Read Ebook: That Last Waif; or Social Quarantine by Fletcher Horace

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Ebook has 668 lines and 46079 words, and 14 pages

"You will please to leave me, shepherd," replied the maid, "and carry your raillery to other ears where it may be more agreeable."

"I'll hev a kiss furst," said Will, "for that canny feace and filed tongue hez quite laid ma ith brears."

"Forbear your rudeness, for God's sake," cried the damsel; "or you may repent it."

She willingly complied. But the elder and more experienced part of the company said they observed a glance pass between them, which said they had met before. This renewed the inquiry who the damsel might be, but in vain. Will retired in a gloomy rage, swearing that he would discover who the girl was, and have revenge on the carpenter, if it cost him his life.

The lovers heard not his threats, but repaired to the Maypole; and, as they danced around it, sang the following roundelay:--

"What are monarchs' courts, my dear? Can their splendour yield them bliss? Can the thrones and crowns of kings Yield a joy as sweet as this? Dancing round the Maypole!

Here no care or pain, my dear, Can into our bosom steal; Heaven itself can scarce surpass Pleasures such as these we feel, Dancing round the Maypole!

Now, returning Spring, my dear, Wakes the birds on every spray-- We, whose hearts are formed for love, Sure may be as blithe as they. Dancing round the Maypole!

Hark the song of love, my dear, Every heart and tongue employ; And shall we, less fond than they, Mix not in the general joy, Dancing round the Maypole!

Let our glowing hearts, my dear, Revel in the burning bliss;-- Speak our feelings through our eyes, And seal our union with a kiss, Dancing round the Maypole!"

Various were the conjectures respecting the unknown shepherdess; though all the country maids agreed that she was not what she seemed.

"Be wha she will," said Wild Will of Whitbeck, "I'll hunt it oot."

"She's niver worth it," observed a girl, who probably thought Will might employ his time better. But Will was not to be driven from his purpose. And some of those who had been refused by the fair unknown urged Will to make his promise good. Therefore, when the evening drew on, and the young people began to pair off towards home, Will, and two of his companions who were not more agreeably occupied, followed Richard, the carpenter's son, and his lovely partner, towards home. But little did they expect to see her sheltered in Muncaster Hall. As the lovers stood exchanging vows of eternal constancy at the garden gate, their pursuers heard enough to inform them that the maid was Helwise, daughter of Sir Allan Pennington; and to convince them that their faith was mutually plighted.

"Noo," said Will, "I hev him o' the hip. For Sir Ferdinand Hoddleston, of Millum Castle, wants et wed that leddy; an' if I yance let him kna et this silly carpenter follows her, he'll meak an example on him."

When Will informed the neighbours next Sunday of his discovery, they were struck with astonishment at the handsome young carpenter's audacity, as they termed it. The young women hoped and trusted that Sir Allan would never know; for it would be a pity that so nice a young man should be hanged--as he was sure to be, if Sir Allan knew that he courted his daughter. At the same time they thought he might have been content with one of the shepherd girls; yet it was hard he should be hanged for love. He deserved to be sent out of the country, the young men observed. The maidens thought it would be a pity to send him away; but they might put him in a nunnery, or something of that sort.

Wild Will of Whitbeck gave no opinion on the subject--his plans were deeper. He knew Sir Ferdinand and his temper well. He had often attended him in his sporting excursions; and, owing to his never-failing flow of rustic wit, could any time find admittance at Millum Castle, where his drolleries would beguile Sir Ferdinand of a melancholy hour. Will, therefore, adopted this plan to make Sir Ferdinand the avenger of the insult he had received from the carpenter, and the repulse he had met with from the lovely Helwise.

"We had fine spooart o'th first o' May," said Will; "but I got cruel ill vext."

"What happened to vex thee?" inquired Sir Ferdinand.

"Wya, ye see," said Will, "Sir Allan's daughter donned hersell like a country hoody, an thought et naebody could a kent her, but I kent her weel eneugh."

"And did that vex thee?" replied Sir Ferdinand.

"I sa her," replied Will, "an mear oor an' that, I followed em heam, an sa em give yan another a kiss. When she put her arms roond his neck, I war stark wood. What! war Dick better ner me?"

The train was now laid. Will had roused Sir Ferdinand's vengeance, without giving the least hint that he suspected such a thing.

"Shall I!" exclaimed Sir Ferdinand, as soon as Will had retired, "Shall I be made a fool of by a carpenter's son? Shall such a wretch as that presume to be my rival in the affections of the loveliest maid in Cumberland? Curse the idea! He shall be taught to know his duty better. No, I scorn to apply to Sir Allan. I will be my own avenger. Were he removed I should be at peace. That will do. He dies!"

Once resolved, Sir Ferdinand felt no rest till his scheme was accomplished. The morning had scarcely dawned till he mounted and rode for Muncaster Hall. Few of the family were stirring when Sir Ferdinand arrived. Tom Fool, however, was up, and hastened to meet the knight, who had often expressed himself pleased with Tom's rustic wit.

