A TALE OF ALLHALLOW E’EN.
BY ELIZABETH YOUATT.
For though you’re nothing to the world, you’re ALL THE WORLD TO ME.”
An American Poet.
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 joyous-hearted! 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.
