It was on the evening of the 31st of October, 183-, that a merry group of young and light hearted girls met together at the cottage of the widow Stewart, situated in a lonely but picturesque part of Scotland; in order to try some of those simple and mystic rites appertaining to Allhallow E'en. Many were the spells they wove, each having the same end in view-a desire to know the future partner of their destiny; to confirm or destroy the hope scarcely whispered to their own hearts; to find perhaps, materials in that brief hour for a life-long dream; or receive the seeds of a wild prophecy, which they themselves work out by their very belief in it, and call it fate. But there was one who sat apart, with a slight and scarcely perceptible smile upon her somewhat scornful lip. And how beautiful she was, that young English girl! How happy and joyoushearted! An heiress, too; no wonder that Helen should be the least bit in the world proud and wilful. It is ever thus with the young, until sorrow all too soon transcribes in tears its own sweet lesson of humility upon our chastened hearts. Willie Graham had first met with her at Edinburgh, where she was staying on a visit at the house of a friend, having no relation that she knew of in the whole world. And he too, being parentless, a ready sympathy sprung up between them, ending, as such things generally do, in a somewhat warmer sentiment. Those with whom she was, thought the young heiress might have done much better, and doubtless they were right, in a worldly point of view; but, after all, Helen's was the better faith, when she had courage to prefer the honest affection of a simple and manly heart, far above all their golden dreams for her. Her present residence became, in consequence, far from pleasant, and she finally yielded to Willie's entreaties that she would accept the frankly offered invitation of his aunt, Mrs. Stewart, and remain with her until that future home, which he painted in such bright colours, should be ready for her reception. The kind-hearted widow, albeit but little given to travelling, came herself to fetch her guest, and future kinswoman, whose appearance, however, was far from making that impression which her nephew had hoped for. "But my dear aunt, is she not beautiful?" asked the young lover eagerly. "Yes, too beautiful, and too grand for the wife of a Scotch farmer." "But you will be very kind to her," said Willie, who knew how vain it was to attempt to reason his venerable relative out of any of her hasty, and often erroneously-formed prejudices; trusting everything to time, and Helen's gentleness. "Ah! no one can help that, who looks in her sweet and bonny face. But beware, I say, for she is no bride for you!" Helen's beauty, and, more than all, the mysteries of a fashionable wardrobe, caused quite a sensation in the quiet village of - -; most of the female portion of which sided with Mrs. Stewart, while the opposite sex wished, one and all, that they were just in Willie Graham's place, and a few of the more adventurous sought vainly to rival him in the eyes of his fair mistress, who only laughed at them for their pains. Poor Helen! that merry laugh made thee many enemies! In spite, however, of all prognostics to the contrary, everything went on in the usual orthodox way. Willie made a multitude of visits to the nearest market-town, never returning without some additional purchase which rendered it necessary for Mrs. Stewart and her guest to walk over and superintend its arrangement; until, at length, it actually wanted nothing to render it a very paradise in the eyes of its happy owner, but a mistress; and noways loath was Helen to undertake all the new and delightful mysteries of this sacred office, for which she had long been qualifying herself, with the assistance of the widow; who, although she openly ridiculed the awkward attempts at housewifery of the young English girl, was secretly touched by her cheerful and unwearied patience. Willie Graham was now gone to make his last purchase-that mysterious symbol which was to bind her his for ever! And the young girl, as she watched from the casement the dark storm-clouds sweeping like shadows over the pale moon, rejoiced to remember how she had made him promise not to think of returning that night. "To-morrow will soon be here now," said the widow, laying her hand upon Helen's shoulder with a touch that, light as it was, made her start; "and then you will have to give up your dearly loved freedom for ever!" "Ah, what happiness to have no will but his !" replied the girl, with a bright smile; while her companion, touched in spite of herself, bent down to kiss the high white brow so radiant with hope. Among the many spells tried that night by the credulous and simple-hearted damsels assembled together at the cottage of the widow, who was not a whit less superstitious than themselves, was one in which three dishes-or luggies, as they say in Scotland-are placed a little apart from each other; two being separately filled with clear and foul water, and the third left empty. A member of the party is then led blindfold to the hearth, and accordingly as she dips her hand into the right one or not, will be her future destiny. If into the clear water, all is well; the foul betokens early widowhood, or worse; while the empty one is a sure and infallible sign of old-maidenism. All had now tried this simple charm but Helen, who only laughed at it and them; for the very happy are seldom superstitious, having nothing left to wish for, and being too sanguine to fear ought of change. "It's