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Feb. 25,—13—1 in
nw -- W #
JW&cUUhcous.
THE LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE?
A BALLAD —BY BOZ.
The captain ia walking his quarter-deck,
With a troubled brow and bended neck;
One eycia down through the hatchway cast,
The other turns up to the truck on the mast;
Yet nene of the crew may venture to hint,
“Our skipper hath gotten a sinister squint !’’
The captain again the letter hath read
Which the bum-boat woman brought out to Spithead—
Still, since the good ship sailed away,
He reads that letter three times a-day;
Yet the writing is broad and fairto see
As a skipper may read in Ins degree,
And the seal is as black, and as broad, and as flat,
As his own cockade on his own cock’d hat •
He reads, and he says, as he walks to and fro—
“ Curse the old woman —she bothers me so!”
He pauses now, for the topmen hail—
“On the larboard quarter a sail! a sail!”
That grim old captain he turns him quick,
And bawls through his trumpet for Hairy-faced Dick.
“ The breeze is blowing—huzza ! huzza !
The breeze is blowing—away! away!
The breeze is blowing—a race ! a race !
The breeze is blowing—we near the chase !
Blood will flow, and bullets will flj -
Oh where will be then young Hamilton Tighe ?”
—“ On the foeman’s deck, where a man should be,
With his sword in his hand, and his foe at his knee ;
Coxswain, or boatswain, or reefer may try,
Buttlie first man on board will be Hamilton Tighe !”
* * * * * * *
Hairy-faced Dick hath a swarthy hue.
Between a gingerbread nut and a Jew,
And his pigtail is long, and bushy, and thick.
Like a pump-handle stuck on the end of a stick.
Hairy-faced Dick understands his trade;
He stands by the breach of a long carronade,
The linstock glows in his bony hand,
Waiting that grim old skipper's command.
“ The bullets arc flying—huzza! huzza!
The bullets are flying—away! away!”
The brawny boarders mount by the chains,
And are over their buckles in blood and brains:
On the foeman's deck, where a man should be,
Young Hamilton Tighe
Waves his cutlass high,
And Capitainc Crapaud bends low at his knee.
Hairy-faced Dick, linstock in hand,
Is waiting that giim-looking skipper’s command :
A wink comes sly
From that sinister eye —
Hairy-faced Dick at once lets fly,
And knocks off the head of young Hamilton Tighe !
*******
There’s a lady sits lonely in bower and hall,
Her pages and handmaidens come athercall:
i “Now haste ye, my handmaidens, haste and see
How he sits there and glow’rs with his head on his knee! ’
The maidens smile, and her thoughts to destroy,
They bring her a little pale mealy-faced boy ;
And the mealy-faced boy says, “ Mother dear,
Now Hamilton’s dead, I’ve ten thousand a year !”
The lady has don-n’d her mantle and hood,
She is bound for shrift at St. Mary’s Rood :
“ Oh ! the taper shall burn, and the bell shall toll,
I And the mass shall be said for my step-son’s soul,
And the tablet fair shall be hung up on high,
Orate pro anima Hamilton. Tighe!"
Her coach and four
Draws up to tire door,
With her goom, and her footman, and half a score moro;
The lady steps into her coach alone,
And they hear her sigh, and they hear her groan ;
They close the door, and they turn the pin,
But there's one rides with her who never slept in !
And all the way there, and all the way back,
The harness strains, and the coach-springs crack,
The horses snort, and plunge, and kick,
Till the coachman thinks he is driving Old-Nick;
And the grooms and the footmen wonder and say,
“ What makes the old coach so heavy to-day ?”
But the mealy-faced boy peeps in, and secs
A man sitting there with his head on his knees.
’Tis ever the same, in hall or in bower,
Wherever the place, whatever the hour,
That lady mutters and talks to the air,
And her eye is fixed on an empty chair;
But the mealy-faccd boy still whispers with dread,
“ She talks to a man with never a head !
*******
There’s an old yellow admiral living at Bath,
As gray as a badger, as thin as a lath;
And his very queer eyes have such ver}' queer leers,
They seem to be trying to peep at his ears.
That old yellow admiral goes to the rooms,
And he plays k >-g whist, but he frets and fumes,
For all his knaves stand upside down,
And the Jack of Clubs does nothing but frown ;
And the kings, and the aecs, and all the best trumps,
Get into the hands of the other old frumps:
While, close to his partner, a man he sees
Counting the tricks with his head on his knees.
In Ratcliffe highway there’s an old marine store,
And a great black doll hangs cut at the door;
There are rusty locks, and dusty bags,
And musty phials, and fusty rags.
And a lusty old woman, call’d Thirsty Nan,
And her crusty old husband’s a hairy-faced man !
