II.

NEEDLEWORK OF THE DARK AGES.

"Last night I dreamt a dream; behold!
I saw a church was fret with gold,
With arras richly dight:
There saw I altar, pall, and pix,
Chalice, and font, and crucifix,
And tapers burning bright."

W. S. Rose.

Over those memorials of the past which chance and mischance have left
us, time hath drawn a thick curtain, obliterating all soft and gentle
touches, which connected harmoniously the bolder features of the
landscape, and leaving these but as landmarks to intimate what had
been there. We would fain linger on those times, and call up the
gentle spirits of the long departed to describe scenes of quiet but
useful retirement at which we now only dimly guess. We would witness
the hour of recreation in the convent, when the severer duties of the
cloister gave place to the cheerful one of companionship; and the
"pale votary" quitted the lonely cell and the solitary vigil, to
instruct the blooming novice in the art of embroidery, or to ply her
own accustomed and accomplished fingers in its fairy creations. The
younger ones would be ecstatic in their commendations, and eager in
their exertions to rival the fair sempstress; whilst a gratified
though sad smile would brighten her own pale cheek as the lady abbess
laid aside the richly illuminated volume by which her own attention
had been engrossed, and from which she had from time to time read
short and instructive passages aloud, commenting on and enforcing the
principles they inculcated; and holding the work towards the casement,
so that the bright slanting rays of the setting sun which fell through
the richly carved lattice might illumine the varied tints of the
stitchery, she would utter some kind and encouraging words of
admiration and praise.

Perhaps the work was a broidered scarf for some spiritual father, a
testimony of gratitude and esteem from the convent at large; perhaps
it was a tunic or a girdle which some high and wealthy lady had
bespoken for an offering, and which the meek and pious sisterhood were
happy to do for hire, bestowing the proceeds on the necessities of the
convent; or, if those were provided, on charity. Perhaps it was a pair
of sandals, so magnificently wrought as to be destined as a present by
some lofty abbot to the pope himself, like those which Robert, Abbot
of St. Alban's, sent to the Pope Adrian the Fourth; and which alone,
out