all very well for you, girls," said she mer- | tears gathering in her eyes, which she vainly rily; "but my fate is fixed!" "Yes, we know; but do try just to see if there is any truth it," pleaded her companions. Helen's good nature was not proof against their mingled entreaties, and laughingly suffering herself to be blindfolded, she approached the magic spot, and thrusting out her hand at random, placed it in the empty dish! Mrs. Stewart changed colour, while many a young heart began to waver in its first wild faith in the supernatural, and Helen looked round triumphant in her superior wisdom. "Are you satisfied, now?" said she. "Oh! not yet; you must try twice more-three times is the magic number." "As you will," said the girl, tossing back her bright curls, and kneeling down before Mrs. Stewart in order to have the handkerchief securely refastened about her eyes; a task of some little difficulty, for the old lady's hands trembled strangely. The position of the luggies was changed, and again the bride elect put forth her white hand with the same result; while her merry laughter sounded fearfully distinct in the silence that followed. endeavours to twinkle away unobserved. "Now you are grieving about something," said Helen, caressingly; for it was sufficient that Mrs. Stewart was Willie's only relative, to make her love the old woman dearly, notwithstanding her occasional ill-humour; "and I dare not think it is at the idea of so soon losing one who has only been a plague and a trouble to you.' "I was thinking, just then, less of the past than the future," replied her companion, dreamily. "Ah! the happy, happy future!" exclaimed the girl, clasping her hands joyfully together. "Heaven send it may be so!" Amen," said Helen, more calmly. "But what is it that you fear?" "Nothing-nothing; and now let us to bed, for you must be up early in the morning." It was, as Mrs. Stewart had said, a fearful night; but Helen thought less of the heavy rain, which came driving against the casement, or the vivid lightning flash, than a certain wreath, laid out so temptingly against the morning, that she could not resist placing it, for a moment, amidst her jetty curls; smiling, as she did so, less in pride at her "Let me see; I have one more chance," said own beauty-of which she was by no means unHelen, glancing archly towards the pale and won-conscious-than that he might well be proud of dering faces of her companions, who drew closer to her, holding their very breath for fear, as she again approached the ordeal, and, this time, placed her hand in the clear water; while the widow uttered a fervent ejaculation of thankfulness, and all looked relieved but the bride herself, who carelessly removing the bandage from her eyes, went back with the same glad smile to her seat by the open casement, and began to wonder what Willie was doing now; but, whatever it was, she felt quite sure that his thoughts were all her own. And now the long gathering storm bursting forth at length, the little party rapidly dispersed to their various homes, to dream, perchance, a thousand wild, vain fantasies, that haunt us none the less because we know them to be such; and that, unless a miracle be worked in our behalf, they may never come to pass. While as they went they spoke of the bride's strange beauty, and shook their heads and sighed, and wished she had not laughed quite so much at what seemed to them a sure omen of evil. "And yet all ended well at last," said one of the girls. "Yes; she will be a bride, but not yet-not so soon as she thinks for-perchance not even his !" A vivid flash of lightning followed the words of the last speaker, and seemed, to her credulous companions, to confirm them. "What a fearful night !" said Mrs. Stewart, as she closed the door upon their departing guests, and came and sat down by Helen's side. "Are you not frightened at our wild mountain storms?" "No indeed, I was only rejoicing that he is safe. In my selfish love I have no other fear." Oh! can devotion such as this be termed selfishness? We think not; and the widow agrees with us in spite of her harshness, which we often suspect to be more than half assumed, for there are her. And then retiring to her simple bed, slept as soundly as most maidens do on the eve of their wedding day, rocked by the fierce tempest from without. Towards morning, however, all grew bright and clear; and even had it not been so, Helen would have had no fears for her lover's safety, so well did he know every inch of ground which he had to pass over; it was only the darkness that she had dreaded. And now the white robes were donned, and the bridal wreath once again-and this time in sober earnestness-encircled her sunny brow; while her bridesmaids could not but praise and wonder at her rare beauty. And still they said among themselves they wished she would not laugh quite so much-that she were not quite so gay. But Helen was no hypocrite; hitherto courted and admired as she had been, her life for the most part was a lonely one, while henceforth as Willie Graham's wife, it would be one of love, and joy, and happiness. What marvel, then, that she should rejoice? For Helen had no home, or friends to grieve at quitting, but only him in the wide world! It had been agreed that if Willie returned in time, he should call at the cottage of his aunt, and accompany the bridal procession to church; but otherwise he was to meet them there and after waiting a brief period, Helen was the first to pro pose their starting without him. Mrs. Stewart, who looked unusually pale and grave, instantly