name, as it slowly moved towards the middle of the lake. He answered not, but, passing his arm tenderly around her waist, pressed her to his bosom. The moon was now rising higher and higher, and by its silvery beams reflected from the water the dale might be distinctly seen, studded here and there with farms and cottages-the residences of the Robinsons, the Thwaites and the Metcalfes, and thickly clothed with forest trees almost to the summits of the hills. The scene was one of calm romantic beauty. The last notes of the blackbird had died away, and no sound was heard floating through the warm air save the simmering of the water as it kissed the green herbage on the shore, or the sound of the distant mountain rill as it rushed foaming down the hill-side. Isabel as well as Herbert felt a disposition to be silent amid such scenery, such a heavenly calm did it infuse into the mind, therefore she did not make any further remark on the sadness of her lover. "Come," said he at length, "sing to me that old ballad you know I love so well; 'twill enliven us, for we are both melancholy tonight." At this request she took her lute, which she frequently carried with her on these occasions, and commenced singing to a wild, melancholy air, not much fitted to enliven, "The Mermaid Stone," one of the many wild legends of her native dale: "O listen to a minstrel's tale, A tale of the days that are gone, "And O beware of the magic song That comes from the waters deep, "From his lady's mountain bower there came The heir of Semerdale,* Who roamed by night on the lake's green shore, Like an angel's song from a higher sphere, "He stood, and at the rugged foot Of the wave-worn stone he spied, 'Neath the willow's shade, a fair mermaid That sung and smiled by his side. "She looked but once on his pure blue eye, And on his gallant mien, And she lured him to her coral bower "O, who is she that wandereth, With cheek so wan and pale, Or by the Mermaid Stone In the chill and frosty gale? "O that is Lady Margaret, That sits all silently; Whence her young paramour was ta'en Semerdale seems to have been given as a name to that part of the vale below the lake, Raydale to the higher part, which latter appellation is now given to the whole dale, "God help thee, maiden, rise and speak, "Thus spoke the carl who found her there, As she seemed to sit forlorn; There had she died, by the lake's blue side, On that frosty winter morn." The last notes died away on the strings of the lute, and all was silent once more. "Isabel," said Herbert, "and would you of Semer Water to return no more? You would mourn for me if I were to depart from the banks the time when you used to watch my boat as it not forget, would you, at eventide, to think of sailed across the lake towards you? ?" of the pensive influences around her, she could A hearty laugh was the response, for, in spite not but laugh at his unusually dejected tone. 66 reason I have to be sad," he answered. You will not laugh when you know what "This is perhaps the last night I may be with you. To-morrow I depart with a number of young men from the dales, to join a body of soldiers which the Earl of March and his son, Gavin Dunbar, are commissioned to keep on foot to act against the Scots on the borders."* "To-morrow!" she exclaimed, and threw her arms around him as if to save him from some impending danger; then, uttering a cry of horror, she burst into tears. Herbert had now to assume the office of comforter, and he tried to reconcile her to the fate which awaited them both by the most plausible arguments he could think of. Long did they slowly traverse the placid lake in their small boat, and long did they linger on the green shore unwilling to part, until the deepening shadows of the woods and hills, as the moon set behind them, reminded them of the lateness of the hour. They parted, we need not say how sadly, and early next morning Herbert took a farewell look at his native dale and the spot in it that was dearest to his heart. The two lovers, though still young, had been for some years attached to each other. Herbert was an only child and had lost his father while yet an infant; his mother was still living, and, of course, thought there was no one in the world so good or so handsome; and she was labouring under the heaviest sorrow she had ever endured, save the death of her husband, now that her darling had left her to share in the perils of warfare. The father and mother of Isabel were both living: she too was an only child, the darling of her parents, and this heavy sorrow was almost the first she had ever endured; and it was made still heavier to both lovers by the recollection that their marriage would have taken place shortly had not this unfortunate separation occurred. Time passed away. Summer, autumn, winter, had fled, and spring again advanced. Meanwhile, the lonely and sorrow-stricken Isabel would wander over scenes endeared to her by recollections of him. In this she found her chief solace, and often would she sit at her gothic window on a moonlight evening, and gaze over the placid lake as if watching for his coming; sometimes breathing prayers for his safety, at others singing to her lute some wild and melancholy strain which she knew he loved. One beautiful