That hairy-faced man is sallow and wan,
! And his great thick pigtail is withered and gone ;
I And he cries, “Take away that lubberly chap
j That sits there and grins with his head on his lap !
And the neighbors say, as they see him look sick,
“ What ti rum old covey is Hairy-faced Dick !”
That admiral, lady, and hairy-faced man.
May say what they please, and do what they can ;
But one thing scents remarkably deax-j*
They may die to-morrow, or
But wherever they live, or whenflHEKilic,
They’ll never get quit of young
From Blackwood's Magazine for February.
The Page.
A Story of Ihe i-leign of Cliurles IX.
{Concluded.)
The Kit g, in the mean time, daily becoming
more gloomy and more irritable through cor
poreal suffering, for his ua'uraily weak habit
of body had been increased by vexation nt tae
failure of his military schemes, resorted evert
day tohii favorite pastime of hunting, accom
panied by a small train, of which Go.-z.’tgu and
| Caussade always formed a part. Ihe latter
I seemed obviously advancing in his go->d gta-
I ccs, while his mast, r was as visibly ducliui.’g,
! for the attentions which the Duke openly paid
i to his sister could not escape his notice, while
I they plainly were in the highest degree dis
j tasteful to him ; the more so that they app ai
led on her part to be received with approbation,
j itttd that at ibc ver s .' moment when be bet !'»■
“where powers are assumed which have not been delegated, a nullification of the act is the rightful remedy.’ Jejfeison.
ther was toiling to raise her to a throne, she
was treating the individual whom he had se
lected only with sarcasm and contempt. With
his usual power of controlling Ins emotions,
however, he disguised his irritation ; determin
ed, nevertheless, to avail himself of the first op
portunity to remove out of his way the impe
diment which opposed itself to his wishes.
Chal ies had on one occasion been separated
from his train in pursuit of a stag, and had
been extricated by the arrival and presence of
mind of Caussade, who, however, had only
succeeded in preserving the King’s life, at the
price of a severe wound, which was followed
by a fainting fit occasioned by loss of blood.
The King sprung from his horse, and hurried,
w ithout waiting for the arrival of his train,
who were still at some distance, to restore the
wounded page to his senses, by tearing open
his vest io give him air. The first object on
which his eye rested, as the Duke Gonzaga
came up, was the white band with the ruby
ornament resting on C«ussade’s breast. He
recognised it at a glance. His next rested on
the Duke, who, although he did not recog use
the ornament,seemed coufounde I to see a white
silk band so adorned on his page’s breast. But
remarking the’penetrating eye of the King di
rected upon him, he thought it most prudent to
preten I that he had seen nothing; so he hur
ried to a neighboring spring in search of wa
ter, while the King, with sudden resolve, plac
ed the riband within his own breast. Caus
sade had in the meantime recovered his senses,
and ignorant of the loss of his treasure, and
delighted at having been the means of preserv
ing the King’s hie, abandoned himself to a
feeling of youthful triumph. He seemed de
termined nut to quit the King’s side. The lat
ter, though his brow was clouded, seemed not
displeased by his zeal. He gave his train a
signal to ride on before, while he followed with
Caussade at a little distance.
“Caussade,” said he, turning suddenly, tyid
directing a piercing glance towards the con
founded page, “you have betrayed a secret —
but (and thank the saints for it) as I hope, to
me alone !—for thus lam Enabled to requite
life for life. Caussade, how comes my sister’s
sash in your hands?”
Caussade stood for an instant, as if struck
by lightning. “Your sister, sire?” said he at
last mechanically.
“ How comes it in your hands ?” repeated
the King, still more sternly. “I will promise
to conceal what you tell me; but the honor of
my house demands inquiry, and I will know \
how that ornament comes to be on your bo
som.”
“Sire,” said Caussade, who had now recov
ered his presence of mind, “I know not the
owner. A ruby m the clasp had broken loose.
The Duke desired me to have it quietly re
placed—perhaps the Princess may have di
rected i.im.”
“The Princess!-—direct him! Ah! I see
you would conceal some intrigue with some
of her attendants. No matter, I will not be
tray the falsehood. Restore that riband to
him who intrusted it to you. And be silent
with regard to this conversation ifyou vane
your life. ’’
The King rode forwards. Caussade’s hand,
some lip curled into a sneer. “Yes, sire,” he
whispered to himself, “I might have told you
such a tale of myself; but you would not have
bel.eved it. Well. The Duke must get out
oflhe scrape now as he can. At all events,
his head is not so likely to pay for it as that of
a poor page. And I owe him agr dge, since
he has taken it upon himself for some time
past to direct his glances where they are little
wished for.”