acquiesced; and, two and two, in their white robes, and each carrying a bouquet of flowers, the bridal party quitted the cottage, and wound slowly up the green mountain paths which led to the ancient and time-hallowed kirk, passing as they did so Helen's future home, which she pointed joyously out to her companions. Just at that moment appeared another party approaching the same from an opposite direction, whose attention being apparently arrested by the glad laughter of the bridal guests, they paused abruptly, and stood quite still at some distance, waiting until they should have passed on. But Mrs. Stewart's quick eye had already detected more than one familiar face amid that strangely silent group. "What can they be doing?" said she in a hollow whisper. Hiding perhaps in sport, that we may be the first to reach the church," replied her light-hearted companion. "No-no; and they are carrying something between them, on what looks like a bier. Heaven send no harm may have happened to my poor boy!" "Let us go and meet them," said Helen, quickly, while she flew, rather than walked, by the side of her agitated companion; who already half repented her rashness. And then arose a wailing cry from the little party towards whom they were advancing. "It is the bride-God help her!" But none attempted to stay her rapid progress; and in a few moments she stood, fixed and motionless, before the mangled and lifeless body of her lover! In his impatience to rejoin her, heedless of his promise, Willie Graham had attempted to cross the mountain during the last night's tempest, and, dazzled by the lightning, he lost his footing and fell headlong into a deep ravine, where he was found in the morning, stunned and senseless, with one leg broken, and his features scarcely distinguishable for wounds. The shrieking bridesmaids buried their faces in their hands, and even Mrs. Stewart turned shudderingly away from the changed form she had once so loved to look upon; but Helen neither shrank back nor wept, and her clear, joyous tones were the first to break the fearful silence of that awe-stricken group. "He lives!" said she. "Away some of you instantly for a doctor, and the rest bear him gently home. And oh, hush those wild cries, lest you should frighten or disturb him." "Poor child!-poor child!" exclaimed the widow, wringing her hands despairingly; "alas for thy vain hopes!" But were they vain? The doctor, who was both a kind-hearted and clever man, smiled upon her as he shut himself in, alone with his patient and assistants; and Helen, kneeling down upon the threshold in her white, and now blood-stained garments, prayed fervently, trustingly, to Him in whose hands are the issues of life and death-that Heaven would spare him to her love, or in its mercy take her too! For such is ever the prayer of the young in their first great sorrow, and it is not until afterwards that we gain courage to say"Father, it is thy will; I ask but strength and faith to submit me to its decrees!" "Poor Willie!" said one among the crowd of kind and anxious neighbours who waited about the house for the doctor's re-appearance; "it seems almost cruel to pray that he may recover, for Helen will never consent to marry one so changed and disfigured." "Ah, how proud she was of him!" exclaimed another, "and well she might be, for there was not a handsomer man in the whole village." "But that is past now," said a third; "bright and beautiful as she is, even Mrs. Stewart herself can hardly blame her for breaking off the engagement-but hush! it is the doctor." And all pressed eagerly round the worthy man, whose sanguine hopes of his patient's ultimate recoverywhich depended, however, so much upon perfect quiet-served to dismiss them all in silence to their various abodes. "Now Helen, now my child," said Mrs. Stewart, kindly, "let us go home." have been now, but for that fearful accident. At "This is my home,” replied the girl, “or would any rate, I will know no other henceforth." 66 Nay, it would have been different were you indeed his wife." "And am I not so in the sight of heaven ?" "Nay, come Helen, come with me. You are ill and excited." "It is in vain," said her companion meekly, but firmly; "I will never leave him again in life!" And as she sat by the bedside, the cold fingers of her lover closed unconsciously upon hers, while a faint, ghastly smile stole over his face. Once again Mrs. Stewart shuddered to look upon it, while the devoted girl bent down and kissed those pale lips, whose salute she had hitherto half-playfully, halfbashfully repelled; but he was hers now, her very own, if it pleased heaven to spare him. Oh! the beauty in the countenance of one we love is most times of our own creating, and therefore bids defiance to all change, and even death itself. After a time Mrs. Stewart forbore to urge her any longer, and returning alone to her cottage, sent from thence all she deemed necessary to the comfort of the young housekeeper and her patient. And it was thus that poor Helen took possession of her new home. Weeks passed away, and Willie Graham still lay in the same unconscious state, while the cheek of his gentle and devoted nurse waxed paler and bedside. Mrs. Stewart came often to console, but paler, as she maintained her lonely vigil by his never, as of old, to reproach; while there was scarcely a person in the whole village but would have laid down their very lives for that bravehearted young English girl, had she needed themthe consciences of not a few bitterly regretting all their former harsh and unjust suspicions, which they longed to atone for more substantially than in mere words; but Helen wanted nothing it was in their power to bestow, her only wish and prayer was that Willie might be spared. Sometimes she would look around on all the arrangements for her comfort, made months before with such fond care, and forgetting what had intervened, fancy their bright dream of happiness realized at length; until a glance at that wan face, or a faint wail of agony dispersed the vision in a moment. And yet, even thus, it was something to be near to soothe, and watch over, and love him. What matter to her what the world might say of such devotion? He was her world! A wild and dangerous faith for the most part, but one for which even the widow herself could not find it in her heart to chide; neither, therefore, will we. It was a glad sunny noon when Willie Graham woke up at length from his long trance, like as we waken from a dream, and are puzzled just at first to remember the precise moment when we fell asleep, and so separate the actual from the ideal. But gradually the whole truth burst upon his mind, and he eagerly interrupted Mrs. Stewart's ejaculations of thankfulness by inquiring for Helen. "Hush!" said the old woman, laying her finger upon her lips," she sleeps at last, and bad enough the poor child wants rest, or I could almost find it in my heart to awaken her, if it were only to witness her joy." "Has she been here often?" asked the sick man. "She has never left you for a moment, unless, as now, worn out with weariness and exhaustion. Under heaven you owe your very life to her watchful care." Willie closed his eyes, but the burning tears which would not be controlled forced their way down his faded cheeks. There was a long pause, and but for the changes which passed over his countenance the widow would have thought that he again dozed; and when he spoke at length, his voice was low and hollow. 66 Aunt, I must see what I am like; bring me yonder glass." "No, no, time enough, Willie; for the present be content to view yourself only in the eyes of those who love you." But presently, alarmed at his impatience, and half-fearful lest he should actually carry his threat of fetching it himself into execution, in spite of the agony every movement inflicted, the old woman was induced to comply with his request. The invalid gave but one glance, removing, as he did so, the bandage from his deeply-scarred brow, and exposing the long tangled locks, turned prematurely grey in that one night of pain and anguish ; and then burying his face in the pillow, spoke no more. While Mrs. Stewart remained equally silent; for what could she have said then that would not have seemed to him like mockery? Presently Helen woke up cheerful and refreshed, while at the sound of her voice the invalid moaned restlessly, gazing at her through his long thin fingers; and never before had she seemed so radiantly beautiful-as most earthly things do when we are about to part from them. "Still the same," said she, bending lightly over him; and then their eyes met, the melancholy gaze encountering one full of hope and joyful surprise. "Willie!" whispered the girl, "my own Willie!" While he-oh! doubting and incredulous heart of man! so slow to believe in that love which once thine must needs be thine for ever! dared not to answer in return, and in the same spirit of faith-" My Helen! my own Helen!" But suffering rather than returning her caresses, he half wished in his impious despair that she had left him to die! Now, for the first time, the oftrepeated warnings of his aunt and others came back with fearful and, as it seemed, prophetic distinctness, that the proud and beautiful English girl was no bride for him. At length all three grew calmer, and Willie could thank his young nurse for her care and watchfulness, and half in bttterness for the rich gift of life, which, had earth indeed contained no ties to bind him to it, was granted him, he might have been sure, for some good purpose. And then he spoke long, and in a low voice, while Helen listened breathlessly, but still at first with out comprehending a word. The sick man told her of his gratitude, and the term, sweet as it was, smote painfully on her ear; he might be grateful to heaven for his preservation, but all that she had done seemed but natural, and her bounden duty. Then of his own unselfish love yielding up all claim to hers, which he had won in so different a guise. Releasing her from her engagement with one so changed, so stricken, and exulting in the proud strength of his own mistaken heroism. No wonder Helen found it so difficult to understand his wild unconnected words. And what did she do or say when the truth flashed upon her mind at last? Only smile, and strive to soothe away all excitement with low loving words, thinking, perhaps, that his poor head still wandered; anything indeed but what he had been taking so much pains to impress upon her mind, until the conviction that he was really in earnest became more and more vivid every moment, though she still feigns to think it sport. Then, kneeling down by the bedside, she tells him, halfplayfully, but with many a burning blush, how she has been so long with him by night and day, in spite of the many warnings from his aunt and other grave elderly folks; and now what will become of her if he should refuse after all to make her his wife? glancing with arch entreaty towards Mrs. Stewart to confirm what was, after all, a mere maiden subterfuge. The sick man's gaze likewise wandered restlessly to the pale, tearful face of his aged and venerable