night she had sat thus till a late hour by her open casement, garlanding her lute with the fresh roses that surrounded it, for it was now spring; when, feeling drowsy, she threw herself on her bed and shortly fell asleep. The same object which occupied her waking thoughts now visited her dreams. She imagined herself standing on the shore of the lake; the water was calm; the moon shone, and all was silent and heavenly as on the evening when they parted. Herbert was on the lake, but he was sailing from her, not towards her, and, awful to behold, he was rowed along to a distant part of the lake by a horrid phantom in the shape of a skeleton! The boat disappeared behind a thick copse, and she awoke in a tumult of horror. Vainly did she strive during the next day to consider her dream as mere phantasy, caused by the anxieties she felt on his account. Yet, if she had entertained such an opinion, it must soon have been altered, for the same vision haunted her more vividly the next night, and still more so the third; she therefore considered it her duty to seek an interpretation from some person skilled in those matters. Accordingly, one bright afternoon, she equipped herself, and walked towards the hum ble cottage of old Maud, who was the most famous personage in the country for dream interpreting and wonder-dealing. She was, moreover, under some obligations to the family of Isabel, who was also her especial favourite, and she therefore might be expected to use her utmost skill in her favour. She found the old woman sitting beneath an old elm which grew at her cottage door, and industriously plying her spinning-wheel. Isabel seated herself beside her on the rustic bench, and, after a few moments spent in ordinary conversation, she related to her the particulars of her dreams. When she had finished, the old woman sat for some time in silence, supporting her cheek on her hand, her elbow resting on her knee. Anxious to arrive at an interpretation of her dreams, the maiden became impatient at her long delay, and questioned her as to her opinion concerning them. "I have no doubt," said she, "this is a fearful vision from some higher power, that keepeth watch over you; but it is not for a poor creature like me to give an interpretation of it." Again the old woman mused in silence. Isabel felt an unexpected and almost intolerable disappointment; she almost wept. "I see," resumed the old woman, "that you are disappointed: would that I could set your heart at rest, for I perceive that working within you that I can well understand. This, however, I can tell you, that your lover will be in great danger; and, as I cannot say from your vision that his death is absolutely certain, you are probably expected to use some great exertion to save him. Your concern is to know what that exertion may be. 66 A gleam of hope now illumined the countenance of Isabel. Tell me," she exclaimed, "how I may proceed. I care not for danger if I can but save him." Maud looked earnestly in her face. She saw there was something about the girl that would enable her to overcome more than ordinary obstacles for the sake of any object in which her deep and powerful feelings were interested. "The enterprise on which I advise you to embark," answered Maud, "will indeed require an exertion of all the courage you possess. Thursday night is the appointed time on which the Spirit of Cregdale" At these words Isabel interrupted her with an involuntary start, and stood trembling from head to foot. Maud proceeded without noticing it. "As I said, Thursday night is the night on which the Spirit of Cregdale will be visible on the rock at the dead of night, as it is once a-year, to unriddle to all those who dare approach its rugged altar anything they may desire to know from the future, provided a pious motive inspire them to seek such knowledge." "I will go !" said Isabel, in an almost masculine voice, which indicated the strength of her resolve. The night was dark, wet, and tempestuous; so violently so, indeed, that even the stoutest man would have dreaded to walk a mile, when Isabel threw on her cloak to proceed on her fearful journey. The family was wrapt in profound sleep as she proceeded down the winding staircase, across the hall, and unbolted the door. Her resolution almost failed her as she beheld nearer the terrible warfare of the elements, and thought of her bold adventure. It was but the wavering of a moment. Crossing a few fields, she at length came to the waterside, and now began really to feel the merciless pelting of the storm. At intervals vivid flashes of lightning quivered through the gloom, and revealed to her the dark outlines of her native mountains; while down their sides, like white streaks, the swoln torrents boiled from where the floods collected on the moorlands, and joined each other in the lake, whose waves now lashed furiously from side to side with a noise louder than that of the thunder or the wind; as if, like an imprisoned giant, it strove for freedom. Still the undaunted maiden proceeded on her way for about a mile, when she climbed the jutting rocks of Park Scar, at the western side, where the ascent is not so steep. Here she stood for breath for a few moments, and surveyed, as far as the darknesss would