Rensselaer Union, Volume 8, Number 42, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 July 1876 — ON HELVELIYN. [ARTICLE]

ON HELVELIYN.

Windermere ia the largest and, taking itjall ip all, the loveliest of the English lakes; and the House to which, I first intrbduce my readers is Raven Castle, the seat erf John Vernon, Esq., and one of the moetdelightf ul residences in all the country round. . . . t Mrs. Vernon, perused her son’s letter, then read it aloud. It was dated from London, and ran thus: Deab Mother: HJrry Standish is at last able to take a few dajte’ Holiday, hnd is coming down with me 10-*morrow to -psy He long-promised vieit to Raven Castle. WeahnJl arrive by the afternoon train, and come up the lake by the steamer. Yon can send James across with the boat, as usual, to pick us np as the pier. Your affectionate son, Gerald Vernon. Dora Vernon had betrayed symptoms of blushing during«the reading of the letter, and thewpiiek teyes-of heft-young friend had soon detected her. “By the bye, this Mr. Standish, is he not the young man whom Gerald introduced us to in'Londoif?” asked Mr. VerTfiofi of Ink wife. “Thesarite. He is so gentlemanly and nice. lam sure you will like him, Miss Lewis.” At this stage Dora left the table and strolled through the open window into tlie garden. Her friend soon joined her there. “Oh, you’wicked little thing!” die cried, seizing Dora round the waist. “I verily believe you are in love with this Mr.| Standish, or whatever his name is, and have never told me a word about it. But I 've found you out at last. When did it happen ? How old is he ? Is he goodlooking? Come, tell me everything directly. I insist oaJsnowing.” “ Fanny, how can-yon lie so absurd! I have only seen ‘ this Mr. Standish,’ as you call him, two or three times in my life.”. Punctual to time that afternoon tile two travelers were landed at the little jetty attached to the grounds of Raven Castle.’ They were both tall, strongly built young men. Gerald Vernon was fair, HkeJ hi*, i sister; Henry Standish,” darker anl-y, though both Were good-looking—more finely featured than his friend. They were warmly welcomed by both host arid hostess. Fanny Lewis, who had been a school-fellow of Dora’s, was a stranger to both; but the glad welcome of the latter,, and the tender glances from the soft blue -eyes, proved to Hehry Standish that he at all events had not been forgotten. He was enraptured with all he saw—the house, the grounds, and all the country round, which he had never visited before. On Thursday, the four young couple were driven over in Mr. Vernon’s wagonet to the little ipn.at Wythburn, from which .file ascent of Helvellyn was to commence. On the way they passed through Ambleside, then at the height of its busy season and full of summer tourists; Rydal and ..Grasmere, with the little white ehiuph. and silent graveyard, where the noet Wordsworth lies buried, and then up the lorig steep of Dunmail Laise, till they reached* the Nag’s ! Head at Wythbqm,their destination. Gerald and Dora had climbed the mountain so often that a fuide was unnecessary, and the twb Ipies would not -hear of ponies. So they started*off ih ’ Spirits, fully equipped with stout shoes, baskets for botanical specimens, and strong Alpine-stocks. The ascent began almost at the inn door, and •continued upwards by the side of a little 4 stream that dame dancing down the moun-tain-side. Laughing and talking, slipping and stumbling, they were soon half way up the frowning mass, and a map-like view 1 , ■of lakes and valleys, hills and brawling streams, was beginning to unfold itself at their feet. At length a point was reached where a faint sheep-track suddenly left •the pathway they were pursuing and wound'up the mountain in a contrary direction. “Suppose,” suggested Harry, “that we •divide into two parties and meet on the summit?” They separated, and soon each couple was hidden from view. They, continued their rugged journey up tl|e b|e|ik mountain side, Dora leading (lie Way, arid Harry stopping every now and then to secure some rare little fem that lay concealed among the crevices of the rioek, or to glance below on the glori•Ous prospect that now lay stretched beneath them. At length the path they had been pursuing brought them gradually round to the other side, of she mountain, apd there joined one of the main tracks to tpe supunit—the one leading from Legberthwaite arid Thirlemere, past the Glenridding’ lead mines. Having reached, a charming nook under an overhanging "reck. Which commanded a new and magniflcent view, they agreed to rest for a few minutes, and then mount upward as quick-' ly a* possible. To their right lay. Red Taro, 600 feet immediately beneatp the summit of Helyellyu, fenced in on one side by the rocky ridge bf Striding Edge, and on the other —close to where Dora and her companion were resting—by a similar barrier, called BWirrel Edge, having for its eastern termination the conical-shaped peak of Catch•edGCam. Beyond lay the lovely lake of Ullswater, with Btybarrow Crag and Gowbarrow Park fringing its western shores; while the lofty mountain of Cross Fell in the extreme distance closed in the horizon, and stood out boldly against the sky. It was a kind of rocky terrace they were on, overhanging a precipice that ran sheer down for about thirty feet till it abruptly -terminated in a small mossy bank. This, also, in its turn, overhung another preciKof considerable depth, making one and dizzy even to look down.

The young man had all through their walk been striving manfully to keep hhneeJf from making the long unspoken avowal of his love; but no* that they were alone —luere in the cool shade, with such a panorama before them and tlae knowledge of their utter seclusion from Ute outer world—lie could no longer remain silept. “ Miss Vernon,’’ he said, after a pause, during which Dora had been occupied in sorting her ferns and flowers; “do you remember that night in London when I said good-bye to youifor the last time ?"! t “ Oh, yw,” she answered quickly., , J “Well,” I little thought then that, I should ever seereou again. I felt assorted tlten that my septet was safe—that I shfiifld never be dompelled to divulge it—that I should never suffer the humiliation which I kpew could but follow ||s revelation,”. ,“■ A secret I,” she t reiterated, looking nt him wonderingly. “I do hot understand. What* secret?” ’ “Cab you ask! it?” he answered, taking her hand. “In one short week, Dora—may I call you Dora ?—I had learned to love you more than my own life; but I dared not tell my love—l dared not think of it. For I was a poor man then, as lam now, and you—-you were the daughter of a rl«h man.” Stye was trembling violently, and her ej*e«were moistening. 1 “O, Dora!” he cried, passionately, “ those tears give me new hope—new lire. You do not scorn me, then, for my presumption —you do not cast me from you I Tell mg, dear one, tell me—can it be possible that you love me ?” She dia not speak, she did not utter a word, but allowed herself to be drawn by his strong, manly form in a fond, lingering embrace, listening to the loving words that fell from his lips, with looks that told him al! he wished to know. How long tltey remained upon that little terrade can never be told; but Harry Standish, at last looked at his watch with a cry of amazement. ass—- “ Why,” he cried, “ Gerald and Miss Lewis will think us lost! They must have reached the summit long before this, and we have evidently come considerably out of our way. Had we not better ascend at once?” “ Oh, Ves,” said Dora. “ Itwill indeed take us all our time to reach them, and then be back at the inn before dusk. Let us go at once.” They made ready for an immediate scramble up the steep hillside, but before going Harry eyed a small plant growing at the edge of the path and was on his knees in a moment busily uprooting it. “ The Cerastium yilpinumU'- he cried, delightedly, “ and the first I have seen.” “Yes,”, Dola answered; “it grows, 1 believe, only on Helvellyn. But do, do be careful. You are dreadfully near tlie edge of the precipice. Do not, lean over,-you will I —-- Ah!” With a wild cry she rushed forward. Her companion, too eager to secure the plant, baa overbalanced himself, and with a cry of terror, had fallen down the abyss. Dora stood qn the brink gazing downwards, her eyes dllatpd with liorror, unable to move, to speak, th help! But his fall was suddehly checked by the shelving rock; 1 covered with mbss, which alone brokq the precipitous descent; and Dora saw him lying there with his arm twisted beneath his back, rind a wound off his forehead caused by a slrnrp pointed piece<«f rock life had struck against ashefcU. Sfeg qidtoA Qut to him in her witli all the strength she could summon to her aid ; but the only answer that greeted her was a thill faiuX echo from the distant’ Seak of Catehedecam. What could she otosave him? She knew that H left alone there for long without help lie must perish; and rashing frantically from one end of the little teraace to the other she strove vainly for a means of reaching him. Her nerves were strung, however, to the highest pitch. She seemed possessed of a strength she had never felt before. ~She would reach and save him or die herself in the attempt! With her Alpine-stock for a support she half-scrambled, half\slid down the rocks', some little distance from where her lover Had fallen, and where the descent was not quite so precipitous; tearing her dress and bruising her face and lim,bs, but with tlie strength, energy apd courage that her desperation had endowed her with, she reached the ’ihoßSy bank in safety, and rushed panting to the wounded man. “My dariing—my darling!’,’ she wailqd, as, tearing her kerchief into strips, she quickly bandaged the poor wounded head aria stopped the flow of blood. Then, while he was still unconscious, she gently raised him and moved the arm from its painful position to his side. She then knew that it was broken, and moaned aloud in her agony and despair; for how was he to be got away—away from the horrible mountain, to the civilized world below, where he might have help and succor? A dreadful thought, which she could not suppress, suddenly flashed through her brain. Suppose they could not get away at all —suppose help should never come! She leaped from her kneeling posture by the wounded man, and hastily traversed the little bank On which they were stationed. Itwas but a feW yards tong and a few feet in width. It would be next to impossible to get back again by the way she had come or by any means above, while below, all around them, frowned the deep precipice, with the Red Tarn at the bottom, and the mass of broken rocks that formed the base of Swirrel Edge. ; Even if she could have regained the pathway to go for help, could she leave him while he remained in his then unconscious state? But she would not despair; she woiild not give way to useless grief and idle tears. She believed that God would help hep in this her sore distress* and kneeling down at the foot of a rock, she pouted forth a prayer full of earnestness arid yearning faith. If she had haa but a little brandy, or even a draught of cold water to wet those C parched lips witk and to bring him to consciousness; but she had nothing, hothing! Suddenly a thought seemed to strike her, and bending quickly over her lover’s outstretched tody she gently loosened his com. and felt m his breast pocket. A memoranduin-book, and what was this her fingers seized so eagerly, While a cty of joy burst from her lips? It was a small flask fashioned so as to fit comfortably in the pocket .without fear of breakage. Unscrewing the lid, she tested the {contents. It was full of brandy; and hastily emptying some into the cup that was attached, she held it to his lips, and poured the reviving fluid down his dry parched throat. Long and patiently did she await the result. At last he moved slightly, while a faint moail escaped his lips; then opening his eyes, he looked steadfastly up at Dora’s pale wan face. “ Where am I?—what is the matter?” at length he moaned feebly, looking wild-, ly round. , With a great sigh of relief and thankfulness Dora tenderly held him to lifer breast apd told him all.

