EVERY old mansion of any size or repute, that stands away from cities, and has the good-luck to outlast a few generations, is sure to have its legends. They gather and grow about the original truth, like ivy about ruins, till they have completely hidden the substance that supports them. Some of these reliques of past ages have their haunted chambers; others have their warning spirits to announce the approaching death of the lord of the mansion; and not a few retain the dim lustre of chivalrous daring and warlike achievement. My father's hall, had its chamber of the Pale Lady, a name given to a particular room from the presence of a certain portrait painted on a pannel of the oaken wainscot. The lady in question was of a very small figure, and, though beautiful, had a complexion of singular paleness, while there was a startling wildness about her large black eyes, at least, all those said so, who saw the portrait after having heard her story. For myself, I perfectly well remember that she had inspired me, when a boy, with so much awe, that I never ventured into the room occupied by her portrait, except in broad daylight, and then I always took good care to have a companion. Even now, when time has destroyed all other youthful fancies, mercilessly banning and banishing the spirits, black, white, and grey, that once delighted while they terrified me, I feel a sort of lingering veneration for the Pale Lady, and find a pleasure-childish, perhaps, but still a pleasure—in gazing at the old picture when the moon shines full upon it. Then is the hour for such a tale; shorn of those circumstances of time and place, which have made it so striking to my imagination, I fear its shadows will become as substantial, and as little apt to awe, as the ghost of Banquo upon the modern stage, represented, as he always is, by some portly feeder, who seems sent on to vouch for the good living of folks in the other world. But, not to draw out the grace much longer than the meal, thus runs the legend.

England almost a twelvemonth, and had already begun that carcer of blood, which has given an odious celebrity to her name. Thus encouraged by the royal example, the zeal of the Catholics grew hotter and hotter every day at the fires they had kindled for the spiritual benefit of their Protestant brethren, till at last there was little safety for the heretic in their neighbourhood. Much, however, in the more distant counties depended upon the characters of the leading individuals professing the predominant faith; if they chanced to be tolerant, there was comparative impunity for the Protestant, who, if he did not make too intrusive a display of his principles, might then hope to pass unnoticed. Luckily for the neighbourhood of Ivy Hall, Sir Hugh Trevor, though in other respects a good Catholic, was of this better class of spirits, so that the faggot had not yet been kindled within the circle of his influence. But to no one, not even to the father confessor of the family, did this tolerant disposition give so much displeasure, as to his own lady mother; so deadly was her hatred of the heretics, that had she loved her son a grain less than she actually did, it was an even chance she had used her influence with Bonner, to warm his zeal by the help of the stake and the faggot. As it was, Dame Margaret contented herself with attributing his lukewarmness to the bad example of an early friend, a certain Sir Robert Lonsdale, who had latterly abandoned his faith for the uncourtly and dangerous creed of the reformers. On him, therefore, who was many years older than Sir Hugh, she poured down all her wrath, and he in a great measure served as a sort of conductor to carry off its lightnings from the head of the near offender.

Such was the state of affairs at Ivy Hall, when one night, just as the mother and son were about to leave the supper-table for their respective bed-rooms, a loud and hasty ringing was heard at the great gatebell.

"Sancte Maria!" exclaimed the old lady, crossing herself in much trepidation,

M M

chair, from which she had just risen. "What unhallowed thing is abroad at this hour?"

"There is no occasion for any alarm," said Sir Hugh. "If the visiter be a friend, he is welcome, late as the hour is; if an enemy, we are strong enough, I hope, to protect ourselves."

"Against such an enemy the arm of the flesh is all too weak,” replied Dame Margaret, her head shaking as much from her fear as from the effects of a slight blow of palsey.

Again the bell rang, and yet more vio lently than at first, its shrill clamours seeming to be blown about the house by the wind as it howled in fierce and fitful eddies.

"A plague upon the coward knaves!" exclaimed Sir Hugh. "Tall fellows, and stout are they in the broad day; but at night, a shadow would start the best of them. Not one, I'll be sworn for it, will leave the hall-fire, unless I drive him from the ingle-corner."

66

They believe in a devil," solemnly observed Dame Magaret, in whom even her extreme terror could not for a single instant tame the fierceness of her bigotry.