Caussade was not the man to be daunted by
a hat had taken place ; he only followed the
King a little more slowly, and when his master
ntered his own apartments late in the evening,
;he page seemed almost to have forgotten w hai
had happened. Not so Gonzaga himself. —
The King had this evening treated him with
more than usual coldness. A perpetual cloud
seemed to lower upon his brow, and he was
frequently lost in gloomy reveries. The Duke
could not. but ascribe this increased irritability
to the adventure of the morning. And setting
down all to the eredit ofthe unlucky page, he
determined to bring matters to a crisis with
him at once.
“It is time, Seigneur Caussade de St. Mc
gret,” said he, as soon as they were alone,
“that I should tell you plainly what I have
hitherto avoided doing. Your glances have
long ago betrayed to me too much. But even
these, it seems, will no longer content you.
An adventurer, who is a riddle even to his pat
ron, and yet is tolerated by him, should at least
beware how be ventures to approach, even
vith his eyes, an element to which, notwith
standing his amphibious nature, he can scarce
ly hope to raise himself. What the King
drew from your breast this morning might be
. to me a matter of indifference, were it not pro
bable that the monarch holds me answ ;rable
for the audacity of my servants, —and had I
not observed too the white color of the riband,
which looked but too like a pledge of love. I
advise you to make me your confidiwit at once.
Have the goodness, Seigneur Caussade, once
more to allow me to look at the jewel.”
Shame and displeasure appeared to contend
with each other in Caussade’s features, but he
did his best to affect extreme surprise and con
sternation. “ How,” said he, “ what say you ?
—in the King’s hands ? 1 have indeed missed
it with pain. Well, if he interrogates me I
must answ-r him as 1 may.”
‘•Him— but not me?” cried Gonzaga, with
anger.
“ Towards you I am candid, my Lord Duke.
I have told you a vow restrains me.”
“ If it bind you one moment longer, you re
main no more in my service. Stay—whither
so fast.”
“To take my leave, since such is your Grace's
pleasure. Yet permit me to remark, you might
have chosen a better time for'my dismissal.”
“That sounds like a threat.—-Begone.—
Quit the castle!”
Suddenly a dark glow shot into Caussade’s
cheek, which was as quickly exchanged for a
deadly paleness. He made a movement as it
to lav hand on his sword; but soon calm ng
himself, he darted a look of indignation on the
Duke, bowed with an air of mock reverence,
and retreated in silence. .
The next morning the King paid an early
visit to his sister. He appeared more open
and cheerful than for some time past; but his
good humor seemed to excite the very opp< -
site feeling in the Fiincess. The subject of
her royal suitor was brought upon the carpet,
and Renee could not resist indulging in the us
ual remarks with which she never failed to
treat the matter. Hush! hush!” said Charles
t last, with earnestness. “Be on your guard,
1 Renee. The union is fixed. I have already
I pledged myself j’ r your consent.”
■ “ Let him come, I will see him first, ano’
| then—•limn brings come •
GEORGIA, !?HVOjSWAY, JUftE 27, 2 537.
The brow of the King became visibly cluod
ed. “Renee,” said he, “show me the sash,
with the gold and ruby ornaments, which I pre
sented to you. I should like again to examine
the workmanship.”
Renee blushed crimson and rrmainad stand
ing before him. “I will not deceive you,
brother,” said she at last, —“ I have it not. I
gave it sometime since to the Princess of No
vers. Since her good fortune, a gift of value
would have been unsuited to her. A trifle
from me best suits with her elevated fortu>.es.
She throws vour sister now into shade,” she
continued jestingly, scarcely knowing whether
the observation proceeded from a slight, feeling
of envy, or the wish to lead the King’s atten
tion to another subject; “ who knows but she
may soon witness kings at her feel? Even
before her acccession of riches and dignity'
she had refused the hand ofthe Duke Gon
zaga.”
“ In truth.” said the King, with a bitter smile
“she seems fortunate in finding a friend dis
posed to take at. second hand what she had re
jected.” And he retired precipitately, as he
always did when he wished to conceal his
rising passion, or had not matured his resolu
tions in regard to its object.
The Princess was at first rejoiced that she
had escaped so easily out of this difficulty.
But when Caussade suddenly disappeared from
court. Whan neither Gonzaga nor any one
else knew what had become of him—when the
only intelligence which she could gather was
that he had been dismissed from his master’s
service, a trouble arose in her bosom which
every day tended to increase. Si co her brief
interview with Caussade she had concealed
from her friend what had taken place ; and the
sudden change Hi Diana’s fortunes had still
further increased the temporary separation of
the friends ; but now in this hour of distress
sheagain resolved to resort to her friendly j
sympathy and to disclose all, when her reso
lution was shaken by the sudden appearance
of Caussade in the train of the King, and in the
attire of a young courtier.