Tlie sun was already sinking <wyr the western hills, and the strange silence all around oppressed but did not frighten her. She had nerved herself to endure the worst that might befall her, and was now prepared for anything—even death Itself. At length the crescent moon, rose behind a distant ridge, and the stars one by one lit up tha dark blue canopy above. "On Helvellyn!” he repeated, hardly creditinghis senses. Then, with a sharp cry of grief, “And it is my fault—all my fault. You ,my poor Dora, here, at night; on this cold, damp mountain. Qh, Lean never forgive myself; • R V M®* rible!” ■' ; .’ i , “O Harry, do not think of mb. Think only whnt would have happened If Beorild not have reached you, J,et up ralto> thank God that I came m time. _ , , “ My preserver!” he tried fondly • “my, truest, dearest love!” ‘ He was very weak, and’ his arm pained • him considerably; but ha bore it Very patiently : and submitted with a grateful lieart while the girl Improvised a splint made from a portion of her Alpine-Stock, hastily broken off for the occasion. Exhausted with speaking, he fell into a quiet sleep, with Dora’s hand clasped lovingly in his, and her face watching tenderly be- . side him. She hud known,neither hunger nor fatigue, though She httd tasted barely anything since morning. l Through the tedious hours of the night she kept per sacred vigil, until at length morning dawned upon the great world below, and the sun rose magnificent over the mountains. Dora was on the alert. She knew that her father and Mother Would not leave a stone unturned ,to discover what had befallen them, and she felt.surq that they would first thoroughly explore the path they had taken the day before. She resolved, therefore, to be constantly on the watch, for she could see easily, from the edge, of the bank, any one who, happened to be crossing the terrace above. Harry was still lying weak and stiff! But assistance was happily at hand and voices cbuld be distinctly heard, proceedingfrom overhead; and suddenly figures were descried moving on toward the edge of the precipice! Yes!—-Dora could now distinguish them. Gerald, her father, and some men carrying tools and ropes. * ‘ Gerald! fatlier! help! We are here!” she cried, with all her strength, dreading lest they should neither see nor hear her. “ Mr. Standish is here, dreadfully hurt. He cannot move.” Adjuring her to take courage, they immediately proceeded to devise plans for relief. A rude car was fashioned by the men out of some boards and let down the side of the rock by mearis of ropes. Dora did not need to be instrticted what she had to do; but with the bravery and strength that had sustained her throughout the whole of that dreadful ordeal, assisted Harry on the rude craft —where he could lie at length—and bound him safely to it with pieces of strong, cord that were thrown down to her. Up, up it went. How anxiously she watched the ascent. It was lowered again empty. She gave a sigh; of relief; and hastily binding herself ,to the car, was soon hoisted into mid-air, and a loud, and prolonged shout of joy burst frorii every lip as site safely , Reached the top of the precipice.. • “ to her outstretched arms, and weeping glad tears bf joy and thankfulness upon his breast. She then quickly told him all that had occurred, it Was hpcessfiry Lhfvt the’ wofinded maushould be-got aww a« soon, as possible. Indeed, this. Was difflciitt task, sos he Was too weak towalk; but the rescuers were brav# and. ( fesoliite, and converting the car into «.-species of stretcher, they carried,him as carefully possible down the steep and rugged descent. “We have passed a dreadful night,” said Gerald to ids sister, as they descended; “ almost as bad as yours. Yesterday, after leaving you, Miss Lewis and I maae our way steadily to the summit, and reached it early in tlje afternoon. We must have waited thferfe* two or three hours, but you never came ;'and at last we concluded you had tired yourselves, and had gone back to, the inn. Yle went down again by tlie way we had cofile, only to find on reaching Wythburn that you had not been seen or heard of. It Was then nearly dusk, and when it became quite dark,, we were obliged to return alone, for it was impossible at that time to seek you in the mountain. This morning my father and I started with U garig of helpers before dfiybreak, ami commenced our search jnthe early dawn.” Gerald having then to go forward to help the men with the stretcher, Dora was alone With her father, and in a few short minutes had told him all that had passed on the little terrace before tlie accident—of the young man’s true and sincere affection, and of her own new-born love. Weeks afterward, a young man, with his arm in a sling, was lying on a sofa that had been brought out for him into a warm sunlit garden, filled with the perfume of sweet-smelling flowers and the gentle air that came up from the lake below. A fair-haired girt was seated near him, holding in hers his outstretched hand. Dora,” he was saying, tenderly, as he looked up into her sweet, young face; “ I often think that were it not for tlie pain and misery you had then to suffer, I ought to look back upon my accident as the brightest event of my existence. For did you not save my life, darling, at tlie fearful peril of yriur own; did you not seal our betrothal with a noble self-sacrifice; did you not prove—more than aught else could have done—that your lore, like mine, was dearer than life itself ?”—Chambers' Journal.