Sir Hugh made no reply, but seizing a candle, hurried out to enquire into the cause of this nocturnal visit, while the old lady, left alone with her terrors, mumbled prayer upon prayer, and invoked all the saints in the calendar to her assistance. Perhaps, the good folks listened to so fervent a votary, for it was not long before her fears were silenced by the return of her son, who half supported, half carried, into the room a beautiful little female, about sixteen years of age, apparently exhausted by the fatigues of a long journey. At the first glance, Dame Margaret was much scandalized in seeing such service rendered by the Lord of Ivy Hall, and the inheritor of so many broad acres, to one, apparently so humble, for the maiden wore the garb of a wandering minstrel, and carried a lute suspended at her back by a plain, green ribbon. Nor was this feeling much diminished, when in a few hurried words, Sir Hugh committed the damsel to her own immediate care, begging, and it might be almost said commanding, that she should receive every attention her situation required.

"She is noble, I hope," said the old lady, or at least of such gentle blood

66

as may warrant the service of your mother."

A faint smile passed over the pale features of the stranger, and Sir Hugh answered hastily, if not harshly,-“ The daughter of a friend-of a near and dear friend.”

"And her name?" asked Dame Mar

garet.

66

"To-morrow, mother," replied SirHugh, to-morrow you shall know all-all, at least, that is beseeming for you to know." There was something in the tone of this qualified promise, that awed the querist into an unwilling silence. Never before had she seen her son in so uncompromising a mood, and the very novelty of the occurrence vouched for the occasion being of no ordinary a nature.

But days elapsed after this eventful night, and still there appeared no signs of the promised to-morrow; the utmost amount of information that her pertinacity could extract, was only this—the stranger's name was Emmeline. To add to her discomfort, as the character of the little damsel unfolded itself, which it did not fail to do in a very short time, she saw reason to fear that an esprit follet had taken up its residence in her orthodox domicile. The Pale Lady, as she now began to be called from the extreme fairness of her complexion, was no less capricious in her movements than Will-o'-the-Wisp himself, and took the same delight in leading those, who followed her, into trouble. Hence, it was no wonder if the servants, who were often the subjects of these pranks, became convinced that they had got a fairy, or some elementary spirit, for an inmate—a conviction which, when the first sentiment of fear had worn off, did not make the stranger less welcome to them. She became to their fancy a sort of household spirit, a freakish elf, such as Robin Goodfellow had been to the cotters of yet earlier times, full of humorous pranks indeed, but friendly in temper, and never mischievously disposed except when provoked by the ill-will or thwartings of her mortal companions. When once the little maiden grew conscious of this belief in her supernatural nature, she seemed rather to delight in it than to wish to conceal her fairy origin; the milk was often found churned, and the hearth swept, without the help of human hands, or at least of those hands whose proper occupation it would have

been, and a silver sixpence would occasionally be dropt into the shoe of the careful housemaid. Then too her dress, however it might vary in the fashion of its shape, was invariably green, the traditional colour of the fairies. But the most decided proof, and there were more than one who could swear to it, was that her figure threw no shadow in the sunlight, and received no reflection from any mirror. This strange tale, which she did not fail to encourage, at last reached the ears of Dame Margaret, who, with mingled feelings of horror and curiosity, determined to put the truth of it to the test. For this purpose she summoned the Pale Lady to a meeting in her private chamber, where stood the only mirror in the house, looking-glass not being so common a thing in those days, as it has since grown to be with us.

But to no mandate

of the kind could the little damsel be brought to lend an ear, word it as the messengers would, either in the way of threat, or of gentle invitation. She was, it seemed, in one of her most dogged moods, or else suspected the cause of the summons, and had no mind to submit herself to the ordeal.

66

My lady begs you will come directly," said the abigail, repeating her unnoticed message for the third time.

Emmeline gave no reply, but opened her large black eyes to their utmost extent, and stared at the embassadress in a way that made her feel any thing but comfortable.

"Heaven bless us!" muttered the alarmed abigail, “I have often heard of the Evil Eye, and, if ever there was such a thing, it is upon me now. I wish I were safely out of the room- -Miss Emmeline!" -this was in a louder key-" Miss Emmeline, will it please you to come? my mistress loves contradiction as little as any lady in Christendom."

Hereat the elfin damsel burst into a long, unearthly laugh, that with every moment grew wilder and wilder, till it well nigh reached a shriek. There was no standing this. The soubrette uttered as loud a scream as her lungs would admit of, and fairly fled, banging the door to, as a sort of barrier between herself and the laugh ing goblin.