relative, whose voice faltered slightly as she replied that she believed from her heart, if he refused to marry poor Helen, she would never be able to lift up her head again. And so Willie was won into consenting to what he persisted in calling a sacrifice; while Helen thought herself the proudest and happiest girl in the world. Darker and darker grew the gathering twilight in that little chamber, but the sick man saw it not for the smile upon the face of his betrothed. Some weeks after this they were married, amid tears and blessings, in that little cottage which love had made a very paradise, Willie Graham being still too weak to rise; the bride so joyous and thankful for the privilege it afforded her of being still near him, the bridegroom not the less happy that he was silent and thoughtful, and Mrs. Stewart, never weary in the praise of her darling Helen, mingled with a thousand self-accusations for having doubted her, which all the girl's gentle caresses could not entirely soothe away. And what if Willie, even to this day, walks lame, and has a fearful gash across his broad open brow, which would not, we are sure, have remained so long had there been any real truth in the old nursery recipe for kissing the place to make it well. What if his hair is that of an old man, so that the heart remain young! Helen remembers only that his life is spared: she loves him, and that is all-sufficient for happiness. After all, it is but a common and everyday tale which we have been relating, and who does not know many such? If it were not so, alas! for earthly ties and affections, thus placed at the mercy of accident or disease, even of time itself. We verily believe that there are many Helens in the world, in seasons of joy as thoughtless and light-hearted, in trial, in suffering, as devoted and true, although the first is often misunderstood, and the last denied. Nor do we envy those whose experience hitherto renders them sceptics in our sweet faith. "But the luggies?" methinks we hear some of our gentle readers exclaim, fancying that we have altogether forgotten All Hallow E'en, with its mystic spells, or tired, it may be, of so much moralizing. "It was strange about the luggies." Aye, and no less strange than true, and we have known or heard of many a coincidence equally striking and inexplicable, which we will tell them some day when we are in the mood. THE WANDERING MINSTREL. Oh! ask not gayer measure From the wand'ring minstrel lone; The loved ones who are gone, Through a world of ceaseless care, Whose dreams of joy are o'er, By hope's mirage no more; So is it with the heart ye seek Of the wandering minstrel lone. Would ye raise the fancied cup of bliss Whose echoes must be sighs? When their memory is gone ; ROSE ACTON. THE POINT OF HONOUR. BY CAMILLA TOULMIN. * His nature leads him forth into the struggle and "Man is the creature of interest and ambition. bustle of the world. Love is but the embellishintervals of the acts. ment of his early life, or a song piped in the whole life is a history of the affections. The heart But a woman's is her world; it is there her ambition strives for empire; it is there her avarice seeks for hidden adventure; she embarks her own soul in the traffic treasures. She sends forth her sympathies on of affection; and, if shipwrecked, her case is hopeless, for it is a bankruptcy of the heart."-WASH INGTON IRVING. old persons. I am always interested in the conversation of their youth, and provided the memory be faithful I love to hear the reminiscences of and retentive-as is often the case-I marvel greatly at the rich storehouse a septuagenarian's mind must be. Yet I can understand how they who have seen and survived so much, seem unconscious that their own race at last is nearly run. It must appear so common a thing for death to claim the younger and stronger, and leave them with the sands of life still unshaken. I can understand how they build houses, and plant trees, that shall never shelter their own grey hairs. Their contemporaries, nay, the children of their schoolmates, have played their parts in the theatre of the world; they have been heroes, statesmen, bards, or on the lower and more sheltered rails of fortune's ladder, they have breathed away existence, each in the circle of his own individual world. "After life's fitful fever," they already "sleep well," while, perhaps, some aged friend or relative is left to point the moral to a story which has passed like an acted drama before him. Such were my reflections one evening, while listening to the dear old lady, whom I will call aunt Jessy. It was chilly October, and the increasing darkness without was an excuse for idleness, while we drew round the cheerful fire, instead of ringing for candles. "Tell us a story, aunt Jessy," exclaimed one of the party, and "do-pray do," was echoed by all. I wish I could remember her precise words, for if the following memoir prove not interesting, the fault must be mine in the telling. And yet I will set out by confessing, as she did, that the incidents are decidedly common-place, the situations anything but romantic, and the characters natural, because they are exactly of the class which composes two-thirds of society. The melo-dramatic writer chooses some amiable brigand or interesting pirate for his hero; the tragic muse lifts down a hero from the pedestal of history, and induing him with life, speech and motion, makes him, it must be owned, often do things he never did, and say things he never said; the playwright generally prefers a sentimental youth of the poetic R |