The King had perceived that he no longer
appeared i.i the service of the Duke, and miss
ing him at the hunt, w here lus services had be
come ia a manner indispensable to him, his
suspicion and displeasure against the Duke
were increased by his misanpearaiice. It ap
peared probable that the Duke had dismissed
him as a penance for his indiscretion, or from
fear of discovery. After some days ho asked
the Duke, with whom since the conversation
with his sister he had had little *:oinmuiiica
tiou (the more so as he suspected the introduc
tion of Diana’s name on that occasion to have
been a mere pretext,) what had become of the
page.
“I know not,” said the Duke, with appa
rent unconcern, “ wln re the fellow has gone to.
I disliked his mysterious bearing, and dismiss
ed him.”
It seemed as if every trifle increased the
suspicious of the King. Even in the open
avowal of the Duke he th.iughi he perceived
the secret cousciousueea of guilt. lie was si
lent, but that same evening he gave instructions
to a confidant, and next morning Caussade ap
peared tn the antechamber of the King. He
was soon summoned to the Royal presence.
“ Caussade,” said the King, “ Gonzaga has
dismissed you from his service. For what
reason ?”
“ Probably,” answered the page, boldly, “ be
cause I had not conducted myself therein with
sufficient discretion.”
“ Can mine r. quite you for the loss?”
“It would indeed,” exclaimed Caussade,
with delighted surprise; but recovering Him
self, he asked, “ I n what service would my gra
cious master employ mo?”
“Wear my colors only,” said the King;
“ Vou shall no longer have to play the part oi
a page.. You shall be one of my hunting train.
You have a sure and steady hand. lull me—
Do you hate the Duke?”
“ I love him not, sire !” answered Caussade,
after a short silence.
“ I hate him,” exclaimed the King, gloomi
iy. “ Caussade, do thou likewise. I expect
from you fidelity and devotion. If you know
ot any wrong done to me, it is your part to
avenge it.”
“ Your wrongs shall be mine,” exclaimed
Caussade.
The King looked at him sharply. “ Think
well what you say or do, Caussade, it you
would gain or keep my favor. 1 am sickly,
irritable. A word may excite me to—more
than words. There, take this weapon,” con
tinued he, with a strange snide, pushing across
to Caussade a splendidly ornamented dagger
which lay on the table, such as was then gene
rally worn at the girdle; “that I may not be
tempted in a moment of passion to raise it
against you, since it lies so conveniently‘be
fore me. Forget not this lesson. Provoke
not Kings. Take it, and use it against your
enemy, and mine, when need is.”
Caussade turned pale as he took the dagger;
“and when will need be ?” said he, in a hurried
and faltering voice.
“ When he forgets once more that Charles
has no mercy lor him. were he ten times a
Duke, who seeks to mislead his sister, who
forgets the respect du? to him, and opposes Ins
will. And now go!”
Caussade went; but scarcely had he reach
ed the - chamber assigned to him, when h? cast
tin-dagger from him with a shudder. “No,
Charles!” said he to himself, “not to this did
I eng.ige myself-—not to pfoy the assassin’s
pari am I here. True I dislike this imperious
Gonzaga; I will revenge myseil upon him;
but it shall be by repaying evil with good.
Now he is safe since Ins life is in my liai.d
Pei haps, too, it was I that brought him into
this danger. Well, what better does he de
serve? Vv hv will he continue to court the fa
vor of her who has eyes only I°*’ nic, and play
the ciiignifico as he does in her presence I
No, pride must have a tall.”
The time for decision soon arrived. Two
days afterwards he was again hu; ting in the
train ofthe King, and as he assisted th- mon
arch to mount, Charles whispered in his ear
—“ Have you your new weapon by you, Caus
sade ?”
Caussade nodded.
“Then to-day let the game fid! ; I will give
vou opportunities io the course o' the day for
executing the deed unobserved.
The King kept his word. In the course ol
the day lie gave the Duke, end the page seve
ral commissions, so as to separate them from
the rest ofthe train ; and in which Caussade
[easily discerned his intention, that hu should
! attack the Duke i i the dark and unfrequented
( part of the wood. He saw in the agitated
[ features ofthe King an inquiri g, restless, and
; discontented look when lh“ Buko, after exe-
I euting the commission, again appeared safe
i li; d semtl. The day orc ooh)
' the King, darting a look of vengeance on Caus
sade, gave the signal for return.
He sent for Caussade instantly into his ca.
binet. A sort of bold defiance sat upon the
features ofthe youth as he entered; but the
I gloomy and lowering indignation which sat
upon the brow of the King seemed gradually
I to banish his confidence, and for the first time
| perhaps in his life he felt his own insiguifi-
I cance in the presence of superior power.
’ “ Boy !” thundered Charles in his ear, “You
I have made a fool of me. And jet you dare
I return to a house which you ought never to
j have entered alive till another had, through
j your means, been brought hither a corse? Did
I fear unman your mind, —for of opportunities
! you had enough?”
| “Sire,” said Caussade, calming himself and
Hooking up with more confidence, “’twas on
yout account I paused. Repentance never
I comes too late—permit me”
“Silence!” interrupted Charles. “The
King knows not the word repentance. Bethink
thee of tiie words with which I delivered that
dagger to you. Think of them, and provoke
me not. The dagger is destined for him—or
you. There is no third course. No—-go and
choose: to-morrow we hunt again ; till then
you can deliberate.”
Caussade retired. A feeling of despair to
which his former life had been entirely a stran
ger, seemed to overmaster him. “A murder
er or murdered—or”—.he did not express the
thought, but shook hia head. “Audyet alhird
course there must be,” said he with determin
ation. after an internal contest. *“ Fool that I
am, I have deserved degradation ; I will bear
it him; my childish dislike to him must disap
pear before tiie prospect of his danger.”
He hurried ,o the window. It was still
early ; lights Were burrniug in all the cham
bers. He hastened to the chamber of the
Duke, whom he fortunately found in the palace
—he pushed past the page, who seemed to hes
itate about announcing him, and entered the
apartment unannounced.
The Duke sprang up in displeasure, and as
he saw Caussade draw ent a naked dagger,
clapped his h md upon his sword ; but ere he
could draw it, or even utter a word, tile latter,
casting the dagger from him, had dropped upon
his knee-
“ What is the matter!” cried the Duke, in
surprise.
“See,” exclaimed Caussade, with an agi
tated voice, pointing to the dagger, “there lies
my sha -e. That weapon the King forced in
to my hands to murder you—the secret suitor
of his sister, as he and many believe. I can
not, I will not be a murderer. But both our
lives are at stake, we must flee, and that on
the instant.”
“Flee!” replied the Duke, whose momen
tary agitation hud soon given way to an ap
pear..nee of cold composure, “ Gonzaga never
flees.”
“So then,” replied the youth, almost with a
sneer, “you would willingly sacrifice exist
ence; tor, doubt not, hundreds, ot murderers
are at the King’s command, though in this case
by good luck he has mistaken his man. I have
perhaps urn hi,.kingly been the mcansofdraw
mg suspicion on you—but I have no time now
to accuse myself; my purpose is to save you;
weigh well what you do; you have time to
consider,till to-morrow’s hunt.*’
Caussade now communicated to him the
substance of his conversations with the King—
the reports which prevailed at court with re
gaid to his attentions to the Princess—his uwn
suspicions, and all such with a degree of open
ness, that the Duke almost felt himself recon
ciled to the young adventurer.
He stood a moment in thought, then said,
“lift up the dagger Caussade, and let me look
at it. In truth a sharp and trusty weapon—
which would glide through clothes and flesh
into the heart like wax. Now retire, Gonzaga [
will not forget this moment. Cotne to me so f
c-retly to-morrow. Mean time I lot/Z consider I
ot your plan. Take the dagger with you. Let
it be to you from this momenta token of honor, I
and not of shame.”
Caussade retired in strong agitation. The
Duke looked after him with an apparent calm
ness ; but no sooner had he disappeared, and
he began to weigh in its tull extent the danger
which he had escaped—but. as it appeared for
a moment only, than the weakness of nature
began to assert its power even over the resolu
tion ofhis mind, lie seemed to feel by anti
cipation the cold steel within his heart; le
could see at the time no way of escape from
the wrath ofthe young King, who, when lous
ed to vengeance, was never known to listen to
any other voice than that ot passion. Wherever |
he turned his eye, a dagger’s point seemed to
threaten him. The thought which next to his
own peril haunted him was that of his mother
and of her grief. His mother! with the re
collection of'hera glimmering of hope revived,
for he remembered how often in times ot peril
and difficulty her wise counsels had averted
evil tri m her house. Without, further pt use,
with an agitated and hopeful haste, as if he had
been flying from the pursuing steel, he dashed
down the secret stair into her chamber.
The Duchess was not alone. She was ac
companied bv the Duchess of’Nevers, who had
latterly become an almost daily visitor, accus
tomed to find tn the instrttciive and clear-mm
ded conversation of the Duchess a source oi
amusement and interest which she met with
no where else. Diana, as she saw the Duke
rush in in such agitation, withdrew into the
recess of a window,’not to interrupt a convcr- !
sation which she foresaw was one requiring
; the presence of no w itnesses. Gonzaga in his
I present state o£ excitement scarcely noticed
i her. Ina whisper he communicated to his
mother the danger of his position, and entreat- ,
ed her advice.
“Advice!” she repeated with a shudder; |
“ where the King is itiflatred to hatred ! But '
j stay,” said she, interrupting herself, as if a
I sudden thought crossed her brain. Then af
i ter a pause, she contim ed. “ I know but of
1 one plan. You must marry—and to-night.