It may be easily imagined with what feelings Dame Margaret received this acThere was something of fear, and more of irritation mingled with excited

count.

curiosity, in her voice as she dispatched a second message by Annette, her favourite maid, who was specially employed about her own person. This renewed summons was full of authority, and dignified resentment, proportioned to the confidential character of the person bearing it.- "Tell the young woman," she said, "that Dame Margaret Trevor, the lady of this mansion, requires the immediate presence of her nameless guest. If she have no respect for the hostess, who affords her an unwilling asylum, she at least owes the duty of youth to my grey hairs."

Annette had no great fancy for this mission, which, as it implied offence to the object of it, might not be altogether without peril to herself. But there was no choice, and besides she had naturally more courage, though not less superstition, than her companions. Down, therefore, she went, when, if she found nothing to try her boldness of spirit, she saw quite enough to astonish her, with all her previous experience of the little damsel's vagaries. Was the Pale Lady sad for the past, or doubtful of the future? neither the one nor the other; she was dancing away as if the spirit of some frantic marabout had possessed her, at every bound almost touching the ceiling, and whirling round like the little motes that dance in the sun-beams. Nothing, that Annette could say, availed to stop her even for a moment; and when, as a last resource, she seized the hand of the emphatic dancer, so far from being able to stay her flight, she was herself borne along in the same giddy round, much after the manner of a straw caught up and tossed about by a whirlwind. In the midst of all this hurly-burly, entered Dame Margaret, whose impatience could no longer endure the delay opposed to her curiosity. Her presence gave a new turn to the scene. stranger would have fancied that he saw a merry school-girl detected in some forbidden game of romps by the unexpected appearance of her mistress, so suddenly did the Pale Lady break off the dance, and so motionless did she stand, after having dropt a profound courtesy to Dame Margaret. In the meanwhile, the unlucky Annette, released from the supporting hold of her companion, plumped down at once upon the floor, where she sat with her clothes carefully drawn over her feet, the very image of comical despair.

"What is the meaning of these witch'

A

Saturnalia!" said the old lady, her angry glances wandering from the one to the other of the delinquents. "Are we all mad, I ask?"

"It is the full of the moon,” replied the little damsel, with malicious gravity; "yet I would fain hope for the best. You feel not giddier than you are wont, dear lady?" "I sent to request your presence," said Dame Margaret, not perceiving, or not choosing to notice, the lurking malice of this tender inquiry. 66 Perhaps, now that the dancing mood is over, you will be pleased to follow me to my chamber, where we may have some private conference on matters that touch your repute as a Christian maiden."

on the nerves of Dame Margaret. And now it would have been naturally supposed that the old lady, bigotted and fearful as she was, would have taken measures without delay for ridding the house of so ambiguous a being. And such, indeed, for a while seemed to be her purpose. The servants were ordered to quit the room, and, as their curiosity still kept them listners at the door, they could hear her voice loud in anger, though the thick oak would not allow them to distinguish the precise import of every word. Then, as usual, came the sound of the lute, the little damsel's weapon of defence against all assaults, and which by half the household was supposed to be a talisman, no less powerful in

"Too late?" exclaimed the elder dame. "Too late," repeated the Pale Ladyand then sang, or rather chanted, with a look of peculiar archness,—

The word has been spoken,
The magical token!

And the mirror is broken.

Hoo! har, har!-hoo!

The repetition of this familiar witchburthen sounded to the orthodox ears of Lady Margaret little better than actual blasphemy. She was perfectly confounded, and, before she could find either breath or sense to reply, in rushed the abigail who had been left in the chamber of the mirror, wringing her hands and exclaiming in a voice of terror, “Oh, my lady! my lady! —it's not my fault-pray be not angry with me-it's not my fault."

"What is not your fault?" said Dame Margaret. "Speak out plainly, child-or has the madness seized you too, who used to be so reasonable?"

"The mirror, my lady!-the mirror! it is broken-dashed into a thousand pieces, and not a piece so large as a silver groat.

66

"How strange!" exclaimed the little damsel in a tone of earnestness, by no means usual with her. "I did but play upon you when I hinted that the glass was broken, and, lo you now!- Cassandra herself could not have prophesied to better purpose. Rightly says the proverb, Many a true word is spoken in jest."

There was something in the glance of her eye strangely at variance with her words and with the tone in which they were uttered. It jarred most unpleasantly

of old. In a very few minutes its melody had so effectually lulled the storm, that, on peeping through the keyhole, they saw her seated on a low stool, her head in the lap of dame Margaret, who looked down upon her with a smile of unwonted benevolence, while the withered hands played tremblingly with her dark ringlets, and smoothed their cluster from a brow and temples that shone more dazzlingly white than ever.

"Now the saints defend us!" exclaimed the peeping abigail; "if ever fairy danced by moonlight, there's one hid in the body of that lute this blessed moment."

