiful gift for his daughter—the famous moorish pearls."

lenore gave one glance at the stranger, she had seen him before in her dreams; and she trembled so that she could not move or speak.

"he is dead," said the duenna.

"he is dead," said the hidalgo, in a low35 tone, fixing his piercing eyes upon the sharp, eager face of the duenna.

low as the words were spoken, they reached the strained ear of lenore, and with a wild, broken wail, she fell insensible upon the ground.

the stranger handed the box which contained the pearls to the duenna, and taking the young girl tenderly in his arms, carried her home to the mother.

poor, heart-broken wife! the pearls had come, but not her treasure. lost! lost! god, pity all such!

the mother's love was all that saved her from madness; for her child, her beautiful lenore, she bore the burden of life.

the stranger was kind and gentle.

he told the bitter story as soothingly as possible.

when they arrived at the island, don carlos was suddenly taken ill, and just as36 the ship was about sailing, he breathed his last, first sending his undying love to his devoted wife, and the moorish pearls to lenore.

"tell them," he said, "my last words were to bless them."

in the confusion of the first moments of their grief, the duenna stole from the room, her sallow face flushed with feverish eagerness.

"the pearls," she said, "don carlos was the first to touch them, he is dead! this brave hidalgo was the second, and i will be the third to hold this wonderful talisman in my hands."

"rich, fair, and beloved!

"can i be fair, so old as i am?

"we shall see!"

she pressed the secret spring, and pure and white as snow, large and glistening as the morning dew-drops, lay the moorish37 pearls in their golden casket. she took them in her hand, and held them to the light, and it seemed as though they absorbed whole floods of sunshine. "how beautiful," she exclaimed, then suddenly she dropped them upon her lap, and pressed her hand to her heart.

what a strange, agonizing pain.

it seemed as though chains were riveted about her vitals.

"can i be the second to touch the pearls, and forever a slave? no! no! it cannot be!

"don carlos the first, the hidalgo the second, i am the third.

"rich, fair, and beloved! but this pain," and again she pressed her hands upon her heart. slowly she replaced the pearls in the casket, and the pain passed away.

when lenore recovered she would not look at the pearls.

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"take them away, do not mention the hated gems to me," she said, with a shudder. so the duenna kept them.

day by day lenore sat by the dear, sad mother, who only smiled when she looked upon the beautiful face of her child, who grew more lovely with every rising sun, at least so thought the young hidalgo. in their sorrow he never left them.

all that a devoted son could be, he was to the mother, and to lenore he was every thing.

very often the duenna sat alone in the garden-arbor, plying her distaff, for lenore seldom came to her. often she would steal a glance at the beautiful pearls, saying: "i am surely the third, why am i not rich and fair?"

"don carlos is dead, the hidalgo was the second, i must be the third.

"i have the pearls, the rest will follow;"39 then the distaff would fall from her hands, and she would dream curious day-dreams, and build castles of her own in air.

one evening, just one year after their deep grief fell upon them, the young hidalgo and lenore persuaded the mother to walk with them on the beach.

the time had been very long and lonely to her since the sorrow-freighted ship came in, and as she sat upon a moss-covered stone, and saw the white sails of a gallant ship, winging its way to the shore, the tears filled her eyes, and, that her sorrow might not sadden the hopeful young hearts of her children (as she loved to call them), she bowed her head upon her hands, that they might not notice the grief she could not restrain, when suddenly a joyous shout from lenore sent a warm thrill through her heart, and the blood danced through her veins with renewed life.

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"the dear papa," cried lenore, and sure enough, the proud form of don carlos was before them.

one moment and the happy wife was folded to the warm, true heart of her returned husband, and lenore clung to his arm, weeping for joy.

once more light and happiness dawned upon the buenna vineyard, with the return of the loved husband and father. how beautiful home looked to the wanderer, as he sank into his own chair, upon the vine-covered piazza. his grateful wife sat beside him, and lenore stood leaning upon his chair.

"how tall you have grown, my daughter," he said, looking proudly upon the young maiden, just blooming into womanhood; "but where are the pearls, my darling?"

"i have never seen them," said lenore,41 "how could i think of pearls and you; dear papa, gone!" and again and again she kissed his bronzed cheek.

"call the duenna," said the mother, smiling, "we must see the pearls." so lenore called the duenna from her dreaming in the garden.

"don carlos returned! not dead!" exclaimed the old woman, while her heart stood still with fear, as she entered the room pale as death, and trembling with an unknown dread.

"the pearls," said don carlos, after a kind greeting, to which her palsied tongue refused a response.

she gave them to him with a trembling hand, and, as he pressed the secret spring, the golden casket opened, and there lay the wonderful moorish pearls, pure and white as snow, and large and shining as the dew-drops in the flush of morning.

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"take them, lenore, daughter," said the happy father, fondly, and the fair taper fingers of the maiden clasped the luminous treasure.

the duenna's eyes were fixed upon her.

how beautiful she grew with pleasure. her dark eyes soft as a gazelles, were radiant with light, her red lips parted with smiles, and the moorish pearls adding a new luster to her purple hair.

"can she be the third?" thought the duenna, and in a voice husky with emotion she gasped: "don carlos, those pearls! how came you by them? what hand has touched them?"

"tell us all, dear papa," said lenore, not noticing the duenna's agitation, in her own delight.

"in all spain," said the father, "i could not find the pearls, but i heard of them from an old moor.

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"he said they were lost near the shore of a distant island, and he promised to procure them for me for a large reward, which i agreed to give him; so we sailed for the island, but i became so ill at sea that when we arrived i was confined to my bed.

"at length the old moor brought me this beautiful casket, and pressing the spring i saw the pearls, radiant with all their snowy whiteness, but i was so ill i did not take them out, and when i handed them back to the old moor to place in my cabinet, the pearls fell out into his hands, and flooded the whole room with light. great allah! exclaimed the old man, in terror, and, as he replaced them and closed the casket, he fell down and expired instantly.

"the physician said he died of heart disease. i grew much worse, and fearing i should die, confided the pearls to the care of our friend, who brought them to you,44 and soon after i fell into a swoon so like death that all thought me dead, and the ship sailed without me.

"the white sails were not hidden from sight when i began to recover, but a long, lingering illness detained me from home, but thank god i am with you at last, darlings, well and happy."

"and now that my dear papa is home again, i can enjoy the pearls, the beautiful pearls," said lenore, still toying with the luminous gems.

"more beautiful in your hair than in the golden casket," said the admiring hidalgo.

"the se?orita was the second to touch them," he continued, "since boabdil's minion consigned them to their hiding-place."

"no, i was the second, shrieked the duenna, clasping her hands to her heart, where the chains of servitude were riveted.

"always a slave," she moaned, as they45 bore her from the room, flushed with the delirium of fever.

for many days she lay prostrate upon a bed of sickness, but when at last she recovered the evil spirit had passed from her forever.

she was kind and gentle, ready to serve any one, but especially the master.

"i am but the servant of servants," she would say. "i will do my duty in the station whereunto i am called. god have mercy upon my soul."

don carlos and the mother lived to see lenore wife of the handsome hidalgo, and the mother of a maiden beautiful as herself, whose purple hair often glowed in the luminous rays of the wonderful moorish pearls.