[ The question is where to find a bride.”
! Iler son started at her in confusion. The
plausibility of this plan as a means of escape
I was as evident to him as its execution appear
icd impracticable. In the same moment, how.
I ever, he saw his mother, with her usual quick- 1
'. ivssof decision, at the feet of the Princess.
“ Bn our benefactor —save me—save my son!”
i Diana, who had overheard no part ofthe
i whisuered comuiui.ication, and was wholly at
: a loss to know to what to ascribe the agitated
: condition of th.e Duke, scarcely possessed corn,
i posuro enough to raise the Duchess from the
> ground, who, with all the eloquence of a mo
< ther. briefly put her in possession of the peril
in which her son stood.
While she did so, the Duke had, with evi
dent uneasiness, attempted to interrupt the nar
raiive. A dark flush of shame, the herald of a
f loliug even more painful than the apprehen-
I sion es death, crimsoned his cheek, while hia
piercing glance rested with an expression of
offended pi ide upon the Princess, whose pale
ness by degrees was giving place to a blush
not less intense than the Duke’s. “Mother,”
he exclaimed, “ what are you doing? This
hand she has already”
“ Rejected,” added Diana, hastily, “ rejected
while she was a dowerless and friendless mai
den -—dedicated by her relations to a convent
ual life—because she prized it too higtily to
think of obscuring the lusture of a life to which
she would rather have imparted some aclditio al
rays. When it might have been inclined to
think and act otherwise, it was no longer plac
ed within her power. Ifhe, in truth, despises
not this hand, 1 lay it with pleasure in his,
dear mother.” And so saying, she extended
it towards the Duke.
“ From compassion !” said the. Duke, hesi-
i tating, and yet overpowered.
“Let not our union be concluded in wrath,
Gonzaga,” she replied. “My compassion, as
you term it, may well be placed against the
looks of dislike and anger with which, since
that hour, you have met every look of mine.
Even then'l did not so interpret them: give
me, in turn, credit for something better than
compassion. To preserve your life, I would
indeed, endure death ; but how much more
gladly would I live, to save it and to render ii
happy!”
“Do I dream?” said the Duke, sinking at
h«.T feet. “Is my hour of darkest peril to be
changed at once into the happiest of my file?
Oh, Diana, never one instant did I cease to love
you! My very Uneasiness, ray anger, my
looks of dislike, what were they all but. i >ve?”
The mother weeping tears of joy, lain I: ir
hands together,’ and hastily despatch: in s
senger to summon a priest, and to c n n:
cate to the Princess Renee that her t' i
would that night remain with her.. The you
pair, remained alone, exchangi g, in a lengih
ened confidence, ail the hopes, fears, and sus
picious which, during their long estr: gemer t.
had crossed and agitated their minds.
“ Now y then,” said Gonzaga, at its close,
“my faithin you is henceforth mialterubi !
Do what you will, I will believe in the heart;
you have bestowed upon me. Let circumstan
ces be what they may, nothing shall hereafter
shake my confidence. We are human beings
liable to mistake; but I feci that, from this
hour, my belief in your fidelity and affection is
impregnable. If such be your feeling so. j
we shall, indeed, be an enviable pair.”
She extended her hand to him solem Iy. 1
“ I at le .st am so. for I trust in you.”
In these confiding communicutioiis the night i
flew by like a moment. The morning hud
scarcely dawned, when the Duchess-moth r
reappeared with the priest, and in a few min
utes they were secretly u lited—a circurnsia. ce
at this time, and in this Court, of no Uufrequent
occurrence.
No sooner had the hour of the King’s levee
arrived than the Duke entered the presence,
dressed more sumptuously than usual; and,
kneeling before diaries, requested his sanction
and approbation to his marriage with the Priii- I
cess Diana of Nevers, which hud already been |
secretly concluded some time befo-.e. He i
took care, of course, to suppress the precise I
period of its celebration.
Charles listened to him with evident, and yet
on the whole, pleasing surprise. A new light
seemed to have broke upon him. With a sud
den return of good-humor and ki dness, he
wished the Duke joy. His dis, leasure van- I
ished at once, and hu acceded in all points to j
Gonzaga’s wishes with regard to the solemni- I
tv. He lost no time in paying a visit to his j
sister, who had already been informed (and !
somewhat more accurately) of the whole cir- j
cumstnnces by her friend; but, o his wonder, I
though her features, i.i answer to the triumph
ant glance of her brother, seemed to indicate !
surprise, he could perceive no traces of vexa- j
tion or disappointment. He began to believe t
that the whole hud after al), been a mistake, i
He repented—he was ashamed ofthe rashness j
with which he had sought the life of the Duke .
under this erroneous impression. H; took the
first opportunity of calling Caussade aside, anti
whispering to him, —
“ Give me back the dagger. I will give
you another jewel instead ; or if you will keep !
it. keep it carefully, and to yourself.”