permit, the scene around her. At her right hand, the waters of a torrent, swollen to a tremendous height, rushed with headlong fury down a succession of precipices; and the thunder of its descent mingled fearfully | ing the sanctuary of the Spirit of the Mountain, with that of heaven, and with the screaming of and recollected that she was far away from the the tempestuous wind. Undaunted she listened haunts of men, in a spot seldom mentioned but to the fearful voices around her, and watched with terror, and about to hold converse with a the murky clouds as they continued to open and being of another world. Her heart palpitated emit volumes of liquid fire. It is true she felt a violently, and she began to tremble as she looked sensation nearly allied to fear; but the grandeur around and beheld the high, bare rock upon and sublimity of the scenery around seemed to which the spirit descended. At the sight of it impart a corresponding influence to her soul. she sank on her knees and uttered a beseeching A sense of terror, or rather of terrible delight, prayer to the Virgin. Surely, thought she, mingled with one of elevation and wonder at her nought can harm me in so sweet a place; and, in own resolution; while thoughts of the object good truth, if that was near the sanctuary, the for whom she encountered all those dangers, Spirit had sought out the sweetest spot in all and a holy confidence that she was doing her the glen. A thicket of white roses, on her right duty, seemed to inspire her with almost super- hand, hung its graceful wreaths over a high natural energy. bank, which was covered with a profusion of primroses, oxlips, and wood hyacinths, which extended over her path till they drooped over the water's brim. These threw around a delicious perfume, which was heightened by that of a large bunch of heath, which grew on a high corner of rock, and from which a number of ferns of various kinds were drooping gracefully. Instinctively she gathered a bunch of flowers, as if to make an offering of them to the Spirit. She then advanced round the corner of a green mound, which shut out the sound of the water, and knelt in holy confidence at the foot of the rock. She ascended by the side of the torrent, and, at length, entered the then thickly-wooded glen of Cregdale. With difficulty she threaded her way by the side of the rolling torrent. As she proceeded forward she chanced to look up, to discern, if she could, what obstacles were before her, when she perceived a huge black figure moving in her path. She stood aghast; but suddenly recollecting what she might expect to encounter, she boldly pressed towards it, and it disappeared. Soon after, during one of the pauses of the storm, she heard a heart-rending shriek, mingled with strange and half-stifled cries, in answer to which loud and hideous peals of laughter seemed to issue from every thicket around her. Still, however, she conquered her terror, and soon arrived at the deepest part of the glen, which was very narrow, there being scarcely room for a footpath by the waterside. The rain now poured in fierce torrents, and the lightning descended in more terrific flashes, while, ever and anon, the thunder rolled in more fearful peals over her head. She pressed forward, however, by the waterside, and arrived at a place where a torrent rushed down from the hill to the main stream. As it was only of small bulk, she stopped not, but fearlessly waded across. From the time that she arrived at the other side, the storm gradually abated. The thick clouds rolled from overhead, and the stars began to display themselves; the thunder muttered far over the hills, and the wind settled into low and gentle whispers. Even the torrent seemed to abate somewhat of its roaring, and to glide along with little more than a murmur. At length the sky became almost clear, and the moon rose from behind the corner of a crag. Her way was now perfectly easy, for she knew that if she could proceed till the storm abated she should be perfectly safe; therefore she bounded forward as lightly as her weakness would allow. The moon rose higher and higher, and softly did she smile upon ivied rock and sloping greenwood, while the white spray of the torrent, and the raindrops in the flower-cups and on the green bushes, gently reflected back her silvery beams. For some time an awful silence reigned around, till at length she heard a faint sound, like the rustling of wings or the sighing of the summer wind. She looked up and beheld something like a thin mist on the top of the rock. By degrees it assumed a shape resembling that of a human being clad in flowing drapery, but infinitely more beautiful than anything she had ever beheld; yet, with the most spiritual loveliness, was blended a calm and awful dignity. It looked down upon her with a benignant smile, which infused still more confidence into her breast-at length it spoke. The conversation which ensued must, for the present, remain wrapt in mystery. Suffice it to say that thé maiden, after breathing a prayer of thanksgiving, retraced her steps with a light heart down the glen. Almost before the morning light appeared, she had again enclosed herself in her solitary chamber at Car End,* without any of its inmates having known of her