"I ever said so," replied the other.

And away they both hurried, partly in the fear lest a longer stay might betray them as listeners, and not less, it may be presumed, from a liberal spirit of communication, that could not remain satisfied till the rest of the household were as well acquainted with the whole story as themselves.

It will be asked what had become of Sir Hugh while Ivy Hall was thus being turned topsy turvy by the frolics of his nameless protégé. At first he had treated her as a child, seeming to take no little delight in her wild pranks; but it was soon evident that the child had grown a woman to his imagination, and in his altered manners towards her a shrewd spectator might have inferred that the Hall was likely ere long to have a new mistress. This passion, as sudden as it was vehement, was attributed to the magic influence of the lute, though it seemed that Sir Hugh had been equally able to captivate the Pale Lady without any such advantage. She loved

him with no less ardour; and, what might not have been so easily anticipated, made little scruple of showing it after her own wayward fashion, teazing and pleasing him in about an equal measure. Often it would happen that she exceeded even the endurance of a lover, and his wrath would settle down into a sullen mood that boded a determined rupture. On such occasions she always had recourse to her lute, which never failed to do its work, the shadows flying from his brow like mists before the sun when it breaks out from the clouds of April.

It will hardly be supposed that so keensighted a personage as Dame Margaret was all this time ignorant of a love-affair passing thus immediately under her eyes. How indeed should she be, when one of the parties at least took so little pains to conceal it ? But her wrath smouldered quietly enough among the embers while there was a chance that it might end, like half the affairs of this kind, in vapour, for she was too prudent to provoke a different catastrophe by unseasonable opposition. "Say nothing,"-thus would she argue it in her own mind," say nothing, and this little spark will go out of itself, when a puff of breath from me would kindle it into a flame. I must be silent?" Silent she was accordingly, refraining from words good or evil, though, as might be expected, such an excess of discretion cost her much heart-burning, 'till one day Sir Hugh gave her notice in due form that it was his intention to marry the little damsel; then indeed she made herself ample amends for all her past forbearance, and poured forth such a storm of wrath on the devoted head of Sir Hugh that might well have excused him had he deviated from his purpose. But all in vain. It is so easy to maintain a resolution when it happens to be in perfect consonance with our own desires. Women, however, do not so lightly give up any scheme it may once please them to take into their heads, even when it does not come recommended, as in the present instance, by the semblance at least of sound policy. Finding her son inflexible, to a degree that baffled all her powers of persuasion, she could only attribute an obstinacy so unusual with him, to the influence of magical practices. It was clear that the Pale Lady had cast a spell over him, and where could the secret source of the charm be better sought for than in the lute, the

potency of which had been made apparent to every one of the household? To destroy the instrument then was to take the fang from the adder, and accordingly it was in her own mind doomed to destruction with the first opportunity. When this would offer itself was another question, for the lute was the little maiden's constant companion, at home and abroad, on foot and on horseback, nor was she ever observed to put it from her except on one particular occasion, that recurred but once a month. This was on the full of the moon, when she never failed to find some pretence for walking alone in the neighbouring forest. At such times it was always remarked that she grew sadder and sadder as the day declined; her eyes would fill with tears, and she would gaze on Sir Hugh, when she thought herself unnoticed, with the anxious looks of one who was about to part from a near and dear friend for ever. The motives for these nightly wanderings none could discover, though there was no want of curiosity on the part of the inmates of Ivy Hall, who, to do them justice, had to the utmost extent of their courage exerted themselves to learn the secret. One or two of the boldest went so far, more than once, as to visit her supposed haunts on the following morning, when they found, or said they found, the print of feet, exactly corresponding to hers, in a certain plananguare, or round as it is sometimes called, a relique from the times of the Druids; here, they had no doubt, she had been to meet the queen of the fairies, and obtain leave of absence for another month to dwell amongst the human mortals. In confirmation of this opinion, they remarked the wild joy she always evinced on her return, and the liberality with which she scattered silver,-fairy silver no doubt,

amongst the servants. But the more popular belief was, that she went thither to worship the moon, from whom she received her power; and a cromlech, standing in an open part of the forest, was pointed out as the altar whereon she laid her monthly oblations. These offerings were supposed to be of an innocent nature, from the fashion of the altar; it consisted, according to the usual form of such monuments, of an upright stone, and a second mass placed upon it horizontally, the latter having a cross rudely cut into it; and hence it was inferred that sylph, or fairy, or whatever else the little maiden might be,