“Allow mo to retain it as a memento mori,
and a token of royal favor,” said the unabash
ed youth. And Charles, in this moment of re
turning cheerful: ess.wasgood humored enough
to overlook the sarcastic boldness of the an
swer.
The series of festivities which followed the
nuptials of Gonzaga with the Princess of Ne
vers was like the last flicker of an expiring
torch—a brilliant flash before extinction ; for
with the increasing illness of the young Ki g \
the gaiety of the Court soon after disappeared. ‘
Banquets and masked balls es more than usual
splendor, even at that splendid Court, announc
ed on this occasion the satisfaction ofthe fxiug;
while the envy and dislike of many disappoint- -
ed suitors was visible in tholooks and obser
vations with which the newly-married pair i
were received.
At the most splendid of these masked balls. | 1
Caussade, now high in favor at once with the j i
Duke and the King, was present. Well tic- I I
quaiuted with the Court, he had found little dis
Acuity, while disguised himself, to detect most )
ofthe other maskers. His object was to pro- |
cure, if possible, a short ii terview with '.he ;
Princess, for in the ball-room aloe he feit that, ,
if possible at all, it was to be obtained; bn’ I ,
Renee, whether from fear that Caussade. by
some indiscretion, would bring destruction
upon both, or from a resolution new to resign
[ hcrselfto her fate, excused herself, on pretex.
I of sudden illness, at the commencement of tin
[ festival, and retired. It was only after Caus
! sade had sought her through the crowd, with
increasing impatience, that he had learned her
absence; he gnashed his teeth with vexation.
All at once a sudden resolution seemed to sug
gest itselfto him. Making his way up to the
young Duchess of Gonzaga, he requested to
bo allowed to speak to her for an instant in
private. He drew her into a retired corner of
the room, took off’his mask, and entered, with
all the eloquence of love, on the subject of his
I distress. What arguments he employed—
what disclosures he made during this animated
conversation, did not appear; but the result
was, that even the prudent and cautious Diana
seemed to be so moved by his tale, and by his |
representation ol the state of the Princess s
I mind, that she agreed to give bun a secret audi
[ euce next day in her apartment.
The cheerful sound ofthe horns once more
announced a hunting party, an amusement
which the increasing weakness ofthe King
had for some time prevented. Renee was
awakened by the entrance of her friend, who,
throwing her arms round her, exclaimed—“ Bo
quick, slumbcrcr! do you not hear the bugles?
Vol. V—l\io. 7.
Rise, and let us once more see them dcpi.ri,
from the balcony. I, you know, must hrve
eyes only for Dmi Lewis now. Nay, I will
allow you to look on him too, provided only
vou spare a glance from him now and thei to
the fair Caussade.”
“ I comprehend you not,Diana,” replied the
Princess gazing on her with surprise. “ But
be it so. To please you I will go, though (
have bid adieu to pleasure.” But notwith
standing the apparent resignation of her an
swer, her hand trembled so that she could
scarcely adjust her dress.
“ When we were last seated here,” said Di
ana, as they reached the balcony, “ how dif
fi rent weie then our views. You, reconciled
to the unavoidable, and armed with courage
to meet it, clung to the dreaming comfort of a
love, which I (with despair in my own heart)
would have denied to you. And yet you found
time, amidst your own anxieties to speak words
of comfort and kindness to me. That, Renee,
I never can foiget. Now, lam cheerful and
hapny—while you however little your fate may.
have really changed since—you have become
melancholy. O..ce I may have thought you
in the right; I might have lent my aid to en
courage you in that feeling. Strange to say,
however, since I became a wife, I am dis
posed to think less rigorously than before on
these topics. But see, look, Princess, the
train are departing. Caussade is looking up.”
“O thoughtless being!” cried Renee, turn
ing pale, and drawing buck.
“ Why this terror?” said the Duchess,’sur
prised at her vehemence.
“ Car you rsk 'hat, Diana, when your lover
■-> i ecrly atoned by bis life for some slight at
i ti' i “s. oerhaps a few ugu .rdsd glances?
. . .or two rights past I ha’-e dreamt that I
v. (. rise up paie anc e.eeding from a"
Y ; ■ . .1. nr Re- to bring
< • !• you : Iso- . doubt
: Z ' ppy
at tin SC ■■■. '.z ‘ ; fit ians,
new that It IS p::H. Ugh ,;\y won t I show
mv gruii ude- -wowil co;.sole you- .c-
i tiveh assist you. Tell me.Jnei .w? arey u
more mciinch thoo be io rex?”