adventure. In the meantime, Herbert, with the rest of the young men from the dales, joined the body of troops under the Earl of March. Passing over the many skirmishes that ensued, we need only mention, that towards the end of the year their commander intercepted the return of a body of Scots which had been on a plundering expedition over the north of England. A fierce battle ensued at Nisbet Muir, in which the Scots were defeated, and their leader, Patrick Hepburn, slain. This caused the Earl of Douglas to raise an army, the following year, of nearly twenty * Car End, till within the last few years, was the Her joy in her deliverance, and in finding her- property of the Fothergill family. It was the birthself in so sweet a place, soon gave way to a feel-place of the celebrated philanthropist and natural ing of awe. She found that she was approach-philosopher, Dr. John Fothergill. thousand strong, and make an effort to revenge, he must shortly die if no succour were at hand. the loss his country had sustained. Accord-"Oh!" exclaimed he, "what would I not give ingly, he broke into Northumberland and Cum- for one spoonful of water! Holy Virgin, I am berland, and carried his ravages far into the dying!" country before the English wardens and the northern nobility could raise a sufficient body of troops to oppose him. Assembling their forces, however, they cut off the retreat of the Scots, as in the former instance, by placing themselves between them and their own country. Both parties drew up in order of battle near Hamilton Hill, the Scots on the brow of the mountain, the English on the plain. The gallant Hotspur Percy, burning with military ardour, spurred his steed, and calling to his followers, was for rushing sword in hand upon the enemy. His prancing steed was in the act of darting forward, when the more prudent Earl of March checked him by seizing the bridle rein, while he pointed out to his impetuous master how the enemy were exposed to the English long bows. Accordingly the battle commenced by the discharge of a shower of arrows against the Scots, who remained drawn up on the hill side, and which killed an immense number. It appears that they remained for some time exposed to the discharges of the English, until Sir John Swinton called to his fellow-soldiers no longer to stand inactive before the enemies' arrows, but to rush down with him upon the English. On hearing this, his capital foe, Adam Gordon, with whom he and his train never met but they fought, touched with admiration of the conduct of his adversary, fell on his knees before him, imploring his forgiveness, and begged the honour of knighthood from one whom he considered the bravest knight in Britain. This was readily granted, and the two rivals embraced each other; after which they rushed down the hill with no more than a hundred followers, and fearlessly charged the ranks of the enemy. He continued gazing around for some moments, when his eye caught the sight of a figure moving at some distance. It glided nearer and nearer with the lightness of a spirit. At length, he could discern that it wore a white robe covered with a mantle of a darker hue. Notwithstanding these indications of its earthliness, a thought struck him that it was some visitant from another world. This, when connected with the fact that he was about to die without the last offices of the church, made his limbs to tremble and his eyes to start with terror. Nearer and nearer it came, till it stood within a few yards of him, and appeared to be waiting for something. How strikingly it must have reminded him of some one! for, in a voice of surprise, he could not forbear exclaiming "Isabel!" The figure hastened towards him, threw itself on its knees, and clasped him in its arms. "Herbert!" said she (for it was Isabel), "have I really found you alive?” She could say no more, tears and sobs choked her utterance. "My Isabel," returned he, "tell me, for the love of Heaven, what has brought you here?" "Do not ask me now," she answered, wiping the tears from her eyes; "it is a long tale that I have to tell, and you must be borne to some place of safety." She then covered him with her cloak, and procured him water from a neighbouring spring. "Are those Scots defeated?" he asked, as she glided away. "With great slaughter, the country people say," she answered. "I will procure assistance, Herbert, and have you borne from the field." In a short time Isabel returned, and with her two old men, who placed him on a kind of litter, and bore him away from the field towards an obscure cottage, the inmates of which she found kind-hearted enough to lend her every assistance in their power. Herbert was in the front ranks amongst those who had to bear the impetuous charge of the Scots. Like his companions, he sustained the conflict with the bravery of an Englishman. Two of the enemy lay dead beneath his powerful It is needless to relate how Herbert recovered, arm, and he was assailed by a third. Almost or to describe the joy of the friends of the choking with dust, and bleeding profusely from youthful couple on their arrival once more on several large wounds, he still sustained the the green banks of Semer Water; soon after fight, till his head began to reel, and his heart, which, Herbert