"Good morning, Tom," said Sir Ferdinand, "what makes you laugh so this morning, Tom?"

"Lord Lucy's footman," replied Tom, "put a trick on me the last time he was here; and I have been paying him back what I owed him, for I would be in no man's debt."

"How hast thou managed thy revenge?" returned Sir Ferdinand.

"He asked me," said Tom, "if the river was passable; and I told him it was, for nine of our family had just gone over. The fool set into the river, and would have been drowned, I believe, if I had not helped him out."

"If thou'lt revenge me of a scoundrel who lives here," said Sir Ferdinand, "I'll make a man of thee."

"You'll do what Sir Allan could never do, then," replied Tom, with a laugh. "But who is it, pray?"

"'Tis the carpenter," replied the knight.

"I owe him a grudge, too," said Tom; "for I put those three shillings which you gave me into a hole, and I found them weezend every time I went to look at them; and now they are only three silver pennies. I have just found out that Dick has weezend them."

"Then kill him, Tom, with his own axe, when he is asleep sometime; and I'll see that thou takes no harm for it," replied Sir Ferdinand.

"He deserves it, and I'll do it," said Tom.

"There's three crowns for thee," said Sir Ferdinand, "and he'll not weezen them, if thou follow my advice."

Tom wanted no further inducement. His own injuries, and the hopes of reward from Sir Ferdinand soon influenced him. And the next day, while the unsuspecting carpenter was taking his after-dinner nap, and dreaming probably of the incomparable beauties of his adorable Helwise, Tom entered the shed, and, with one blow of the axe, severed the carpenter's head from his body.

"There," said Tom to the servants, "I have hid Dick's head under a heap of shavings; and he will not find that so easily, when he awakes, as he did my shillings."

Sir Ferdinand was grievously disappointed in his scheme; for the lovely Helwise had buried her heart in the same grave that held the remains of her sleeping lover. It was in vain that Sir Ferdinand urged the tenderness and sincerity of his passion. She was deaf to his entreaties. Her heart was cold, and no human power could warm it. The noisy mirth of the hall she could hear unmoved; the mazy intricacies of the festive dance could not reanimate her; the glowing beauties of the summer landscape were gloomy and dull as December. She resolved to seclude herself from the giddy world, and brood over her own sorrows in a nunnery. She therefore retired to the Benedictine Convent of Maiden Castle--the ruins of which are still visible behind higher end of Soulby Fell; where she passed her few remaining days in piety and silent solitude.

The conscience of Sir Ferdinand left him no repose; and, to stifle recollections which became continually more insupportable, he joined the army, and soon after fell in the battle of Bosworth Field, fighting against the Earl of Richmond. He left a very handsome estate in the neighbourhood of Kirksancton to St. Mary's Abbey of Furness, to purchase masses for the repose of his own soul, and the soul of the young carpenter.

ST. HERBERT,

THE HERMIT OF DERWENTWATER.

Amongst the beautiful isles of Derwentwater, that named St. Herbert's Island deserves a more than ordinary notice, as well for its beauty as its historical associations. This insulated paradise includes an extent of four or five acres, well covered with wood, and is situated near the centre of the lake. It obtained its name from St. Herbert, a priest and confessor, who, "to avoid the intercourse of man, and that nothing might withdraw his attention from unceasing mortification and prayer," about the middle of the 7th century, chose this island for his lonely abode.

"St. Herbert hither came, And here for many seasons, from the world Removed, and the affections of the world, He dwelt in solitude."

The locality was well adapted to the severity of his religious life; he was surrounded by the lake, from whence he received his simple diet. On every hand the voice of waterfalls excited the most solemn strains of meditation--rocks and mountains were his daily prospect, inspiring his mind with ideas of the might and majesty of the Creator.

That St. Herbert had his hermitage on this island is certain from the authority of the venerable Bede, as well as from tradition, and nowhere could ancient eremite find more profound peace, or a place of so great beauty, whence to bear on the wings of imagination his orisons to heaven.

St. Herbert was particularly distinguished for his friendship to St. Cuthbert, bishop of Lindisfarne, with whom he was contemporary; and, according to a legendary tale, at the intercession of St. Herbert both these holy men expired on the same day, and in the same hour and minute, which, according to Bede, was in 678 or 687.

At Lindisfarne, expecting death, The good St. Cuthbert lay, With wasted frame and feeble breath; And monks were there to pray.

The brotherhood had gathered round, His parting words to hear, To see his saintly labours crown'd, And stretch him on the bier.

His eyes grew dim; his voice sunk low; The choral song arose; And ere its sounds had ceas'd to flow, His spirit found repose.

At that same hour, a holy man, St. Herbert, well renown'd, Gave token that his earthly span Had reach'd its utmost bound.

St. Cuthbert, in his early years, Had led him on his way; When the tree falls, the fruit it bears Will surely, too, decay.

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