The Madisonian. [volume] (Washington City [i.e. Washington, D.C.]) 1837-1845, 1839-11-09


down amain. Come and III show thee SUIT
of Milan armor fit to have figured in the Field
of the Cloth of Gold, or well have bout with
the rapiers, or what you will! There u
good hour yet 10 dinner. Thou'st best be at
the rsriers. / have not tried my weapon
against one so well skilled ss thyself this hall
year. Come, IL lacks an hour OF noon, we
shall have time to breathe ourselves And
off the Lord Deyereux marched, just soon
enough 10 save his betrothed from the immi-
nent danger approving her admiration Of frank
speaking and love Of truth, by an explosion OF
tears, or Of scolding--or, by our Lady, infiict-
| ing upon the cheek OF her lover such slap
from her fair hand, as halfa century later, was
no uncommon act Of grace from good Queen
Besa, to her more favored courtiers.
Poor Helen! from this risk she was happily
saved; and when they met at the banquet the
recusant had nothing worse 10 encounter than
cold monosyllables and averted eyes. The
storm still continued to rage without, and in
spite of his lady loves declaration that she
was III at ease, both Lord Deyereux and Sir
Philip Poynings followed the damsel TO the
large low pleasant chamber, with the rich
gildings of its panneled walls, its bay windows
and carved chimneys, where the young kins-
women. surrounded by their attendants, pur-
sued their several syocations at the tapestry
loom OF the brodery frame.
For the first FIVE minutes n dead silence
reigned in the apartment. Lady Helen was
what an enemy would have called sullen and
friend would have digniied by the name Of
melancholy; and her hand maidens duly fol-
lowed their lady's example. Agnes was the
first to speak whilst Der cousin was now
amusing herself with entangling her gold and
silver threads under the notion Of winding
them, and now filling up rosebud with blue
silk, and pansy with crimson.
/" Hast thou no French roundelay, or Eng
lish madrigal TO sing or to say, my good Lord
Devereux No minstrel tale, or courtly
jest to grace thy lady's bower!"
Say, how Glanced the wooing betwixt
Maxinian de Montmorrenc, and Margue-
rite de Bcthune 7" said Poynings, aiding his
fair mistress in her attempts to bring about
conversation; "when | left the Chateau Of
St. Germaies, Mademoiselle had taken it into
that silly head Of hers that the count wooed
her for her broadlands; and the more he court
ed and hattered the more she disbelieved,
until at last it was moot point whether the
pretty heress would not fling herself, and her
fieis and vineyards, olive-grounds and all into
a nunnery, from mere distrust and suspicion.
What might be the end of that love passage,
Arthur 7"
Why the little weasel improved day by
day in mistrust and jealousy, until, as thou
say'st, twere chance, but she took refuge
in the church from poor Maximillian's luckless
courtship. And so it CHANGED that one fair
summer morning standing beside close plant
ed bower of rose and woodbine, the Cheva-
lier d Harcourt and Jules de Monttremer be-
gan to banter The count on his misdoubtng
mistress. IT'S pity Of her. quoth the che
waller, for of surely she's the iairest lady in
France Nay replied Macmillan, Hor-
teuse du Plessis hath brighter eyes and
Adine de Beaulie sweeter smile; Leocadie
de Blondeville hath n finer shape, and for
hand and foot, the young countess'-what
name had followed none can tell--ior the fair
Marguerite darted from the arbor, and Mont
morrency, who had known all the while that
she was listening, caught her in his arms
ay.even as | shall catch another listener, and
said Oh fairest, sweetest. Dearest how
may tell what he said, when am thinking
of none save thee! OF nought save that en-
tire and perfect love which beongeth not to
thy fathers broadlands, nor even to thy sur
passing beauty, but to thine own most dear
and precious selr-and catching her in his
aras, his lip touched-did it touch her
snowy BROW
No, there was no traitor, no treachery,"
continued he, answering the half murmured
question which stole forth amidst her bushes
and smiles. :" | was vending disconsolately
among the beechen trees within hearing of my
lady love, when Agnes's desire prompted me
into counter trial of sauciness. But am
pardoned Full surely am pardoned, and if
even again thou shoudst mistrust my love or
thine own beauty, thou hast but to take nap
in the warder's chair.