bore Isabel as his bride to beating with a tremulous throb, seemed to flut-Thwaite End. Many an hour did they while ter like a bird in his breast. Immediately he received a blow from his now more powerful adversary, which laid him senseless on the ground. away in after years, on sunny summer evening or dreary winter night, by relating the story of his wonderful preservation; or how the Spirit of the Mountain, on that fearful night, revealed to her the situation of Herbert, and told her all that she was to do: one direction being that she was to stand on the field of battle, in a certain place, when she would hear him pronounce her name. The two houses on each side of the lake have been rebuilt since that time, but they are once more old, and one of them-the house of Herbert-stands a lonely wreck, crumbling and uninhabited. Bainside, BY THE EDITRESS OF "THE LADY'S LIBRARY. MANDARIN SLEEVE. WORKED WITH VICTORIA BRAID. MATERIALS:-Italian net sufficient for a pair of Mandarin Sleeves: four yards of 2 inch wide quilling net, of the same make, and three knots of Victoria braid. Also No. 1 Evans's Tatting Cotton, a steel tatting shuttle, and a tatting pin. We have so frequently been requested to give patterns for braiding in the pages of this magazine, that it is with great pleasure we are now enabled to comply with the wishes of our correspondents. That we have not done so at an earlier period, must be ascribed to the difficulty of giving really useful patterns for this kind of work, in a periodical in which the pages are not of very large dimensions. To be serviceable, a braiding pattern must be given of the full size, few workers liking the trouble of enlarging the engraving. Now, even for so small an article as a slipper, this is obviously impossible; and if we give a sofa cushion, or anything designed for furniture, it must be on so diminished a scale as to be nearly useless. For this reason, we have always preferred giving our correspondents those patterns which they could copy for themselves, especially as all descriptions of designs for braiding, drawn properly and of full size, on tissue paper, can be purchased for a trifle at any respectable fancy warehouse. the braid: two thick parts then form the sides of the little leaf, and at the point is the intermediate fine part. Fold the braid into form for each leaf before you sew it; then fasten the crossing, slip the needle through the soft braid, and over the fine part. We give this explanation in order to acquit ourselves of any intent to disregard the wishes of our friends, and we add the present design because the pattern can be given in the only useful way (clearly), as well as because the work itself is a novelty. The braid, when properly put on net, has much the appearance of satin-stitch, with the additional advantage of being worked with great rapidity. It was first introduced about 1831, under the term Coronation braid. Then it was also called Adelaide braid, and now (re-introduced after a disuse of many years!) it is named after The tatting is done with Evans's Tatting Cotour present Sovereign. Mr. Gould, of Watling- ton, No. 3, thus: x 2 double stitches, 1 picot, street, exhibits a very pretty collection of col-x 7 times, end with 2 double stitches: draw the lars, sleeves, and other articles, in this Victoria lace, in the Great Palace of Industry; and it is no less a duty than a pleasure to us to give our friends instructions for working it. loop up rather tightly, and leave a space of about the eighth of an inch between the loops. For this sleeve, the quilling-net is braided according to the pattern seen in the engraving, one yard being required for each frill if the sleeve be large. Each edge should then be whipped, the tatting sewed on one, close to the braided border, and the other drawn up and set on the sleeve. The sewing is concealed by the simple edge seen in the engraving. Victoria braid is round, and alternately thick and fine: the thick parts are soft, and easily penetrated by the needle, but the intermediate thin parts are of the consistence of hard cord. Each part is about the fourth of an inch long. It is quite unnecessary to have the whole article drawn to braid from, as from the regularity of these variations in the braid, they form a sufficient guide. A single flower, or other section of a design, will be found all that is requisite. The shape of the collar, or other article to be worked, is the important point. This must be cut out, and tacked on coloured paper of the same shape, and is then ready for braiding. A fine needle, and Evans's Sewing (Boar's Head) Cotton, No. 50, may be used for applying the braid. The small leaves, petals of flowers, &c., are usually formed by crossing two fine parts of The upper frill is to be put on at a sufficient distance from the other to allow of the braiding of each to be clearly seen. We trust, in future numbers, to give other and more elaborate patterns for this very pretty kind of work. The steel shuttle I have mentioned has just been made for me, by Messrs. Boulton and Son, the eminent needle manufacturers. It will be found very much more convenient for fine tatting than the old-fashioned ivory shuttle, which it will doubtless in a great measure supersede. |