“ VVhv ?’’ D.-ies n<>t the dav 1 r. to
be sacrificed ipprt h nearer and • r . - ——
Wh.it h ve my resistance, my defiance avail
ed ? Has i.ot my brother already pledged my
consent against my will—is not this hated sm
; tor on his wa v ? O. friend, assist me, and I
' will adore you. Yes, I love him still, this fair
Caussade with th sc eyes of spirit and fire.
But I am winched by jealous eyes—my gian
cos can no longer meet his—and what, after
all, are looks? —the longing heart asks for .
w >r Is—one ho ir of happy intercourse for a
life pf privation. No, believe me, ii I despair
of my di stiny, it is from no want of love. Let
this whom they force upon me,
come, 1 will refuse him. And what can my
brother do ? Deprieve me ot life ?”
“Renee —if I am to assist you, be reasona
ble. Piovoke not your brother. Rather avert
his attention from you by submission. Act up
to your rank, your dignity. Submit to the sa
crifice with resolution: then leave to y T our
I frie..d to provide for your happiness with st-
I lence ai d fidelity.”
“Do I undeistand you aright—may I ven
ture to do as my heart would dictate? Shall
I see him ? Speak to him? Where? when?”
Be calm—remember our conditions.—
; When you shall appear before the world as a
: Princess, as the destined and consenting bride
I oflhe English Prince, that day you shall meet
[ Caussade in my apartment.”
i “lam a princess,” said Renee lifting up
[her head proudly. “This day my consent
I shall be given. Diana, your fiendship gives
me courage for all. In your apartment, say
you ? Do< s then Gonzaga know ?”—dropping
! her eyes, and almost terrified.
“Heaven forbid! This secret is not for
him, I know the purity of my own intentions
' and yours ; but of such matters men are no
judges. No one, not even Gonzaga himself,
shiiii learn of me aught regarding you, which
might occasion in his mind a shade of suspi
cion : But I know the hours when his avoca
tions demand his presence in the castle, and
I by means of the stair, which you know so well,
! you can easily pass into my chamber. If the
matter is to be communicated to any one, rather
let it be to the Duchess-mother.”
Renee had during this speech, pressed her
glowing cheek to the Losorn of her friend.
“ Oh ! no—no!” she exclaimed—“ and Caus
sade?”
“ Be at ease ; Gonzaga confides in mt. Ne
ver will I unnecessarily subject his confidence
in me to trial; but here, where the occasion is
unavoidable, where a fneutl’s happiness is at
stake, I must run the risk.
These pages must not batray the secrets
confided only to the seal. of friendship. I hus
far only we know, that more than one inter
view between the Princess and her lover took
place in the apartments of Diana, interviews
which Renee’s consciousness of her own dig
nity would have rendered perfectly innocent,
even if the presence of Diana had not afforded
an additional security. Renee regained her
cheerfulness and bloom, like a flower reviving
in the rays ofthe morning sun, after being
bent to the ground by the heavy showers of
evening. 'Hie‘violence of her feelings was
softened; it is true that an occasional sigh
would escape her when the subject ofthe Eng
lish Prince was me- tinned ; but she proceeded
to select her wardrobe, and to accept tbe con
gratulations of the Court with a pale couate
nance, indeed, but with the composure and dig
nity litt;•(! to her rank. In the Court circles,
where Caussade now invariably appeared in
rh train o 1 ’ he Kin.L r , at the promenades, or at
• na.-s, her eye no longer sought her lover. She
set m< >ll > s e his image in her hetirf to which
a>< ne her looks w> re di.-t-cteL Csnssnde on
ihe co tiaiy, bur- himself with a i ok cf tri
umph. His eve soiiiiht b. I- •“■!>>’.. • cd, if
not h< rsi ls; aHif 1 •<’ Ho a he th '<’ 'no
perceived :hat his g’;.'c ■ v•: w .i j
wouh! i.' ■; ; U !■ -v. ?;.t 100 b . Di.i .
who, as r-x-edv, w . ■.. :o be f.-tr.’.d by
her side.
Th: le W . V -.vi e
ed th se 1 >ks . h I! th
activity of ha’r. d -d cir.y. Th. y were not
slow io li fer a s er. t ; ■■ lersta: ding be. wee i
him and the Duchess. Even before th? ho
ney-moon was over, rt;m< rs began to spread
I about the Court of secret visits paid bv Caus
sade lothe Duchess’s apartment in tneahseneo
of the Duke; these rumors did not indeed
reach the parties chiefly concerned, but hints
were mysteriously given to the Duchcss-mo
ther. which however, she seem" J resolved not
to understand. It was then debated among
the self-called confidential friends of the Duke,
with areat appearance of affectionate Zealand
in reahtv with secret satisfaction. « hether it
was not their duty tom>ke him aware ofth>»
reports which prevailed. At last they did ven-