The Youth of Jefferson Part 50

"There you are pitying my afflictions--spare me!"

"I do pity you. To see the n.o.ble and joyous Sir Asinus grow melancholy--to see those legs, which erst glided through the minuet and reel, now dangling wearily--to see that handsome visage so drawn down; is there no occasion for pity?"

And Jacques sighed.

"Well, well," said Sir Asinus, "I am glad you came, spite of your unworthy banter, you unfeeling fellow. I wish to send some messages to my friends."

"What are they?"

"First, to Belle-bouche--love and remembrance."

"That is beautiful; and I never knew these words yet fail to touch the heart."

"To all the boys, the fond regards of him who goes from them--a martyr to the attempt to uphold their rights."

"That is affecting too."

"To the little dame who pa.s.sed with you some days ago--Miss Martha Wayles by name--but no; nothing to her."

And Sir Asinus groaned.

"Nothing?" said Jacques.

"No; the memory of my love for her shall never grieve her; let us say no more, Jacques, my friend. I have finished."

"And what do you leave to me?" said Jacques.

"My affection."

"I would prefer that violin."

"No, no, my friend; it will comfort me on my voyage. Now farewell!"

"Shall I see you no more?"

"No more."

"Why?"

"Do I not depart to-day?"

"True, true," said Jacques; "and if you really must go, farewell.

Write to me."

"Let us embrace."

"Willingly."

And Sir Asinus caught his friend in his arms and sniffled.

Jacques, with his head over his friend's shoulder, chuckled.

"Now farewell," said Sir Asinus; "perhaps some day I may return--farewell."

And covering his eyes, he turned away.

Jacques took out his pocket-handkerchief--pressed his friend's hand for the last time, and departed.

He mounted his horse, gathered up the reins, and set forward again toward Shadynook, leaving the disconsolate Sir Asinus to finish his preparations for departure in his beautiful sail-boat the _Rebecca_.

Poor Sir Asinus! He had not the courage to call it the _Martha_: disappointed in love and politics, he no longer clung to either, and thought the best name after all would be the MARTYR.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE MAY FESTIVAL.

If not as splendid as the great ball at the Raleigh, the festival at Shadynook was declared by all to be far more pleasant.

At an early hour in the forenoon bevies of lovely girls and graceful cavaliers began to arrive, and the various parties scattered themselves over the lawn, the garden, through the grove and the forest, with true sylvan freedom and unrestraint.

Shadynook, thanks to the active exertions of Belle-bouche and Philippa, was one bower of roses and other flowers. All the windows were festooned with them--the tables were great pyramids of wreaths; and out upon the lawn the blossoms from the trees showered down upon the animated throng, and made the children laugh--for many little girls were there--and snowing on the cavaliers, made them like heralds of the spring; and lying on the earth, a rosy velvet carpet, almost made the old poetic fiction true, and gave the damsels of the laughing crowd an opportunity to walk "ankle-deep in flowers."

The harpsichord was constantly in use; and those old Scottish songs, which echo now like some lost memory to our grandfathers and grandmothers--we are writing of those personages--glided on the air from coral lips, and made the spring more bright; and many gallant hearts were there enslaved, and sighed whenever they heard sung again those joyous or sad ditties of the Scottish muse.

Books lay about with lovely poems in them--written by the fine old Sucklings and Tom Stanleys--breathing high chivalric homage to the fair; and volumes of engravings, full of castles or bright pictures of Arcadian scenes--brought thither by the melancholy Jacques as true-love offerings--or sunset views where evening died away a purple margin on the blue Italian skies.

And here and there, on mantelpieces and side-tables, were grotesque ornaments in china; and odd figures cut in gla.s.s of far Bohemia; and painted screens and embroidery. And through the crowd ran yelping more than one small lap-dog, trodden on by children, who cried out with merriment thereat.

Belle-bouche had rightly judged that many children should be invited; for if bouquets are bright and pleasant, so are merry childish faces; and so dozens of young maidens, scarcely in their teens, and full of wild delight, ran here and there, playing with each other, and seeking Belle-bouche--kind, loving Belle-bouche--every now and then, to say that something was _so_ pretty, and she was so good! Whereat Belle-bouche would smile, and play with their curls, and they would run and play again.

There was this observable fact about the young lady who has appeared so frequently in our little narrative, ill.u.s.trating its dull pages with her languishing and joyful smiles, showering upon it the tender grace of her fair countenance and innocent eyes--there was this to be observed, we say, that Belle-bouche loved and was beloved by children.

She always had them round her when she went where they were, smiling and looking up to her with innocent faces--from the little infantile prattlers just from the nursery, to those who, pa.s.sing into their bright teens, began to study how they might best fulfil their duty in society--enslave the gallants. All loved Belle-bouche, and on this occasion she had scarcely a moment's rest.

Her own companions loved her too, devotedly, and if any one had asked the crowd a.s.sembled, what was the brightest picture, the fairest ornament of the whole festival, they would have with one voice declared--the little hostess. Philippa, with her queenly brow and ready laughter, did not receive one-half the devoted attention which was lavished on her companion; and indeed Belle-bouche was the toast of the whole a.s.sembly.

The finest cavaliers gathered around her and paid her their addresses--all smiled on her, and paid homage to her. Her joy was full.

But see the finest gentleman of all approach--the no longer melancholy, the joyful and superb knight of the ribbon-decorated horse!

Jacques approached with the air of a captive prince--submissive, yet proud. He smiled.

"Beautiful queen of May," he said, trailing his plumed hat upon the floor, "behold your slave. Never did shepherd in the vales of Arcady pay truer homage to his Daphne's charms than I do to those of our hostess!"

This was considered a pretty speech, and Belle-bouche was about to reply with a smile, when little Martha Wayles, who was present in a pink-gauze dress and lace, cried: